As he kisses me, he yanks the skirt of the dress up, gathering the filmy layers in his fist and reaching underneath them to stroke me before he takes out the vibrator. I shudder, then pull closer to him and part my legs, welcoming the pressure and teasing, but he only ghosts a touch before he removes his hand.
“Good girl. I’ll give you good reason not to wear those.”
I’m panting and disheveled, but he quickly rights me and hands me a lip gloss.
“Fix yourself,” he says. I blink, startled by his cold tone. “And then we leave.”Chapter 11TomasAs we prepare to go downstairs, a strange sort of pride comes over me. I didn’t earn this woman or even fight for her, and I have no real claim on her yet, but none of that matters. She wears my ring and bears my name. She belongs to me. I hate even leaving her for the brief time I need to connect with my men. Though I trust my brothers with my life, I want Caroline within arm’s reach. I tell myself it’s so I can keep an eye on her, but there’s more to it than that. I want to shield her from anyone and anything that could threaten her.
It surprises me that I feel this level of intensity, this need to protect her as deeply as I do. When her brother’s man attacked her back in Atlanta, that was an obvious reaction. She belongs to me, and as such, he had no right to come anywhere near my woman. But why do I feel the way I do now so intensely? As if I need to tuck her against me and shield her from the eyes of the others?
When we step into the hall, I place my hand on her lower back and draw her close to me.
“Why do you keep doing that?” she hisses.
“Doing what?” Her angry tone and hissed voice give me pause.
“Touching me there.” I look down at my hand as if my body has moved of its own accord.
“On your lower back?”
“Yes,” she hisses. “It’s so… intimate.”
Her reaction amuses me. “Sweetheart, I’ve done a lot more intimate things than that,” I say. I don’t know why she finds the lower back touch that much more offensive, but I’ll note it. Her cheeks flush a bit at the reminder of what “intimate things” I’ve done to her.
“It’s like you want to make it clear to all of them that you own me or something.”
I don’t hesitate with my response. “I do.”
She stops walking and eyes me curiously. “You do what?”
“Own you.”
Those beautiful eyes narrow to slits. “You cannot own another human being.”
I snort. “How naïve of you.”
“It’s illegal!”
“Your point?”
“You’re sadistic. You know that?”
“I’m well aware.”
She breathes out an exasperated breath but can’t seem to form any words beyond a strangled, “Argh!”
“Easy, darling,” I tell her, allowing my voice to drip with condescension. “You don’t want to burst a blood vessel. And remember, Caroline. Your behavior determines a punishment or reward. Choose carefully.”
We’ve arrived on the main floor and she suddenly becomes much more subdued than she was before, bowing her head and pulling closer to me. I like this. Without her even realizing it, I’ve become her refuge when all else fails.
Sweet girl, I think. Beneath her barbed exterior, I suspect she’s a lot more innocent than she lets on. And inside, I bet she’s far more vulnerable than she cares to admit.
Her breathing grows ragged, and she closes her eyes. Christ, she’s gorgeous, so pretty I can hardly believe she finds herself unattractive. She has a scar, yes, but it’s rather unremarkable, and I’ve stopped really seeing scars long ago. For many within my brotherhood, violence that leaves marks is a way of life. For many, it serves as more of a distinction than blemish. She’d likely deny it, but there’s an innocence about her that can’t be refuted.
“Tomas.”
Yakov and Yvonne stand just a few paces away, entering the main room from a hallway ahead of us. Yakov wears a navy-blue suit. I haven’t seen him this dressed up since he got here. I appreciate the show of respect. Yvonne wears a soft pink dress, her hair pinned atop her head, silver earrings dangling from her ears. When she first got here, she was intimidated, so much so she could hardly speak. It’s taken some time, but she’s finally grown a bit more accustomed to our methods and our brotherhood. The men of my brotherhood like their women soft, feminine, yielding. Yvonne epitomizes a wife of Bratva leadership. Caroline will learn to do so as well.
“Yakov,” I respond, taking his hand with a firm shake. I nod toward Caroline. “Meet my bride.” I can’t hide the note of pride in my voice. It pleases me to walk into this room with her on my arm.