Page 28 of Prince of Control
I follow. This is what marriage is about, right? Resolving differences?
I mean, fuck if I know. I’ve never even had a serious girlfriend.
When we reach the bedroom, her phone rings again.
Fucking Brash. She looks at the screen and sends it to voicemail.
“Is that your boyfriend?” My voice sounds dangerous. I don’t mean to show this side of myself to her.
I get my violence under control. It’s time I broached this subject with her. “Did I see the name Brash?” I pretend I don’t know who she was dating. “Not Brash Rostov, the oligarch’s son?”
Lara turns, surprised I know him.
“I went to boarding school with him.” I shake my head, remembering the torture I’d found him inflicting. It had triggered my PTSD, and I’d gone nuclear. If a monitor hadn’t caught us, I would’ve killed him with my bare hands. Instead, I got expelled.
How do I tell her that she’s in more danger from him than me?
“The Rostovs aren’t who you think they are. They’re…worse than bratva.”
She snorts, her eyes narrowed. “That’s ripe coming from you. Brash has been nothing but kind and generous with me.” There’s a defensive note in her voice. “I’m in more danger with you than the Rostovs.”
Blyad’. She has it backward, but I don’t know how to make her see that. I have to wait until she trusts me more than she trusts him.
“Did you end things with him now that you’re married?”
She stiffens and whirls to face me. “Fuck off.”
I dial down my control issues and switch gears. She’s never going to trust me if I can’t make her fall in love.
“Uh-uh.” I close the distance between us. She flinches when I reach for her, but all I do is pull her into my arms. “We don’t talk to each other that way.”
“We just did.”
I back her up until her ass hits the dresser and then cradle her nape to lift her face to mine. “We don’t.” I murmur the words against her cheek as my thumb caresses her cheek. “Is that how you want me to speak to you?”
She doesn’t answer. Her body trembles against mine–whether it’s from fear or desire, I can’t be sure.
I know from the dungeon that both can work in my favor.
I slide the hand behind her back down to explore the curves of her ass and squeeze. “Hm?”
“Get off me,” she whispers.
I hesitate. My experience as a dom tells me this is a moment to push, not to give her sovereignty. But she’s not a consenting sub.
She’s also not a consenting wife, but we’re married just the same. Breaking down her barriers and forging something tender between us is the best–possibly the only–way I can keep her safe from Brash.
“Should I show you what Melinda wanted from me?”
I catch that confusion swirling in her eyes again. “What is it?”
“Turn around,” I murmur, at the same time I gently rotate her.
Miraculously, she lets me.
“Hands on the dresser.” I pick up one hand and flatten it on the surface of the dresser then the other.
I unzip the back of her skirt and let it tumble to the floor.
