Page 64 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

Chapter 19

Aworld without Robert. Would I even survive such a reality?

The answer is simple:no. Which is the only damn reason why Mischa suddenly seems so eager to replace my husband.

Robert Winthorpismy identity. Without him, Ellen is a hollow shell with enough space for a new monster to infest.

“Killing you would be too easy,” Mischa muses, lowering his head enough to pierce my shrinking bubble of personal space. “No…”

I jump as a fiery line of heat traces the edge of my windpipe: histonguestealing away the gasp building in my throat.

“You deserve worse than that.”

“W-why?” I instantly regret challenging him—a sharp, warning bite on my collar is his retribution.

Onlyhecan do this to me: make me question despite the consequences. Make me disobey every instinct in my body urging me to do the opposite. Run. Scream.Survive.

“Because your sins are so much greater than that fucker’s.” He presses my skull tighter between his palms, breathing heavily into my skin. Lust mingles with the hate, a familiar, stomach-churning scent even he can’t disguise. “Youlovehim. You accept that evil, twisted fuck. Don’t you?”

I can’t escape the suspicion that he wants me to deny it. His eyes glint, illuminated by an emotion I’m unable to name. A part of me hazards a guess anyway and my stomach clenches in foreboding.Jealousy?

“You do,” he deduces before I can answer. “Fine. Since you have no problem sharing your bed with a fucking monster, you should have no problem accepting me.”

He grabs my arm and shoves me toward the bed. My back hits the mattress, leaving me looking up as he advances, his head bowed with predatory intent.

Fear shoots through my veins, stealing my breath away, even as my legs drift apart despite every instinct screaming at me to run.You’re afraid…

“My Little Rose,” Mischa murmurs, gritting the words out through clenched teeth. His gaze hungrily sweeps over my splayed limbs and the skewed dress. “Should I crush you all at once? Or rip you apart, petal by petal?”

The poetic language is a new weapon in his arsenal. It’s devastating. I’m paralyzed as he uses his knee to nudge my legs farther apart, creating enough space for him to fit in between them.

With slow, deliberate motions, he tugs at his waistband but grunts in disapproval when I begin to stare. “Eyes up here. I want you to look atme. I want to see him die in your eyes.”

Eyes. As commanded, I meet his gaze and hold it. I fracture beneath the strength of it. His deepen to a shade unlike any I’ve ever seen. Endless amber. Fathomless.God.Ripples of tension release all over my body, making me quake against the sheets. They still reek of our combined scents. Blood and sweat. Harsh and soft. The conflicting aromas flood my nostrils as the rasp of an unraveling zipper pierces the air.

“I want you to think of him.” The request resonates down my spine as his silhouette flickers in the shadows, suddenly looming larger. Closer. “I want him in your head when I fuck you.”

Think of him.That’s impossible. For the first time in so long, Robert isn’t here, and the silence left behind is deafening. A new man fills the abandoned space, his pupils pinprick as his body effortlessly mounts mine, his face coming within inches of my own.

Heavy hands palm my waist, wrenching the hem of my dress up, revealing me bare underneath.

“Look at me, Little Rose,” Mischa hisses, his voice raspy, his gaze almost unbearable to meet head-on.

A heartbeat later I feel him: running his fingers between my legs before replacing them with something thicker. Harder. Pulsating.

Then…

One thrust takes him deep, jarring him closer, his nose brushing mine, his groan uttered against my parted lips. My eyes flutter shut as sensation floods my entire being. The world fades for a brief, cruel moment and I’m alone inside my body, even as he dominates it. God, the way he feels. It’s. Unlike. Anything. Else.

My thoughts scatter. I can only piece them back together in snippets. Full. Need. More.

“Fuck,look at me.” His eyes are heavy-lidded when I do. His teeth seize his bottom lip as he rears back on his knees, slipping his hands beneath me for enough leverage to control the depth of every thrust. Deep. Deeper. Deeply.

My head lolls—I’m a slave to every frantic motion.

“Should I tell your husband how fucking wet you feel, Little One?” he grunts out, yanking me closer. “How your eyes roll back into your fucking head when you come. The sounds you make…”

I can’t.My eyes squeeze shut, blocking out his face, chiseled with concentration. He snarls in anger, and I feel his cock stiffen—thicker, harder.

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