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Her desperate eyes meet mine as she manages, “Please… Daddy.”

Even though the word is filled with disdain, it hits me like a physical blow, and I have to grit my teeth to maintain what semblance of control I have left. Resuming my ministrations, I bring her back to the brink. Her thighs tremble, and her breath stutters as she teeters on the edge. I still my hand and watch the release slip through her fingers when I pull mine from inside her.

“Roman!” she cries, her hips flexing to chase my touch.

I wait until her breathing slows slightly and the tremors of her thighs subside before starting again. Working slow circles around her clit, she flutters beneath my touch as I build her back up. Her nails dig into my shoulders, and she whimpers my name. When she’s teetering on the edge, I stop again.

“You’re evil,” she breathlessly snips between her lips, swollen and pink from my kisses.

“Tell me you’re mine,” I command, my hand fluttering over the skin where she needs my touch the most. “Say the words, angel. Say you’re mine and I’ll let you come. Say it, and I’ll make you come until you forget your own name.”

Her jaw tight with stubbornness, she shakes her head. “No.”

“One more chance.” I lean in and brush my lips against hers before whispering, “Tell me, Cora.”

“I…” She bites her lip as I watch the war in her eyes, a battle between her pride and her desperate need for release. “I… I can’t.”

She makes a sound of pure anguish when I pull my hand from her panties, dusting over her clit purposefully. With my eyes locked on hers, I lift my fingers to my mouth and slowly suck the sweet taste of her desire from them. “I’ve told you,” I remind, my voice rough with my own unsated need, “pleasure comes when you learn to submit.”

Stepping back and adjusting my shirt, I steady my breathing as my cock throbs painfully against my zipper. Cora slides down the door, melting onto the floor with her jeans splayed, hair a wild mess, and eyes glazed with unsatisfied lust. I cross to the other side of the room, putting distance between us before I crumble and give her exactly what she wants.

What I, too, am dying for.

At the threshold of the kitchen, I stop and turn back to find her still on the floor, staring up at me with a mixture of hatred and longing that makes my chest ache. I swallow down the tenderness and gruff, “And, angel…”

“What?” Her voice is hoarse and bitter.”

“Don’t even think about tending to that ache between your thighs.” I hold her gaze, letting her see that I mean every word. “The punishment for touching what belongs to me without my permission will not be worth the meager orgasm you manage to provide yourself.”

She stares at me for a long moment, then slowly pushes to her feet. When she’s standing on shaking legs, she pulls up her zipper and walks toward me with as much dignity as she can muster. When she reaches me, she stops and looks up at my face. “I’m not yours.”

I smile down at her, slow and predatory, letting my gaze roam over her swollen lips, flushed cheeks, and hardened nipples pressing against her soft cashmere sweater. “Keep testing me, angel. Keep pushing, and you’ll be finding out the hard way how much you are actually mine,” I seethe, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I expect you to be ready within the hour.”

Before she can respond, I walk out of the kitchen, leaving her alone with her desperate need and remaining pride, knowing with certainty that one of us is about to finally break.

Chapter Six

Cora

The red silk gown I am being forced to wear is an expensive reminder that my bodily autonomy is no longer my own. The fabric clings to every curve of my body—inch after inch that Roman has claimed with his eyes and words.

He sits beside me in the back of the Town Car, his thigh pressed firmly against mine as his fingers trace a lazy circle on my wrist. Each touch is so soft and gentle that I almost forget he left me trembling and unsatisfied on the floor of our penthouse less than an hour ago.

“Stop fidgeting,” he whispers tenderly, wrapping his palm over mine and reassuringly squeezing my hand. With it lifted to his lips, he presses a tender kiss to my knuckles. It’s so gentle that it almost feels obscene coming from him. “You look exquisite, angel. Like sin wrapped in silk.”

His words cause my heart to flutter. I want to hate it—to hate him—but the man beside me is different from the beast who pinned me against our front door. This Roman is smiling, devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo, with his hair swept back to reveal his sharp cheekbones. Sitting beside me, he looks at me as if I am the only woman in the world, and for one terrifying moment, I almost believe he genuinely cares for me.

The car pulls to the curb, and the driver opens the door. Roman exits first, before turning and reaching out to offer his hand. When I place my palm in his, he doesn’t just help me out. He lifts me, his other hand immediately settling possessively on the small of my back and steadying me as the flash of cameras explode around us.

“Easy,” he comforts, his breath warm against my cheek, using his body to shield me from the press. “I’ve got you.”

Inside the Whitmore estate, crystal chandeliers cast broken rainbows across the marble floors and gilded ceilings. The air reeks of expensive cologne and judgment. Everywhere I turn, sets of eyes are staring back at me—all curious about the man holding my arm, who I married mere days after the announcement of our engagement. I am near certain this room assumes I am several months pregnant with our bastard child. The irony that our marriage remains unconsummated and I’m still throbbing with the need he so cruelly cultivated is not remotely lost on me.

Roman doesn’t leave my side, not for a second. His hand is permanently affixed to either the small of my back or the curve of my waist, and his eyes barely drift away from my face, even when powerful men try to command my attention. Using my family’s connections, he introduces himself to senators, CEOs, and Manhattan’s elite with confidence and grace.

“You didn’t need me for this,” I share softly when we find a moment alone near the windows overlooking the East River.

“Angel, eventually I will make you understand.” He pauses to tuck a stray curl behind my ear, his fingers lingering along my jaw. “I need you in ways that far exceed your social status. I need you beside me to build my empire.” His hand cups my jaw, and his thumb brushes tenderly over my cheekbone. “I need you to accept the life I want to give you. I’ll spend every minute, until my dying breath, trying to convince you if I have to.”