Page 67 of Brutal Vows

But fear clogs my throat.

At least if he marries me before he finds out how I killed my mother, he won’t be able to just disappear afterward. He’ll have to divorce me, and then I’ll get to see him a few times.

When did I become so pathetic? I push the thoughts aside and take a deep breath. His subtle cologne mingles with the scent of sex. I shift in my seat and grimace at the mess between my legs.

He parks the car, lifts me from my seat, and kicks his door closed before carrying me across the sidewalk into a small boutique. The woman behind the counter greets him with a familiar smile and leads him down the hall to the dressing room.

“You’re kidding me, right?” I snarl.

He quirks a brow and sends me a pointed look before ignoring me and thanking the woman.

She closes the curtain and retreats down the hall.

He tosses me onto the couch and pins me down with a hand around my throat.

“Make a run for the door, I dare you,” he growls.

Dark heat slides through my veins. Need pulses between my legs, highlighting the slippery goo trapped within my boxer briefs.

His steel-grey orbs pierce my soul before he turns his back and peruses the rack of dresses.

White dresses. Some lacy and long. Others frilly and short.

Wedding gowns.

I dart toward the curtain.

Two steps shy of the exit, a hard shoulder collides with my stomach. I squeak as the ground disappears out from under my feet and the world flips. With my hands bound behind my back, my breasts press against his muscular back and my braid dangles above my head. He stands and hoists me higher on his shoulder, forcing me to trust him as the ground grows further away. His thick forearm pins my legs to his chest, and he swats my ass with his broad hand despite his chuckled, “Good girl.”

I growl and wriggle, but joy blooms in my chest.

With me draped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, he continues his search through the dresses. A few seconds later, he makes a small sound in the back of his throat before tossing a dress on the couch and moving over to the rack of shoes. My head pounds and toes tingle. He takes his sweet time choosing a pair of heels. I test the belt around my wrists in protest when he drops a pair of heels onto the couch as he passes to the far side of the room.

He grabs a purse off the rolling display case and flings it onto the coffee table before snatching some hair care products and makeup from the vanity and adding them to the pile.

Mortification spears through me when he opens glass-topped drawers and peruses lacy underthings.

“You’re kidding, right? Put me down,” I snarl.

“Not a chance in hell,gattina. I caught you fair and square. You’re mine now. Forever,” he growls.

I want to believe him so badly I can’t breathe, but I pretend the tightness in my chest is from my precarious position over his shoulder.

As he drops me onto the couch and yanks my shoes and socks off my feet, I kick and flail, but I don’t mean it. The last thing I want is for him to let me go, but I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t fight.

Onlookers might view his dominance as brutal and abusive, but I relish the freedom he gives me as he peels my jeans off my legs and holds my gaze as he repeats the motion with my drenched boxer briefs.

I aim a heel jab at his throat, but he catches my ankle and threads a lacy white thong onto my foot before pinning my leg against his stomach and working it onto my other leg. He lowers my feet to the cushion and pins my ankles down with his shin before pulling a knife from his belt and slicing my shirt and bra down the center.

I call him as many filthy names as I can think of, even as heat curls through me and delight pulses through my soul. He cuts the fabric over my shoulders and pulls the ruined fabric off my front. My breasts bounce free. Hunger darkens his eyes.

He bends down and seals his mouth over my left breast. I squeal and buck as he licks and sucks with wild abandon. Milliseconds before I combust, he rises and slips a strapless push-up bra around my chest. I groan as the silky material compresses my hard nipples. He reaches inside and pinches the stiff peaks before adjusting my breasts in the cups.

My face flames with a blush even as the black hole of need swirling in my chest demands more. He growls and skims his hands over my curves.

“Fuck,gattina, you’re too gorgeous. I need you again,” he growls.

I gasp when he throws his leg over me and pins my hips down with his weight as he reaches for his belt.

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