Page 61 of His Bride

My mind pauses.

We stare at each other as his words echo in the silent room, resonating with a severity far beyond their simplicity. And my entire world changes within an instant. Everything. Every last bit of it.

I react, because every action has a reaction. His action is a confession that echoes within me, and it births my reaction, which is as fierce as it is desperate.

As I raise my hand to strike him, he grabs it with a force that makes my bones ache.

With a swift movement, he twists my arm behind my back and pulls me flush against his body. His lips crash into mine, ravaging me with an intensity that steals my breath and leaves me gasping for air. The kiss is an explosion, the floodgates destroyed, and his arms are a steel trap around me, leaving no room for escape—not that I want to.

Not now.

Not while I’m losing control with the man who infuriates and excites me all at once. The man who provokes and tames me with a single touch. A single kiss. Losing control with him is the best kind of chaos, a maelstrom where I hope to find my ruin.

He lets go of my waist to grab my face as he devours me, his tongue claiming my mouth, my taste, my soul, my very essence while he walks me back until I hit the table.

I’m tugging at his belt, my fingers fumbling with the leather strap as I try to pull him even closer, and the second I manage to unbuckle it, he unzips his pants, still kissing me, and I reach for his cock, squeezing, loving the feel of his hard shaft in my palm.

“Jesus, fuck,” he curses, then kisses me again. Harder this time. More out of control.

I slide my hand down and cup his balls. A growl rips from his throat, and he tears his lips from mine only to bury his face in the crook of my neck.

His teeth scrape against my skin, his breath coming out hot and erratic on my flesh, and I wrap my fingers around his cock again.

“You’re gonna make me come like this, New York,” he rasps breathlessly, then abruptly pulls my hand away, spins me around, and shoves me down, face-first on the table. “I’ve waited too long for this. No way I’m coming when my dick isn’t inside you.”

He’s a savage as he pulls up my dress, and I dig my hands into the tablecloth.

“Caelian—”

“How much do you hate me now, huh?” He tears my underwear and shoves my legs wide. “Now that I’ve said it out loud. That I love you.”

“You can’t fathom how much I hate you,” I grit, pushing my hips toward him, this familiar game of push and pull, love and hate adding fuel to the ecstasy.

“Maybe I should say it again. Get you to hate me even more.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He runs a hand between my thighs, spreading my pussy lips. “Oh, I dare.”

With a forceful grip on my hair, he lifts me, and my body reflexively arches. He removes his hand from between my legs and quickly pushes two fingers into my mouth so I can taste myself.

“I love you, Giana Del Rossa,” he bites out, his voice a mix of lust and desire, and that potent flair of rage that twists my body into a thousand knots. “I fucking love you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

He removes his fingers from my mouth and shoves them inside my pussy, pushing as deep as they’ll go. And I come, fisting the tablecloth, my insides set alight.

“Oh, God,” I moan.

“Look at you, sneaking one in.” He doesn’t stop fingering me. “I don’t think you’ve ever been this wet, this…responsive. Is it because I’ve finally professed my undying love for you?”

“I hardly call what you said undying love,” I say between ragged breaths.

“Would you rather I said what I feel for you drives me fucking insane?” His thumb finds my clit. “That I would cut out the tongues of men who dare tell you you’re beautiful?”

My body starts to spasm again, but he pulls out his fingers, trapping me on that edge.

“Would you rather I said I’d bleed out anyone who tries to touch you, and have their blood pool around your feet while I fuck you?” He plunges into me, and I cry out, his cock deep, stretching me, filling me, and he pulls me up by my hair, his breath hot against my ear. “Is that love enough for you? That I’ll murder and maim for you?”

“You’re sick,” I breathe out, and gasp when he pinches my nipple before rolling it between his fingers.

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