Page 147 of Wicked Savage

Gently, I lift a loose strand of her hair and push it behind her ear. “I could never hurt you, baby. Now, him? Well, that would be completely up to you. Behave, and no one has to die. Don’t, and his blood will be on your pretty hands.”

“I hate you,” she hisses, fighting the orgasm burning through her limbs.

My thumb strokes her jaw while I continue to drive her wild, thrusting harder and deeper. “That’s okay. You’ll learn to love me.”

A raspy laugh escapes her lips. “Doubt it.”

“We’ll see about that.” Without hesitation, I pull her toward the bed, tossing her over my knee with a force that leaves no room for argument.

My cock presses into her stomach, causing me to wince as my palm spanks her hard across her bare ass. She cries out when I do it again.

“You’re gonna take your punishment like a good girl.” Another hard slap hits across her flesh, her skin growing pink under my rough touch. “Because you deserve it, don’t you, baby?”

When she doesn’t answer, I tug on her hair, snapping her head back, and her eyes lock on mine.

“I asked you a question.”

“Screw you.” Her eyes flash with a fierce mix of wrath and desire. I can almost feel it radiating off her in waves.

When my fingers slide into her wet cunt, she groans, hips jerking off of me. I spank her again, stroking her in between each strike until she’s dripping down my fingers, her orgasm so close, I can taste it.

Just when she’s about to come, I stop, dragging her up to her feet.

“You’re such an asshole.” Her nostrils flare as I step back, adjusting my trousers to ease the strain of my arousal.

She shifts, pressing her thighs together, desperate for what I won’t give her.

“Put your damn dress back on.”

With a huff, she picks it up and slips it over herself.

I rip off my suit jacket, draping it around her body like it’s the only thing that can shield her from the storm brewing between us. “You’re coming home with me.”

She stares, eyes wide. “What?”

I step closer, my voice low and strained. “That's right. You won’t be living with Konstantin anymore. I’m taking you to Massachusetts.”

She stiffens, her eyes flashing with rage. “Not happening.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes, rough and unforgiving. “Good thing I’m not asking for your permission.”

Her nostrils flare, that frustration echoing in the small space between us. Without another word, I wrap my arm around her waist, tugging her close as I guide her through the door. She heads to the room where she got ready, removing the dress she had on and sliding into the one she arrived in, the fabric clinging to her body like it’s meant to be there. My gaze follows her every movement, not missing a single detail.

She knows I’m watching. I’m not going to let her slip away. Not again.

When she’s ready, I take her hand, but she roughly slides out of my grasp. The chilly night air bites at my skin as we approach the car, her purse already waiting for her in the passenger side.

“When did you get this from the limo?” she asks as I help her in and clip the seat belt around her, because she’s mine to protect.

“When I spoke to Konstantin.”

She doesn’t look at me as I settle into my seat, her eyes set forward, filled with a quiet storm of anger and something darker. Something that cuts deeper than any words could.

My hand finds her thigh, and I feel her tense, like she’s bracing herself. She’s not ready for this—for what’s coming—but it doesn’t matter.

I leave my hand there, letting the pressure of my touch sink into her, knowing it’s just the beginning. The silence between us is thick, a barrier we can’t seem to break.

But I can feel it in my bones: this is happening.

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