Our eyes meet. His are hard and cutting, showing no sign of remorse or regret. I can feel my pulse racing as I take him in.
The scent of whiskey, his wrinkled clothes, and the bright red lipstick stain on his collar say it all. I fight back tears. Damn, Luka. You really went through with it.
“Sleep well?” he mocks as he steps out of his shoes and socks and kicks them to the side.
I lift my chin and don’t respond as he makes a half turn, taking in the room.
“What’s this, no room service leftovers? Couldn’t work up an appetite last night?” His grin is cold as he goads me. “I never imagined you with bags under your eyes, darling. I have to say, it’s not a good look on you.”
Even if I could think of a suitable retort, I wouldn’t let it out. Nothing I say will cut through him the way he’s doing to me. I catch a whiff of heavy floral perfume underneath the whiskey. His drinks had been strong, his fuck buddy, cheap.
I’m angry, but not enough to fight back. Because more than anything else, I’m hurt. And besides, part of me clings to the hope that we can ride this out. It’s the mantra I said to myself all night long. On the other side of my betrayal—and now, his—is the hope that we can get back on track. We have a contract. We said vows.
Luka pulls his shirt from the waist of his pants and begins angrily undoing the buttons. I can’t stop watching those long fingers working the small buttons free, noticing how deft they are in their work. Remembering how much pleasure they can bring.
His shirt finally falls open, and he peels it off his spectacular torso. His eyes narrow as he sees me ogling him, his voice going icy cold once more. “I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of a divorce, Brooklyn. Oh, no. You’re not getting out that easily.”
I feel a senseless flicker of hope. He doesn’t want to get rid of me. Maybe underneath his anger and bitterness is the desire to hang on to what we were trying to build together. To start over again. That means there’s still a chance for me to convince him that I never meant to hurt him. That in the end, I wasn’t capable—despite what it looked like from the outside.
“What do you want, Luka?” I ask, my voice coming out husky from the exhaustion.
His eyes narrow. “What do I want? I want you to remember that you signed a contract. You’re still my wife, and you’re going to act like it.”
He comes at me, shirtless, glorious in his form-fitting pants. His tan skin gleams in the muted light, the muscles of his abs tightening, calling me to run my hands over them. I hate that another woman touched him. I despise that he put his lips, his hands on another woman’s body.
But I still want him.
I swallow as he stops inches from me, bathing me in the scent of that drugstore perfume. I have the urge to push him away, to feel my hands make physical contact with his body as I drive him back. But I know if I do touch him, it won’t end anywhere else but him on top of me.
He hooks a finger and slides it beneath my chin, lifting my face the way he’s done before when he’s about to kiss me. “I plan to enforce all the areas of our contract, wife. I’m still going to make you famous. You’ll still get the best gigs. And me? I still get to use your body for my own pleasure whenever the hell I please. Starting now.”
A hard shiver goes down my spine. I suddenly feel flushed and exposed in just my thigh-length tee shirt. I can feel my nipples pebbling, tingling as they peak against the fabric. His eyes stray to my breasts, his expression going serious and dark.
“Are you going to argue my claim on your body, Brooklyn?”
I swallow hard. “No.”
“Good. I don’t trust myself to fuck you yet—I’m too pissed off, and I can’t promise I won’t get too rough. So instead of fucking you, you’re going to pose for me while I fuck myself. Take that damn shirt off.”
I’m quivering from head to toe now. His rough, raw words scrape over my body, teasing me, making me crave him. I don’t dare say that the thought of him getting a little rough isn’t a deterrent, that I want him to take his anger out on my pussy. This is his game and I’m going to let him set it up. I’m just a pawn, after all. I’ve created this, and all I can do is ride it out.
It’s obvious he still wants me. And I still want him.
And if he’s this sexually fired up…maybe nothing happened last night, after all.
I shut down the flame of hope that gives me and tug my shirt up and over my head, getting it tangled in my hair. Luka gives it a pull, grabbing my hair with it in the process. A pleasurable sting assaults my scalp and darts right between my legs. My breath comes quick and fast as he takes my hand and leads me toward the chair. He turns as if he’s going to sit.
“Take my pants off.”
I don’t meet his eyes as I work the button and take down the zipper, but I can feel his cold glare trained on me as I slide his pants down his hips. He’s commando and his thick, hard cock springs out at me as I lower on my haunches to pull his pants all the way to the ground.
Heat spills off his cock and radiates against my face. My pulse picks up. He’s going to demand that I suck him off. I know it. My body tenses, my mouth watering in anticipation as I wait for him to say the words. But then I feel a tug on my bare shoulder, urging me to my feet.
He’s swathed in the faintest, soft golden light and I swear he looks like a perfect Roman statue with his developed musculature, the strong lines of his body, the spear of his cock in his hand. I shift my weight as desire and lust pour through me. Luka holds my gaze while running his fist slowly up and down his length.
“Go stand by the window with your ass against the glass. I want everyone on the street to see you when they walk by for their morning coffee.”
Pulling my hair over my shoulder, I move to step back, but he stops me.
“First…I need some assistance. Come here.”
I do as he asks, stopping at the arm of the chair. He sweeps me with a look hot enough to make me come, I swear.
“Are you wet, Brooklyn?” He pumps himself with more intention. Small beads of precum wet the head of his cock, and he takes care to spread it down and over himself with a little groan.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Good. Spread your legs.”
My body goes tight as I move my legs apart. He cups my pussy with his hand and runs his fingers between my lips, not quite making contact with my clit even though I jerk into him at the contact. He moves his fingers back and makes two quick pumps inside me. I grip the chair arm as pleasure erupts inside me. I need more.
Instead, Luka removes his hand and slides my wetness over his cock, sinking into the chair with his eyes shut.
“Window. Now.”
Now I’m strung even tighter, my body demanding the release only he can give me. Hope builds and crests as I watch him pump his cock. There’s still a chance for us. There is.
Following his orders, I press against the glass with my legs spread, my ass on display for anyone below to see.
“Play with your nipples,” Luka growls. “Get them nice and hard for me.”
He watches intently as I follow his command, my head tilting back and my eyes fluttering. He reaches up and runs a hand down my belly, then cups it between my legs. “You’re not going to come, do you understand? You don’t deserve it, do you, Brooklyn?”