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“I said no, Bella,” he rumbles with odd intensity. “That isn’t going to happen.”

A sharp, cold laugh bubbles out of me. “Oh, this is rich,” I snap. “Five seconds ago, we established that this marriage doesn’t magically erase our sexual needs. You’ve also made it abundantly clear that you have no interest in helping with mine, so⁠—”

“I didn’t say that.”

My mouth clamps shut.

Neither of us moves.

Electricity sparks in the small space between us.

I recover first.

“Well, you sure implied it. Anyway,” I say, lifting a shoulder, “all I’m saying is, if you don’t want to touch me, I’m perfectly capable of finding someone who⁠—”

My words cut off with a gasp when his grip tightens.

“I said that isn’t happening.”

A hot thrill skitters down my spine.

“Oh?” I arch a brow. “Why exactly is that?”

His gaze holds mine.

“You’re my wife.”

Nope. Not acknowledging the hot, tight sensation pulsing low in my core.

“Oh, now I’m your wife?”

“When we’re discussing some other man putting his hands on you?” he snarls, his eyes darkening. “Yeah. Suddenly that particular detail feels pretty fucking relevant.”

Heat punches low in my stomach.

Jesus.

“That’s adorable,” I murmur. “But unless there was a fidelity clause hidden somewhere in our vows⁠—”

“I don’t give a fuck what our vows said.”

The low, rough tone of his voice tugs at my center.

“You’re not going looking for someone else.”

I open my mouth to tell him exactly where he can shove that decree, but then realize his hands aren’t on my knees anymore.

At some point in the last few seconds, they’ve skimmed higher.

Much higher.

His thumbs are now pressing the insides of my thighs, just beneath the hem of my skirt.

And apparently my entire central nervous system has decided this development deserves its complete fucking attention.

I look down.

Then up.