“What century are you from?” I growled. “Definitely not this era. Rape is rape, whether you're my husband or not, you need my consent and I don’t give it to you.” He chuckled heartlessly. “You’ll refuse me?” He grasped my left hand, his thumb stroking my wedding ring. He dragged the ring forward, over one knuckle, to reveal the imprint that the ring left. “You’ll refuse me while wearing my ring? My name is etched on your skin, Beasty.”
