Page 20 of Savage Beauty

She’s right. My desire for her is killing me. If I don’t feel her pussy around my cock soon, I will lose my mind.

“Okay,” I say. “Go ahead and deny yourself. But this time, I’m gonna be the one who makes you moan.”

Josie drops her head back against my chest as I touch her. “Stop fucking talking. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Her thighs are soaked with her wetness. She clasps them together, trapping my cock between them, and the warm tightness feels incredible. As I move against her, my abdomen tightens, my impending climax gathering within. I find a rhythm, thrusting as I massage her clit. It throbs beneath my fingertip, and she gives a strangled cry as her body tenses.

“Oh, Sasha.”

Fuck. I love it when she says my name. I don’t care if it’s a yell of rage or a sigh of ecstasy—just hearing it form on those sweet lips makes me wanna fall to my knees in worship.

“You come for me now,” I say. My voice catches as she squeezes my cock between her thighs, pushing me over the edge. I bury my face in her hair and snarl, coating her skin in my come as her pleasure soaks us both.

We lie still for a long time, and I listen to Josie’s breathing. Eventually, she slides from my arms and sits on the edge of the bed. Without another word, she pads into the ensuite and closes the door. Buck-naked, I roll onto my back, unsure what to do.

I made her come, and I’ll replay that in my mind daily until the day I die. But I didn’t fuck her. I could have—I don’t believe she’d have been able to resist if she tried—but I don’t want her to hate me any more than she already does.

She’s used to men treating her like shit. I don’t wanna be just another user.

I’m not her client. I’m her husband. And if I expect people to treat her respectfully, it’s gotta start with me.

14

The next morning…

Josie

Irest my forehead against the tile wall of the shower. The steady stream of water on the back of my neck revives me, and I lather up the shower gel, washing away the night’s events. Sasha’s come is still sticky on my thighs, but if it weren’t for that, I would have thought the whole thing happened in my head.

I could have stopped him. But I felt safe with his heat and strength wrapped around me. I feltwanted.

He wants me to beg, but I can’t. Iwon’t. He doesn’t know how much pleading I’ve done, and it never got me anywhere. My power over Sasha is heady, and I can’t bring myself to hand it over, however much I want to.

Am I gonna deny myself more of the same? I don’t think I could ever get enough. But obsessive and rough though he is, Sasha didn’t push. He didn’t try anything, even when I lay beside him and got myself off. It was only when we found ourselves in each other’s arms that it got out of hand. Even then, with little more than a sliver of material between him and my hungry pussy, he heard me say no andlistened.

That kind of self-mastery is so hot. It takes a real man to keep himself in check rather than lose control. Marc couldn’t have done that in a million years, and more to the point, he wouldn’t have cared to try.

I close my eyes and stifle a groan of embarrassment. It’s gonna be challenging to maintain my aloof, standoffish position now. What’s my plan?

I dry off and dress quickly, grateful to have my own clothes. I don’t want to risk waking Sasha with the noise of the hairdryer, so I style my hair in two braids. With my eyeshadow and darkly blushed lips, I look like a regular Wednesday Addams.

When I emerge from the bathroom, Sasha is awake, propped up against the pillows. He’s reading The New Yorker, coffee in hand, a tray beside him.

“Good morning,” he says. “Dulcie brought some breakfast. Salmon, scrambled eggs, the works.”

I’m about to decline, but the smell of the food catches in my nose, and I realize I’m ravenous. I sit on the bed beside him and pick up a plate, piling egg onto a slice of toast.

“So I guess you’re mad at me,” I say. “For running away.”

Sasha shrugs. “It’s understandable but not to be tolerated.” He leans forward. “Look at me, Josie.”

I slide my eyes to his. His gaze is composed but intense enough to melt rocks.

“There is nowhere you could go,” he says. “No one will shelter you. No person in a thousand miles is fool enough to cross me for your sake.” His jaw clenches, betraying his suppressed anger. “I gave you my name. I own you now. Is that in any way unclear?”

“I guess not.”

He may own me, but it’s not just because of our forced marriage. His touch on my body is his way of marking his territory, and he knows what happened last night. Despite all my arguments, my response to him revealed my desire. It’s a chaotic situation, and I want to resent him for dragging me into it, but the magnetic pull between us is undeniable.

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