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At the words old guy, her lips curve into a sick smile. “Maybe I’ll marry you.” “When hell freezes over.” I would never marry, let alone marry her. “And I’m not old.”
So unprofessional. Doctors are supposed to wear ugly Crocs, not sexy little fuck-me heels. I hate them, and I hate how much I think about them.
“What’s the matter, Volkov? Get lost on the way to the underworld?” “No.” He closes the door behind him. “I found it just fine.”
I cross my legs, kicking a foot out, and his gaze drops. I’m wearing the tall, spiky heels today. His jaw tenses like it always does when I wear this pair.
She puts on a smile, but her gaze cools, pretty amber eyes turning frosty. Not pretty. Just interesting. Sparkly, with tiny threads of gold. Rich like a glass of bourbon. A little is perfect but too much would kill you.
“You’re an intense guy. You fell madly in love with me and insisted I marry you.” “Maybe you fell madly in love with me and begged me to marry you.” She snorts, unamused. “I would never beg, Volkov.”
For a startling moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. “I don’t love you and I never will,” he murmurs. I huff a silent laugh. “This isn’t a real marriage, and when it’s over, I won’t miss you.” He stares down at me, nostrils flaring, and god, I fucking hate him. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
“The higher the heels,” I raise my glass, “the closer to heaven.”
“Sorry, Darcy.” He turns to her. “My little gniloy kluben loses her filter when she gets horny.” My smile hardens. “Your what?” His cold eyes flicker with challenge, fire, and something I’ve never seen before. “It’s Russian for sweetheart.” The corner of his mouth tightens. “It’s an endearment, saved for the ones you love the most.”
I think about our wedding, how beautiful she looked as she spat insults at me. How the hairs on my arm rose when I put the ring on her finger. The way my heart beat out of my chest as I kissed her. The second our mouths met, an electric shock ran through me. I froze up. I never freeze up. I don’t know what happened.
She does look hot tonight, though. That dress. I fucking hate that dress. I love that dress. I’m trying to ignore her but I’m obsessed with it, sneaking glances when she’s not looking.
“No fucking other guys.” He leans in, inches from my face, glaring deep into my eyes. A shiver of anticipation runs through me. “I don’t share. This year, you’re my wife. Mine.”
It’s a problem that I want to bend my wife over the bed and fuck those teasing words and smirks right out of her.
Before I can say anything, though, he tosses something through the air, and I catch it. My wedding ring. His hard, determined expression burns me. “Put your fucking wedding ring on. Now.”
Did I just spend a hundred grand because I was jealous? Yes, and I’d do it again.
“A bow on each ankle like you’re pretending to be a good girl or something.” I shiver, and he makes a low noise of amusement. “Like that, do you, Hellfire? You like being called a good girl?”
“What are you doing?” I ask. “You hate me.” “I do hate you.” He doesn’t look away. Why is that so hot? “But I still want to fuck you.”
“Beg me, Hellfire. Beg me to kiss you and I will.” I’m so, so tempted, but I’d die before I gave him the satisfaction. “Never. You’re bad at it anyway.” “Keep telling yourself that, good girl.”
Learning more about my wife is a dangerous game that I can’t seem to stop playing.
Admiration grows in the center of my chest. I wish I’d never saw this captivating, fascinating side of her. These feelings I’m starting to have for my wife? They aren’t going away.
“Bite me is not the magic word, Hellfire.” “You’re doing this because you hate me.” His mouth tips up. So cruel. So callous. So fucking hot. “I’m still going to make you come.”
“You look good with my name on your back, Hellfire.”
This is different, a tiny voice whispers in my head. Alexei treats me like I’m something rare, something to be enjoyed and savored. Something to remember.
“Good girl. What a good wife you are.”
I don’t want to be married, but maybe I could be married to someone like Alexei.
“Open your eyes and watch me fuck my wife.”
“You love it like this, don’t you, Hellfire? Rough and hard?” Her teeth grit together. Stubborn little brat. “Answer me.” “Yes,” she rushes out, and another pulse of heat moves through me. “You’re made for this. Made for taking my cock.”
Wishing I could call her my wife for real. The last thought isn’t even a concern anymore. That’s how far gone I am. I don’t care if she’s not there yet. I’ll be patient. I’ll wait until my wife is ready.
It’s like coming home. Like being exactly where I belong. Together, we fit. Together, nothing else matters.
I am never letting her go. I’ll give her all the time and space she needs, but I will never give up on the woman I love. Georgia is mine.
“You know what I think whenever I see you wearing my ring, Georgia?” His breath tickles my pussy, and I shiver. I’m hot and cold all over, right on the edge. “I think, mine. I think, that’s my wife.”
“Now who’s begging?” I gasp, and he laughs, short and sharp against my neck. “I’ll beg for you, Hellfire, I don’t care anymore. You own me.”
