Page 52 of Wicked Sinner
I let out a sharp breath through my teeth, frustrated that once again, she’s talked a circle around me. "Enlighten me."
“Because you don’t just need me in one piece,” she says, smiling sweetly at me. “You don’t just need me healthy and whole to carry your precious heir. You need me cooperative enough to eventually say yes to your marriage proposal. And deep down, you need me to want you back."
The last part hits too close to home, and I feel my control slipping. Before I can stop myself, I'm striding toward her, backing her against the large glass window that makes up a portion of the wall she’s nearest, my hands braced on either side of her head. Her back hits the glass, and I hear her let out a soft gasp that I know she tried to hide.
Her scent fills my senses. Her body is so fucking close to mine. My muscles tense, my cock suddenly straining against my zipper, and I’ve forgotten almost everything except how badly I want to flip her around, yank down the soft lounge shorts she’s wearing, and bury my cock so deeply in her that she feels the shape of me inside of her for days.
"You think you have me figured out?" I growl.
She doesn’t flinch.Fuck, she doesn’t so much as breathe harder, entirely unafraid of me, and I’m so fucking turned on that it hurts, the piercings in my cock tight against the straining flesh. A small smile twitches at the corners of her lips.
"I think you're scared," she whispers, her face tilted up toward mine. "I think you're terrified that no matter what you do, no matter how much you threaten or bribe or manipulate, I'm never going to give in to you. I’m never going to want you again."
The words hit like a physical blow, and for a moment, I can't breathe. She's too close, too warm, too fucking perfect, and Iwant to grab her chin, kiss her, devour her until she remembers just how wrong she is.
“Liar,” I whisper, leaning closer, and this time I see her pulse leap in her throat. “You want me. You still do. You’re just fighting it, the way you’re fighting me. You’ll give in eventually.”
“Never,” she whispers, her hazel eyes locked on mine, her full mouth parted, and I can feel my cock throbbing. I want her so fucking badly, but if I touch her now, I’ll never have her again.
Instead, I step back, putting distance between us before I do something I’ll regret.
"Get dressed," I say tightly, my patience hanging by a frayed thread. "Something nice. The dress you wore the other night to dinner, I don’t care. We're going out."
Bridget blinks, thrown off by the sudden change in my demeanor. "Where?"
I turn to leave, striding toward the door before I give in and touch her. "You'll see."
—
The churchthat I drive Bridget and me to is small and old, tucked away in a part of Miami that most tourists never see. Father Martinez has been on my family's payroll for years, a priest clinging to his righteousness by a thread, the money my father gave him sustaining this place for years. I pull around behind the church, hoping Bridget won’t catch on, but she does.
I see it in her face the moment we pull in, a mulish expression there as she glares at me.
She looks fucking gorgeous. She put on a long cream maxi dress with a blue and green floral and leaf pattern, her long neck, sharp collarbones, and lightly toned arms accentuated by the thin crisscrossing straps and the bun that she put her hair up inwith a few small pieces hanging loose. But just the look on her face is enough to tell me that she’s not going to get out of the car without a fight.
So instead, I come around to her side. She’s scrambling out before I can get there, but I catch her in two quick strides, scooping her up into my arms. She tries to slap me, but we’ve been here before as well. I catch her wrists, carrying her to the back door as another SUV pulls up and Marco and one other man get out. Bridget sees them and tenses, her eyes full of angry, stubborn defiance.
I deposit her just in front of the altar as we walk in. Father Martinez is waiting, and he smirks, looking at the two of us. “It’s customary to carry your bride over the thresholdafterthe ceremony, Caesar, not before.”
“I was in a hurry.” I straighten my jacket and reach for Bridget’s wrist before she can think about running. Marco and Bryce, the two guards, are standing behind us, blocking Bridget’s direct route to the front door, but I don’t put it past her to try some other path.
Bridget looks around the small room, taking in the stained glass windows, the priest, the marriage certificate sitting on the altar where Father Martinez is standing. Her jaw is set, her shoulders stiff, and I know what she’s going to say before she speaks.
"No," she says flatly.
I let out a breath. "Bridget?—"
"No." She turns to face me, her eyes blazing with fury. "I told you I wouldn't marry you. I meant it."
"This is just a formality," I say, trying to keep my voice calm. "A legal ceremony to protect you and our child. To make this official and give the child legitimacy. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to after, until you’re ready. Things at home will change?—"
"That’snotmy home, and this is a sham," she spits. "I won't be part of it."
Father Martinez clears his throat nervously. "Perhaps we could begin with the vows? Miss Lewis, if you would take Mr. Genovese's hand?—"
"I will not," Bridget says firmly. "I will not take his hand, I will not repeat vows, and I will not marry this man."
"The ceremony is very simple," the priest continues, clearly hoping to power through her objections. "Do you, Bridget Lewis, take Caesar Genovese to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
