Page 93 of Shattered Diamonds

I don’t though. I can’t bring myself to turn the lock. I feel as if I do as he demands, I won’t be able to escape. I walk to his side of the bed, knowing I must wait for his orders, aware it’s essential for me to get out of here alive.

His eyes slowly open, still heavy I assume from the pain medication the doctor gave him. He holds them at half-mast. “Lose my shirt.” His gaze falls over my length.

“What?” My question so quiet I barely heard myself.

“Get in the bed, Haven.”

“I don’t think—”

“No, you’re not. Do as you’re told.”

“I—”

“You like wearing my blood?”

“What…” I glance down and notice the dark red stains on the shirt covering my body. Demetri’s shirt. The one he wore for our union. The one I pierced a hole through. The one that is covered in his blood. How did it get on my body? Why is the hole so high? I strip from it with haste, whipping his shirt over my head and carelessly dropping it to the floor. No wonder why Thor was insistent on sniffing my chest, his owner was all over it. On the tips of my toes, I make my way to the other side of the bed with hurried steps. My side. He watches me round his bed with an eye as sharp as a bird of prey. The groggy half-mast now gone. My breasts are bouncing with my rash movements. My naked body is feeling the chill in the room. I pull the covers up, climb in, lay on my back, and quickly hide my nude body beneath his sheets.

It isn’t good enough for him.

With a strength I didn’t know he could possess after being shot, he rolls to his side and pulls me under him in one swoop.

“Sir, you’re in pain.” I patronize him as if he doesn’t know while using the name that makes his dick hard, hoping it will pacify him and help me out in this situation.

“Of course, I am. You fucking shot me,” he retorts while holding back a wince as he moves. Then mutters, “Demetri,” with a gruff raspy voice.

“What?” My brows furrow, confused at the use of his own name, thinking he may be starting to hallucinate from the loss of blood.

“Refer to me by my real name,” he grinds out through clenched teeth, gazing down at me.

I blink up at him, a few dozen times, in confusion. He is now partially hovering over me. His good side bracing his torso. His bad side looming above me. I can smell the sterilization done to his skin to fight infection. It’s a reminder of the unknown hours prior to finding myself at his door.

He pulls the sheet down, revealing the body I concealed. I watch him, not knowing what to do as I lay flat on my back. I can see he is in pain and a part of me wants to take that away and make it my pain. He stares at my chest. Two rebellious peaks waiting for his touch. With the arm connected to his injured shoulder he runs his index finger over my breastbone and down the valley between my breasts. I’m sure he is in agony. There is no way he can’t be. Is touching my body worth the torture to him? My skin prickles with sensitivity and rises my flesh in a rush of exhilaration. He has always done this to me, to my body. He ignites it like a professionally prepared fire, priming me for what is to come.

“You tried to kill me.”

I swallow, stay silent and still, and wait. He can have my body as a long as I can get out of here alive.

“Do you know why my bloody shirt was placed on your body?”

I shake my head, waiting for the snake to bite and inject his venom.

“Because my blood is on your hands. It deserves to be on your body as does my semen.”

“Was I… Was I drugged?” The thought hits me. I don’t remember anything after curling up in his arms in the SUV. Why don’t I remember his shirt being put on my body or how I got to the spare room?

His chin dips, slowly, confidently. A grin starts to form at his devious ways, but quickly turns into a painful grimace. His index finger slides the sheet all the way down passed my pubic bone as he lifts his hips. He taps the meaty flesh four times. “This. Belongs. To. Me.” Each word a tap of ownership. He ends his declaration of possession by pushing his fingers through my slit and pinching my clit in a retaliating act that ignites my body with pain and lust. I jerk at his fierce touch. My fingers burrow into the sheets beneath me. My back arches as if a string is attached to my belly. A marionette being controlled by a ruthless man. My hips sink into the mattress, seeking refuge but yearning for more. The back of my head pushes into the pillow, forcing my chin to lift. A soft moan leaves my throat. He has this way… pleasure and pain, retaliation mixed with sorrowful pleasure. He keeps my emotions in constant limbo, but it’s nothing compared to the wound I put in his chest. Tears flood my eyes and seep into my hairline as the guilt I feel takes over.

“What’s my name?” He pinches harder, his teeth grinding together.

“S-S-Sir…” I cry out when he applies more pressure.

“I just told you to call me by my first name. Now say your husband’s name as he makes you come.”

“Demetri…” I breathe, flooded with a tearful cry.

“Are you coming? Because I know this body, wife. I know what makes this body drench itself in a silkiness that I want to bathe in. I know what turns you on. I know how to get you off faster than the bullet you pierced my chest with.”

“Demetri…” I can do nothing but cry his name. “Sir, please.”

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