But he slips on his boxers before he comes back to the couch. And when he sits beside me, he presses an open bottle of cold water into my hand. He helps me to hold it, to bring it to my lips, and then he watches as I down half in three greedy swallows.
Nodding, he peels the foil off a piece of chocolate. I open my mouth like an infant, or maybe a patient in hospital. He settles the square on my tongue without any fanfare. It’s the darkest chocolate in the world, tinged with just a hint of raspberry.
It might be the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten. Or maybe it only seems that way because I’ve barely had a meal in four days, the entire time I was locked away in Da’s cellar.
By the time the chocolate has melted away, I’m back in the world of the living. I can feel the satin underskirt of my wedding gown, smooth beneath my arse. I can look at the cat o’ nine tailslying on the floor, at the glint of the soft overhead light on its massive carved handle.
I can realize Wolf never came.
He pleasured me three times over. He split my spine open and sealed me up again. He made me feel things I never even imagined when I was with any other man.
He was hard. I saw that. He wanted me.
Turning toward him on the leather couch, I reach for the fly of his silk boxers. He catches my hand before I can slip my fingers inside.
“Let me,” I say.
He shakes his head once.
“It’s our wedding night,” I say.
He snorts like an animal pawing dry earth.
“I want to,” I say, surprising myself. But it isn’t a surprise, not really. It’s part of the energy between us, this feeling, this…whatever it is we’re sharing here in his dungeon.
“I say what happens in this room. In this entire house. And I say you won’t touch me tonight.”
Of course he does. That’s why I hate him. Hate Lone Wolf. Hate my father for selling me, for pawning me off like a dented gold ring.
And just for good measure, Wolf hatesme. He hates the Raiders. He hates even thethoughtof losing a penny of his precious fortune.
But none of that has anything to do with the way he makes my body feel. I learned that lesson in Boston. He nearly gave me a refresher the day we met in Granny’s room. He’s shifted me into the masterclass tonight.
I flex my fingers, but he puts my hand back in my lap.
“New rules,” he says.
I sigh, because he’s already made more than enough demands.
“Tomorrow,” he says. “You’ll see a doctor.”
“I’m not sick.”
“We’ll confirm that. You’ll get tested for STDs. And you’ll get started on birth control—an implant that will last three years.”
I hate being ordered to do anything. “I don’t have a doctor,” I say. That’s true. I don’t have one here in DC.
The look he gives me is so feckin’ superior, I think about elbowing him in the bollocks. “I do. On call full time.”
I keep forgetting he’s a billionaire. He owns people, left and right.
“Fine,” I say. I’m clean. And Idon’twant to have Wolf’s baby. I don’t want any man’s brat.
Whatever this insanity is between Wolf and me, it’s not going away. I’ve already seen enough of his power games to know he’ll ban me from this basement unless I give in. And as much as I hate admitting the truth to anyone, I very much do not want to be kept from this dungeon.
He reaches under my dress, flipping my fluted skirt out of his way so he can glare at the newest scar on my leg, the place I cut two weeks ago. He presses with his thumb, the one he had inside my body less than an hour ago. “And no more cutting.”
“I don’t do that anymore.”