Page 34 of His Wife

His irises drown in blue, gaze fixed on me with a ferocity that could cut glass. With dark brows drawn, and full lips set in a thin line, his demeanor instills equal parts fear and excitement in me, and I gulp, trying to keep my throat from closing. I debate whether I should take a breath or not, hesitant to make a move while his expression remains unreadable.

I should say something again, cut through the tension, but I have no idea what. It’s hard to find the words while he stalks toward me, his every stride purposeful. His presence sucks all the air out of the room. It’s powerful and unmistakable as it wraps around me, instantly going for my throat. My breath. My essence.

I’m incapable of moving when his Italian leather shoes kiss the toes of my stiletto heels. I can hear his steady breathing, the pounding of his heart. Or is it mine? I’m not sure. I’m too entranced, bewitched by this man’s mere presence, how he keeps me captive with a gaze so fucking intense it could crack through concrete.

There’s an uptick in my pulse as he towers over me, his silhouette outlined with the yellow light of the chandelier. I have to crane my neck to look him in the eye, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over my shivering frame. He smells like whiskey and cigars, sex and sin, and judging by the electricity pulsing between us, I’m about to become the devil’s offering.

“Take off your panties.” His voice is low, rough. Sexy.

“Why don’t you take them off for me?”

His hand is around my throat before I have a chance to take another breath. “Do not challenge me, stray. Not now. Just do as I fucking say. Can you do that?” He bites out every word, authority clinging to his cold tone. Nothing has ever sounded sexier.

My throat bobs underneath his palm as I swallow hard. “Yes.”

“Good.” He lets go of my throat, and with a snarl, he grabs the fabric of my dress, yanking the skirt up, bunching it around my waist, causing me to gasp. “Now, let’s try that again. Take off. Your panties.”

My breaths are nothing but air of submission as I obey by hooking my fingers in the sides, shimmying the thin layer of lace down my legs, letting it pool around my feet.

His gaze drops, fiery irises flicking over my exposed sex, and I watch him lick his lips, hunger burning behind ripples of blue. His dominion over me, his ownership is palpable, and all I want is for him to grab me and do his worst, fuck me until my body breaks.

Riveted and frozen in front of him, I see his chest rise as he takes a deep inhale as if he’s grasping at his last ounce of self-control.

Cutting his gaze to the open bottle of champagne in the ice bucket, there’s a second for me to breathe, my lungs burning and body aching.

“Is the champagne to your liking?” he asks, but I know he doesn’t give a shit about my answer.

“It…it is.” I can’t even get two simple words out without stuttering.

“On your knees.” It’s not a request. It’s a command, an order, one I feel in every bone.

I kick off my shoes, not taking my eyes off him as tension mounts. It’s palpable, and I’m already wet thinking about the wicked game he’s about to play. That’s what makes it us. That’s how we ignite, by playing games to see who yields the power. And he wins every single time.

As he reaches for the champagne, the ice clinking in the bucket, rivulets of water dripping from the bottle, I lower to my knees. The marble floors are cold and hard, just like his gaze, but there’s a hunger I’ve come to recognize, a need for dominance. He’s angry at me for denying him, but he’s hard for me, too. His dick is pressing against his pants, the hard bulge demanding attention. Does he hate that? Does he hate being angered and turned on by me simultaneously, thirsting for power and dominance over a woman who challenges him?

“Go on,” he urges. “Take out my cock.”

I lick my lips, the light from the chandelier coloring him in every shade of gold. Regal. Majestic.Mine. Alexius is all mine. And right here, on my knees in front of him, I realize he’s not the only one willing to spill blood for us. I’d kill for him. I’d go to hell for him. I know that now.

Lowering my gaze to his crotch, I unbuckle his belt with deft fingers, knowing exactly what I want, ready to take it.

The sound of him sucking in a breath when I reach for his cock, wrapping my fingers around its girth, makes my pussy want to be filled and used. It’s hard, thick, and throbbing in my palm, the swollen head glistening with precum.

“You want to taste it?” He leans his head to the side, studying me.

“Yes.”

“Give it a few good strokes first.” I watch him lick his lips before taking a swig of champagne from the bottle as I pump his cock.

“Now?” I ask, desperate to taste him.

“Not yet. Tease the tip with your fingers first. Gently.”

I swallow hard, doing as he says, smearing the clear liquid all along the head of his dick, watching his cock grow even larger, thicker, engorged to fuck. Ready to fill me to the brim.

Brushing my fingertips around the tip of his cock, I clench my thighs, needing some relief from the ache, and I’m salivating to taste him, to have his cock reach the back of my throat, but he’s determined to make me suffer for it.

Another drop of precum beads. “Lick it off,” he says, and I’m about to lap at it with the base of my tongue when he grabs me by the hair, pulling me back hard, making me wince. “Lick it off using just the tip of your tongue.”

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