And she must learn to fear me.
She stands in front of me, clearly a diamond in the rough. I saw the picture of her when she was younger, and I’m no fool. Though she’s unkept and rather haggard in appearance, with wild, frizzy, untamed hair, thick, ugly glasses perched on her thin nose, her bare face pale and freckled, I can already see there’s more to her than meets the eye.
But it isn’t until she begins to peel off her layers that I truly see what I couldn’t at first. Underneath the hideous clothing she wears, she’s absolutely exquisite. I swallow and shift uncomfortably, already hard from taking her over my lap, but now it’s impossible to ignore.
I have three days to consummate this marriage. I want to do it fucking now.
First, she pulls off the cumbersome leggings. I haven’t seen anything so ugly in years, and vow once they’re off her, these scratchy fabrics will never touch her skin again. Full, delectable thighs meet my eyes, and I can see the very edge of crisp white panties beneath the hem of her black top.
“All of them,” I snap out, ready for her to obey. This woman will be the death of me in her training, but if all goes well, it won’t break her. It won’t break us.
Glaring at me, she clenches her jaw and yanks the gruesome black top over her head, slamming it to the ground. Her crazy hair hangs about in her wild, untamed waves, her pale complexion faintly tainted with light pink cheeks. She stands in front of me now wearing a plain white cotton bra and matching panties. She’d look about twelve years old if not for the curves that fill her undergarments.
And fuck, those curves. Jesus Christ, those curves.
I don’t care about her mouth or her history or her attitude. If this woman is to be mine—and she already is by law—I will worship every inch of this magnificent body.
Her graceful neck slopes downward to sturdy shoulders, flexed when she anchors her hands on her hips. Every goddamn inch of her is curves and valleys and dimpled, creamy skin that I long to taste, touch, and master. Her breasts nearly spill out of her too-small bra, and I long to weigh them in my hands and lick those nipples until she keens with pleasure and need. From her full breasts to her voluptuous thighs, she’s a fucking masterpiece.
“Jesus Christ, woman,” I say, my voice husky and low. “I owe you thanks for covering a body like that.” She’s a fucking pin-up.
To my shock, her eyes grow wide for a fraction of a second before they shutter.
“You jerk,” she says through gritted teeth. “You wanted me, and now you have me. If you wanted someone thin and gorgeous, you should have chosen better.” She turns on her heel to march off from me, and I’m so shocked at her reaction that at first, I don’t respond. Then I realize she’s stalking away. I will not have that.
I grab her arm and yank her to me.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask her, truly confused and ready to spank the truth out of her that quickly.
She tries to pull her arm away but can’t and finally sighs and submits to my grasp on her arm.
“You said you’re glad I covered my body,” she states. “Would you prefer I put my clothing back on, then, if my body offends you so?”
I stare at her, bewildered, before it finally dawns on me how she took my statement. She thought I thought a woman like her ought to be ashamed of her body. Jesus, I’ve got my work cut out for me.
“Sit,” I order, pointing to the edge of the bed. She will not disobey me. She will not stomp away in petulance. She will sit and listen to me or face the consequences of her disobedience. With a glare, she flounces on the bed, making her full breasts bounce. I swallow hard and think about spanking her again, of strewing her over my lap and slamming my palm against her ass again. And again. And again.
“You—” she begins, but I’ve had enough.
I hold up my palm and fix her with a stern glare. “Be quiet,” I snap. I wait to ensure she complies. I’m fully prepared to punish her swiftly if she doesn’t. But she only sighs and stares at me in resignation. Good. At least she’s learned a modicum of fear.
“You listen to me and do not interrupt me, woman.”
After a second, she nods, slouched over on the bed.
“Sit up straight.”
With a clenched jaw, she obeys.
“I said I was grateful you covered your body,” I tell her. “Not because I think a body like yours is in any way repugnant to me, but quite the opposite. I don’t know the men of your Bratva, but I’d prefer they didn’t have the privilege of seeing you as I do.”