Page 91 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

“Ah, you would.” He slides his hand upward, settling on my neck as if it’s a chain. And then I still in surprise when he cuts off my oxygen all together. “Don’t ever call yourself my victim again, Penelope. You’re my wife.” Fury coats his every word, making me dizzy when he loosens his hold on me. I gulp for breath and groan with instant pleasure when he sucks on my neck hard, marring my skin with another hickey, so no one will doubt his claim, least of all me.

A thrill along with relief rush through my system, because his affection is the only thing protecting me in this dark world where monsters exist and innocent people get sacrificed for the greater good.

When you’re a monster’s beloved woman, no one dares to hurt you, as he would kill anyone who so much as looks at you wrong.

And it shouldn’t make me happy or grateful, and yet with fear and the unknown hovering on the horizon, I want it even if shame is attached to the feeling.

“Open your mouth for me,” he orders and then traps it. He stabs his tongue deep, seeking mine until they collide in a duet, owning my mouth to his satisfaction. Each brush, lick, and suck silently tells me of his absolute obsession that will know no bounds or objections. His thumb presses against my pulse that beats strongly, showing him how much my body desires his.

The kiss deepens. I tilt my head, enjoying the soft glides of his tongue, lazily roaming inside my mouth while getting me addicted to it. The lust around us spreads, blanketing us away from the hideous reality in which I should stay away from him.

My fingers tug at his shirt, undoing the first few buttons as I crave to put my palm on his skin and feel his heartbeat against it, wanting to feel the rigid muscles dig into my soft ones while his wicked tongue continues to dominate me, delving deeper and deeper.

His hand drops from my hair to my back, seeking to tear away the offending buttons to open me to him, and I almost erupt in pleasure at the prospect.

My lungs burn for air, but I pay no attention to them, groaning when my skin finally connects with his and rough, abused flesh meets me, freezing me on the spot.

Scars.

Hideous scars that speak of his dangerous crimes and remind me that a prince didn’t marry me.

The villain did.

Tearing my mouth away from him, I push him away while my heavy breathing fills the space, and I wish for the car floor to open up and swallow me whole so I won’t have to face humiliation again.

He shifts on the seat, and fear penetrates me. If he reaches for me again, my betraying body will once more indulge in the passion he so willingly gives me.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he opens the fridge and takes out a small bottle of water. “My wife, I do not take women by force.” Our stares meet as he flicks the bottle open and extends his hand to me. “Drink.”

Grabbing the bottle from him and taking greedy sips, I hold back my hysterical laughter at his statement.

Little does he know he won’t have to force anything, because my morals are so lacking. I’m even ready to sleep with a monster as long as he promises me pleasure.

Stupid, stupid girl.

No wonder I ended up in this situation.

“I wouldn’t indulge in self-loathing much,” he says, sending me a crooked grin. “We’ll fuck, darling, sooner or later. Better come to peace with it.”

And just like that, he awakens my hatred once again.

“In your dreams, Remi.” Which sounds idiotic, considering I was about to sleep with him just now. “I only married you so you would stop harassing my sister.” He winces at this for some reason. Is that guilt in his gaze?

Does he already feel remorse for his deeds?

“I never wanted Amalia. Never. Not like that.”

I blink at this abrupt change of subject. So much heat laces his tone while he drills his stare into me. I’m too shocked and confused to speak. Why the hell did he chase her all those years and even declared war for her then?

Thankfully, at this moment, the vehicle stops moving. I see we parked by a huge, long, modern building in the center of the city, by the looks of it, considering everyone walking around here are in fancy suits and cars honk in the distance.

The doorman stands by the revolving doors, waving at us it seems, since there isn't anyone else around to enter.

“Are we stopping by somewhere before we go to your house?” I ask, already despising that I’m acting the blushing bride part in front of him, when he shakes his head. “Then why are we here?”

“Because that’s my home, ma chérie.”

What?

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