Page 18 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

“You’ve done enough,” I say bitingly.

“You’re pushing me away because it’s easier.”

That pisses me off. “I’m pushing you away because you’re nothing to me,” I growl. “I’m pushing you away because the decision to come here was not about sentiment. It’s about fucking war.”

“Oh, yeah?” she fires back, some fight seeping into her tone. “Then why marry me?”

My eyes flash dangerously as I lean into her. “Let me be clear, Elyssa: we may be married now, but that doesn’t make you my equal.”

“Then what does it make me?”

“Whatever I fucking want,” I snap. “My whore, my maid, or nothing at all. You will be whatever I need you to be.”

Lust and anger compete for dominance. I can see it in her eyes. I wonder if I look the same.

“Then I might as well have married Josiah,” she fires back. “At least he would have acknowledged me as his wife.”

She’s learning how to throw her punches. I’m almost as impressed as I am infuriated.

I stop short, let my stare sit on her for a few long seconds. She can sense the atmosphere change, but she refuses to back down.

“Is that what you want?” I ask. “You want me to acknowledge you as my wife?”

She doesn’t say a thing. Like she’s suddenly realizing who holds all the cards here.

And it’s not her.

“Well, then, let me oblige.”

With a flip of my hips, I roll Elyssa onto her back and pin her to the altar floor. I snatch up a wrist in each hand and lock them up over her head.

She’s rigid beneath me, her eyes locked onto my face with uncertainty, fear, desire.

“You want to be my wife?” I spit in her face. “Then we’d better start with the consummation.”

I notice the burn of her dilated eyes when they flicker down to my groin. Using one hand to keep her wrists pinned, I reach down with the other to free my cock from the zipper. I’m throbbing hard, as hard as I’ve been in my entire fucking life. My heartbeat is pounding in my temples and throat. My breath comes in hot spurts.

She’s writhing below me—but I’m not sure if it’s because she wants out… or because she wants me in.

I don’t ask or wait to find out. Shoving aside her panties, I plunge into her.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” I ask with the first thrust. I have to talk, I have to taunt, I have to be cruel—because if I don’t, I’ll be forced to feel all the things that lie below that veneer of rage.

She moans in response. I can’t hold myself back any longer.

I grind my hips into hers as hard as I can. I want to make it hurt so sweet. I want her to feel the intensity of the things I’m feeling, the things I’ve always felt for her.

My lips long for hers, but I resist that. I will not cross that line.

This isn’t a real marriage. It’s a marriage of convenience. A power grab. And even though I’m fucking her, I’m doing it like she’s my whore, not my wife.

Something tells me she doesn’t mind. She may be purity and innocence itself—but from the very beginning, this is how she’s begged to be taken.

I can feel her arms at my back, clawing my skin in an attempt to pull us even closer. Her lips beckon, and I force myself to retain a few inches of space between us even as I continue to ram her.

The motion sends one breast bouncing free of her bra. I drop my head down and clamp it lightly between my teeth. The flicker of my tongue on Elyssa’s nipple reduces her to a quivering pile of moans and gasps.

Every clash of our hips draws me closer and closer to coming. I’ve never wanted to erupt so hard or so fast. Judging by the volume of her screams, Elyssa feels the same.

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