Page 100 of Sinful Hearts
I claw at his shoulders and fist his shirt—my way ofmaking a move.
Lord knows I don’t exactly know how to.
“Please what,guaio?” He loosens his hold just enough for my lungs to inhale a full breath. “Would you like me to die tonight or spend the rest of my life fucking you, giving you pleasure every single day?”
Lifting my leg, I hook it around his waist. “Option two, please. I want my husband to pleasure me.”
He groans, a gravelly sound climbing straight from the bottom of his throat.
From his goddamn soul.
“First, wife, I want you to answer a question,” he says, his voice rough and ragged.
Of course he does.
This man can’t do anything simple.
“What?” I stutter out.
He releases my throat, and I take deep breaths as if I’d been underwater for hours.
“Why haven’t you killed me like you were told to do?”
I rear my head back, hitting the wall, not wanting to look him in the eye as I whisper, “I couldn’t.”
“Why?” He drives his hips forward, slamming me against the wall. “Why couldn’t you put a fucking bullet in my head?” I stay silent, refusing to look at him, so he grabs a fistful of my hair to force me to meet his eyes. “Answer me.”
I hiss in pain, my scalp on fire. “Because I’d rather die at your hands than cause you pain!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
He freezes, losing a breath and dropping my hair at my admission.
I’m just as shocked as him.
A growl leaves his throat as he pulls me away from the wall and drags me across the room. I nearly lose my footing as he turns us. We collapse on the couch. Him below me, and I am straddling him.
“Kill me or fuck me, Liliya.” His intense stare is locked on mine. “Put me out of my misery either way.”
I lower my gaze, dropping my hands to his shirt.
He flexes forward as I start working the buttons. As soon as I finish, I run the top of my hand over his waist, feeling his hard erection. He eases back, stretching out his arms, and his shirt falls open.
In awe, I trail my hand across his muscular chest before stopping at his heart. I leave it there, waiting to see if this man is human or just as much of a devil as they say.
There’s a beat.
The rhythm is uneven, but it’s there.
He relaxes his head back, drawing in heavy breaths before tilting his head forward when I grind against him.
He grips my hips, stopping me. “Take your panties off. If you’re going to slide your pussy against my lap, I want to feel it.”
I slowly rise, and his eyes are on me like a hungry madman as I hook my thumb into the waistband of my shorts. I peel them off, along with my panties, and they fall to the floor.
He stares at me in what resembles worship, as if I’m the one thing he’ll forever cherish.
I pause, taking my husband in.
A scarred man, a killer, but also the one to whom I swore loyalty to at the altar.
