Page 29 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
“Don’t.” The warning in his voice makes my skin prickle with heat and danger. “Don’t analyze me like I’m some insecure child who needs therapy.”
“Then don’t treat me like I’m some helpless decoration who exists to look pretty while you handle all the serious business.” I’m practically vibrating with rage now, my body pressed against his as we battle for dominance in the small space between us. We’re standing so close that I can see the pulse beating in his throat and feel his breath on my face. The anger radiating between us is almost electric in its intensity.
“You want to know what you really accomplished?” His grip tightens on my shoulders. “You showed every man in that room that my wife doesn’t trust my judgment enough to let me handle my own organization.”
“I showed every man in that room that your wife is smart enough to see disaster coming and brave enough to speak up about it.” I pull at his jacket, bringing our faces closer together. “I showed them that you’re confident enough in your leadership to listen when someone offers a better solution.”
Tigran’s voice drops to a growl that sends heat spiraling through my stomach despite my fury. “Better solution? You waltzed in there with your college education and your newspaper clippings and decided you knew better than men who’ve been doing this since you were in diapers.”
“I walked in there with data analysis and strategic thinking and prevented you from repeating mistakes that have destroyed other organizations.” My voice cracks with the force of my anger. “I used my brain instead of blindly following tradition that doesn’t fit current realities.”
“Your brain,” he repeats, backing me against the table until I’m trapped between the solid wood and his hard body. “Your brilliant, educated, analytical brain that thinks it can solve problems with theory and research…”
“My brain that just saved your organization from federal investigation and media scrutiny.” I plant my hands against his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath my palms. I don’t try to push him away this time. “My brain actually considers consequences instead of just reacting with violence like some caveman.”
His eyes flash with something that’s part fury and part hunger. “Caveman? Is that what you think I am?”
“I think you’re a man so worried about appearing weak that you can’t recognize strength when it comes from your own wife.” Theaccusation hangs between us, charged with electricity. “You’re so invested in following your father’s playbook that you can’t see when it’s time to write a new one.”
Something in his expression shifts then, fury transforming into something darker and more dangerous. He cages me against the table with his arms, his face inches from mine. “You think you know me that well?”
“I think I know you well enough to see when fear is driving your decisions instead of logic.” My breath comes in short gasps as his proximity affects me in ways I don’t want to acknowledge.
“Fear?” His voice is rough and strained. “You want to know what I’m really afraid of?”
“Enlighten me.” The words come out breathless despite my attempt to sound defiant.
“I’m afraid of how much I want to strangle you and fuck you at the same time.” The admission comes out raw and honest in a way that steals my breath. “I’m afraid of how much your defiance turns me on even when it’s destroying everything I’m trying to build.”
The words send heat racing through my veins despite the anger still burning between us. I fist my hands in his shirt as I stare up at him. “Maybe you should stop fighting both impulses and pick one.”
“Maybe I should.” For a moment, he wraps his hands around my throat, but I’m not afraid. A second later, he cups my face instead, brushing his thumbs across my cheekbones with surprising gentleness given the violence crackling between us.
When he kisses me, it’s with all the fury and frustration we’ve been hurling at each other for the past ten minutes. His mouth is demanding, almost brutal, and I respond with equal violence. My teeth catch his lower lip, drawing a sound from deep in his chest that sends electricity straight to my pussy.
This isn’t the controlled encounter from our wedding night or the tentative exploration we’ve shared in quiet moments. This is warfare from two people who’ve been circling each other for weeks finally colliding with enough force to shatter the careful distance we’ve been maintaining.
“I hate how you make me feel.” I gasp against his mouth as he tears at the buttons of my suit jacket. I work at his belt with fingers made clumsy by desperation and need.
“Same, and I hate how much I need to feel it anyway.” He lifts me onto the edge of the conference table and steps between my thighs. Papers scatter to the floor, and I hear something that might be a pen holder hit the carpet with muted force.
My skirt rides up as he positions his groin against my core, pressing the hard length of his cock through his expensive trousers against my panties, which are soaked. The knowledge that he’s as affected by our fight as I am sends triumph racing through my system.
“Is this how you handle all your business disputes?” I ask, succeeding in freeing his cock from his trousers and wrapping my fingers around the hot length of him. He hisses at the contact, jerking his hips forward involuntarily.
“Only with wives who think they know how to run my organization better than I do.” His mouth finds the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and I arch against himwith a sound I don’t recognize. His hands find the zipper of my skirt, sliding it down with efficient movements that speak to urgency barely held in check.
“Maybe your organization needs a wife who’s not afraid to tell you when you’re being an idiot.” I stroke his cock slowly, watching his jaw clench with the effort of maintaining control.
“No. I need a wife who knows when to keep her brilliant opinions to herself.” He slips his fingers beneath the silk of my panties, finding my slit already drenched.
I gasp at the contact, letting my head fall back against the table. “Never going to happen.” My voice breaks on the words as he circles my clit with firm pressure. “Get used to disappointment.”
“I’m getting used to a lot of things I never expected,” He works his fingers against my clit with maddening confidence, and my control is starting to slip, “Including how much I like fighting with you.”
“Good.” I clench my inner walls around his fingers when he dips into my sheath, noting how his breath catches. “I like fighting with you too.”
When he tears my panties aside and positions his cock at my entrance, we both go still for a moment. The anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it’s transformed into something hotter and more desperate.
