Page 41 of Bound By Flames
“I do not care who gets to touch you. I do not care about who you sleep with and what you do in our living room with a barely clothed woman!” I point my index at the door. “I. DO. NOT. CARE and you know why? Because I’m not your wife,” I backfire at him with so much anger, my palms get sweaty.
“Look at you, Mia. You’re lying to yourself, princess.” He shakes his head as I try to stay confident and calm.
“Ares…”
Oh, he’s good, he’s really good.
Getting into my head and playing with my heart when all I have to hope for is the chance to escape one day from this loveless marriage. I’m falling for him, hard. I just know it. Ares has the fire I need to feel alive, to combust in his attention, his care. Only I know that a man like him will never want anything to do with a messy, fiery, loud, woman like me who can’t even eat normally without having a full-blown panic attack.
We’re too different.
He will never love me.
“Each time she looked at me during dinner, you flushed. Each time she tried to touch my arm, you kept on fidgeting and when she talked about staying in the area, do you remember that, princess ?”
Don’t let him get in your head. I’m strong, I’m independent, I’m my own master, for God’s sake.
Stepping on the bed in front of me, both of us in a standoff over our cushy mattress, he pulls a stay of hair behind my ears, and I hate myself for leaning in his touch.
“Yeah, of course you do, ‘cause your pretty lips parted, and I knew if you had a gun in your hand, wife, you would have shot her. You wanna know how I knew it? ‘Cause I murder people for a living, and that look in your pretty eyes was too damn good not to light me on fire.”
He exhales loudly, feet deep in our bed, while the electricity fills the air, suffocating me in his musky and addictive scent. My towel is still tucked around me as the only protective layer against him. And yet his gaze stays stuck on my face while I’m becoming more and more aware of my nakedness.
“And just to clarify it one last time. You are my wife, Mia. And I’m your husband. Whether or not our marriage was arranged doesn’t fucking matter anymore. If I hear you one more time saying you’re not my wife, I promise you, princess, I’ll show you how a husband is supposed to care for his wife and I know this time you won’t ever forget you’re mine.” His hand gently grabs the side of my throat while our gazes melt into one another as I let the promise of his words run through my body.
“You can’t make me do anything, Ares. I’m not one of your men following you around and obeying all your orders,” I say with gritted teeth. His grip tightens in a possessive hold, my veins pounding in his palm, drunk on the feeling of the hand of death on me, of his calloused skin against my tender flesh, treating me like gold.
Precious, yet hard to break.
“Mia, Mia… You see, princess, the thing is, I don’t even have to give you orders. You will do what I want, not because I ask, but because you’ll want it too.”
So sure of himself. So arrogant.
“Feeling a bit sure of yourself, huh?” I raise a brow.
“When the time comes, I can promise you, you will beg on your knees for me.” A smile tugs at his corners.
“Why me?” I smile sarcastically. “Carolina would make a much better prey.” And I know I’ve struck a nerve when I notice his jaw tick.
“Getting jealous, wife?” I swallow and I regret it instantly knowing his hand is still on my throat, betraying me. “Carolina means as much to me as dust on the floor.” Anger pulses through his green pupils.
Could it be possible? That he's not attracted to her? That he doesn’t want anything to do with her?
“Don’t.” It’s as if he can hear me think. “Don’t think for one second that I want anything to do with her.”
“You should, she's an obedient woman for a control-freak like you, isn’t it what you want? A woman who stays put, folds her clothes, and stands by your side silently.”
A veil passes on his gaze before a smile tugs at his lips. His gaze turns softer and he murmurs, “I thought that’s what I wanted.” He removes his hand and then strokes my jaw with the back of his finger.
Soft, yet rough.
Could this man be any more confusing?
“Always thought I’d be alone, Mia, still do,” he confesses, getting back on the floor and looking up at me. His words hit me hard, making me want to pull him next to me and tell him he’ll never have to be alone anymore. But I won’t, because that’s not who I’m meant to be. Who I am will never be what he needs, andI’ll be damned if I ever change myself to fit into another person’s standard. I’ve done it my whole life and I swore to myself to never do that ever again.
“Why is that?” I sit on the bed with my legs on the side to cover myself with the towel even if I notice how his gaze keeps on running along my skin with a hunger I wish I could indulge in. “Why did you think you’d always be alone? Women are crawling at your feet and your men are surrounding you wherever you go. You’re never alone.”
He shakes his head, sitting back in the leather chair at the foot of our bed, his gaze drifting away as he looks at the window looking over the forest. It’s dark outside but you can still see the shapes of the trees bouncing with the wind, contrasting with the sleek and silent interior.
