Page 44 of Possessive Vows

I turn off the engine and climb out of the vehicle. No one honks when I open Camilla’s door, and the well-dressed people on the sidewalk give us a wide berth as I usher my wife into the boutique.

When the lady behind the counter recognizes me, Camilla gives her a covert once-over.

“Will that be one or two dressing rooms?” the woman asks.

“One,” Camilla answers for me.

The fire in her eyes warms my soul and hardens my cock.

When I request semiformal options in my size for a wedding, the woman carefully widens her smile and turns to lead us down the hall, but Camilla stops her and places her requirements before nodding permission for the woman to lead us to the largest dressing room.

Less than two minutes later, the woman and her assistant roll in two racks of clothing and an accessory display cart. When she asks if we need anything, I say no and tell them not to disturb us until I call them. She agrees and closes the curtains on her way out of the room.

Camilla looks through the rack of women’s clothes with an unimpressed expression.

I focus on the men’s clothing and choose the suit I like best. When Camilla pulls her sweatshirt over her head, I turn my back to give her privacy.

“You can look. You should know what you’re getting into before you sign the papers,” she says in a flippant tone, but the tension in her voice gives away her fear.

“Are you sure,so´lnyshka? I cannot pretend I do not want you,” I growl.

She folds her sweatshirt, places it on the vanity, and moves the knife from her waistband to her purse before replying.

“I don’t have many visual triggers, so if you don’t touch me, I should be fine.”

She ends with a shrug and a scowl before meeting my gaze. The vulnerability shining from her eyes battles with her resolution.

“All it takes is one word, and I will look away, da?”

Despite my firm words, for the first time in my entire life, I worry my will won’t win against my wants.

She nods and kicks her sneakers off with stiff movements. Certain she’ll rescind her offer if I openly gawk at her, I hang my selection on the end of the rack and shrug my jacket off my shoulders as she grabs the bottom hem of her t-shirt.

My heart leaps into my throat as liquid desire travels down my spine. The lake of need in my balls grows exponentially with every inch of flesh she exposes. I toss my jacket toward the couch and barely register it falling to the floor instead of landing where I aimed as she pulls her t-shirt over her head. Barely a mouthful, her small, pert breasts don’t need a bra, but when the marks on her flesh register, I realize she skips the layer out of necessity.

Scars itch and burn long after the injury heals, so any tight fabric would irritate the thick, jagged line down the right side of her ribs.

My vision flips to red as I take in the marks my brother left on her body. It doesn’t matter if he was there that night or not. He will pay double for every ounce of pain he caused her.

Cigarette burns, whip marks, thin white knife wounds, and thicker, uneven scars mar what should be the creamy skin of her torso. She pushes her sweatpants off her hips and lets them pool around her feet, revealing more scars down her legs. With only the black material of her panties covering her ass and sex, the tale of my brother’s cruelty written on her body shines in the harsh fluorescent lights.

My feet carry me across the room without my permission. She vibrates with tension, never looking away from my face. I feel her eyes searching my expression, but I can’t stop cataloging the marks my brother left on her perfect curves.

Camilla doesn’t step away even when I invade her space. I force my feet to stop and close my hands into fists at my sides before meeting her bottomless, nearly black eyes.

“I will kill them all for touching you, but not before I make them suffer tenfold what they did to you. I will get revenge for you, Camilla,” I snarl.

She lifts her trembling chin.

“Promise?”

The hatred and anger swimming in the inky darkness of her eyes endears me to her. She is beautiful when she is vicious.

“Da,Camilla. I promise,” I say.

A tear slips down her cheek. I brush it away with my thumb, wanting to cup her face in my hands and worship her but keeping the contact brief. A tremor shakes her from head to toe. She shifts her gaze to my shoulders.

“Count them,” she whispers.

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