Ilya stands in the doorway, frowning.
“We didn’t eat potatoes tonight,” he says as we pass. “Why did you have me peel so many?”
Tomas stiffens. “Watch your tone, Ilya.” He doesn’t like that the young recruit is unhappy with me. I hold up a hand to tell him I can handle this.
I give Ilya the truth. “Your pakhan thought it suitable to humble you with menial work. Your pakhan is my husband, and it is my duty to ensure he’s obeyed. But your work didn’t go to waste, Ilya. You’ll see what delicious meals we’ll make tomorrow with the food you’ve prepared.”
H nods his head. “Thank you,” he says, then looking at Tomas, he apologizes. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Tomas fixes him with such a stern look, I wonder at Ilya’s ability to stand in his presence. He’s uncompromising, but he seems fair enough. Well, mostly. I’m still not sure why he got all grumpy with me earlier.
“Clean the dishes after tonight’s meal, and we’ll speak in the morning.”
I’m so in my head I don’t realize we’ve made it all the way to our room, and when he opens the door, I start to tremble.
“Are you afraid, little detka?”
“Yes.”
He unlocks the door, pushes it open, and ushers me in.
“That’s good,” he tells me. “A little fear can heighten the experience.”
My heart beats faster.
“Go to the bedroom,” he orders. “And lie down on the bed. The only thing you may take off is your shoes. Understood?”
I nod and walk to the room tentatively. I wonder what he has in store for me. It seemed easier submitting to whatever he asked of me before, but now I’m not so sure.
Do I disappoint him?
Does he intend to use me like Andros did? If he does, he’s no better. He might pretend to be kind, and he might be fiercely possessive of me, but it’s only because I’m his and he protects what’s his.
Is it wrong that I like that?
I flop on the bed, frustrated and annoyed at myself, but I don’t know what to expect from him. He’s so damn unpredictable.
I lay on the bed fully clothed, trying to school my features. I don’t want my annoyance to show, because I already know that won’t go over too well with him. I hear him on the phone.
“Bring the dessert to my room,” he says. “Leave it outside the door on a tray. And be sure everyone knows not to disturb me until the morning.”
Oh.
Oh.
It’s got to be like six o’clock at night, and he doesn’t want to be disturbed?
I doubt he’s a Monday night football kinda guy.
I’m staring at the ceiling, wondering how things will go when the door to the bedroom creaks open.
“Good to know you’ve obeyed at least one instruction today,” he says.
“Now that’s not fair, I’ve obeyed more than that. In fact, I’m not even sure what else I’ve done other than leave here, and my ass already took that punishment.”
“A husband can’t tease?”
Is he really teasing? I didn’t even know he was capable.
“You’re hardly the teasing sort.”
He’s reaching for his tie, his eyes fixed on me. A moment ago, they twinkled, but he looks a little more serious now. “I’m not? How do you know, Caroline? You don’t know me at all.”
“And isn’t that the problem.” It isn’t a question but a statement. We don’t know each other, and here we are.
We stare at each other and neither says a word. This conversation has gotten way more serious than either of us anticipated. Oh, how I wish I could trust him fully.
“And what if I tell you I don’t want you to touch me tonight?” I ask. I want to know what he says even though I have no intention of telling him any such thing. Why would I? I’m dying for him to take me to euphoric heights I’ve never known. He is so capable. God, he is.
Without a word, his dark brown eyes drill into mine, he unfastens his necktie and wraps it around his fist.
“Are you?” he asks. Of course, he puts it right back on me and doesn’t play into my trap at all. He won’t allow himself to be caught.
I bite my lip, not sure how to respond, when he crosses the room in firm, quick strides. Before I know what’s happening, he wraps his silky tie around my mouth and knots it in the back.
“Go ahead. Tell me no.”
I open my mouth to speak but all that comes out is a garbled mess.
The bastard.
He took away my ability to tell him no. I huff out in anger and glare at him. I have no intention of refusing sex with him. Sex with him is fucking epic. But I hate that he played me like that.
I glare.
“You know what happens to naughty little girls who glare like that at their husbands,” he says, wagging a finger at me.