Chapter 71

ALEXANDER

“We’re married now, sweetheart. That gives me the right to every inch of you—mind, body, and soul.”

She froze, her eyes narrowing into a glare sharp enough to cut through bone.

“If you think that contract gives you the right to anything, you’re even more delusional than I thought,” she spat, her voice cold and controlled, but seething beneath the surface.

“You think because you bark orders and throw your weight around, the world should kneel? You’re just a man drunk on power—used to forcing submission because deep down, you know no one would give it to you willingly.”

I should’ve been furious.

Hell, any other person would be on their knees for speaking to me like that—choking on apologies or blood. But her? She didn’t flinch. Didn’t cower. She stood there, spitting fire in my face like she wasn’t terrified of what I could do.

And fuck me… I liked it.

A slow, twisted smile curled across my lips—uninvited, wicked.

That mouth. That defiance. That fury blazing in her eyes. It did something to me—something primal. She wasn’t breaking.

She was challenging me.

And every damn part of me wanted to meet that challenge head-on.

I took a step forward, voice low and rough.

“Careful, wife,” I said, the word thick with warning and desire.

“Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you're trying to turn me on.”

Her nostrils flared, but I didn’t stop.

Couldn’t.

“You say no one would give me power willingly…”

I stepped in, closing the distance, gaze locked on hers with lethal calm.

“Yet here you are. In my house. Bound to my name. Wearing no ring, but still mine.”

I let my eyes drag over her slowly, deliberately, watching her bristle beneath the weight of it.

God, she hated it.

Hated me.

And it only made me want her more.

“You don’t need a ring to prove who you belong to, Alina.” My smirk curved deeper, wicked and unrepentant.

“Every breath you take under this roof is mine. Every defiant look, every word you spit—mine.”

I watched her hands curl into fists at her sides, the rise and fall of her chest betraying the fury simmering beneath that perfect skin.

“You hate me now,” I murmured, leaning just a little closer, dropping my voice to a sinful whisper.

“But that hate? That’s still attention. Still mine. And before long… even your hate will burn into something else.”

I tilted my head mockingly, slow and deliberate.

“Keep fighting, sweetheart. You only make it more fun.”

I leaned in just enough to feel her breath catch.

“Hate me all you want, Alina. Hell, scream it if it makes you feel powerful. But don’t pretend you don’t feel this too.”

I didn’t touch her. Didn’t need to. The space between us was already burning.

Because no matter how much she hated me… I could feel it—the pull. The tension. The chaos we created just by breathing the same air.

And God help me, I was starving for it.

Wait a minute.

Starving for it!

What the fuck is wrong with me?

One glare from her and I’m two seconds from pinning her against the nearest wall like some love-starved idiot?

I clenched my jaw, forcing a breath through my nose.

This wasn’t me.

I didn’t want. I took. I didn’t obsess—I controlled. I didn’t get distracted—I destroyed.

And yet… here I was. Mind clouded. The body is tight with heat. Eyes dragging over her like she was mine to devour.

She wasn’t some conquest to be claimed.

She was a storm.

Untouchable. Unyielding.

And the worst fucking part?

I didn’t want to break her.

I wanted her to stay wild.

To keep clawing back when I cornered her. To keep biting back when I growled. To keep looking at me like she hated me—even when my blood burned to make her need me.

Fuck.

I was becoming obsessed.

With her mouth. Her fire. Her stubborn silences.

With the way she made me feel like a goddamn man and a fucking fool at the same time.

No one had ever gotten under my skin like this.

And it was dangerous.

I stared—hard, unblinking.

I tried to figure out what the hell it was about her that had me unravelling like this.

I didn’t obsess.

I didn’t chase.

I took what I wanted, and I didn’t look back.

But Alina?

She made my blood boil and my cock throb in the same breath

She was fire, teeth, and venom… and I was starting to think I wanted to burn.

Maybe it was that mouth—sharp enough to draw blood, always mouthing off like she didn’t know who the fuck she was dealing with.

Or maybe it was the fact that she ran.

She jumped out of a goddamn balcony.

Twice!

To get away from me.

And somehow, that only made me want to cage her harder.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t just her defiance.

It was her.

All of her.

And that pissed me off more than anything.

“Keep glaring, sweetheart,” I said, my voice a low growl.

“But don’t think for one second that looks in your eyes will save you.”

My gaze dragged down her body, slow and deliberate.

“I’m done playing the patient, civilised husband. We will get to know each other—every filthy inch—and you’ll learn real quick that hating me won’t stop you from moaning my name when I’m inside you.”

Her breath hitched—chest rising and falling like she couldn’t get enough air. Her pupils blew wide, swallowing the blue until all I could see was heat and fury.

She lifted her chin, eyes blazing with defiance and fire.

"I don’t want to get to know you. Just because I signed that damn contract doesn’t mean you get to touch me—or dictate how I live.”

I wanted to drag her against the wall and taste that defiant tongue—see if it was as fierce as the woman herself.

Damn, I’d probably come undone in my boxers like a schoolboy—helpless against her pull.

I kept my voice steady—cold, precise, a steel trap snapping shut.

“I’m your husband, sweetheart, you don’t get to decide much of anything anymore...

Now, enough of this back and forth—come to bed,” I growled, stepping in close, my voice thick with a dark hunger.

“And consummate this fucking wedding… because your attitude is making me fucking hard.”

Before she could spit another snarky reply, I grabbed her wrist—firm but not cruel—and guided her hand down between us, pressing her palm flush against the thick, straining bulge beneath my trousers.

Her lips parted, but no words came.

“This,” I murmured, my voice a dark rasp against her ear,

“Is what your defiance does to me.”

I didn’t let go. I wanted her to feel all of it.

The tension.

The desire.

The storm she’d awakened in me.

She could play innocent, pretend she wasn’t affected—but her pulse was racing, and I could feel the tremble in her fingers.

And I wasn’t backing down. Not tonight.

Her lips pressed tight, but her eyes betrayed the war raging inside—like she’d sooner see me six feet under than share a bed with me.

Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t yank her hand back.

Not right away.

Her eyes flicked to mine, wide and burning with a cocktail of shock, fury… and something darker.

Something she didn’t want to admit.

Not even to herself.

My nose dipped into her hair, inhaling deeply. Her scent hit me like a drug—soft, wild, defiant. I whispered against her skin,

“You smell sinful. Like something innocent that doesn’t know it’s about to be broken. Like defiance. And I’m obsessed with it.”

I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear, voice low and wicked.

“Feel that?” I whispered, her hand still on my cock..

“That’s all for you, wife. You can say no all you want, but your body’s already answering for you,”

I murmured, dragging her hand along the thick ridge of my cock through my trousers, slow enough to make her legs shift.

She sucked in a breath, her chest rising and falling fast.

“You’re disgusting.”

I smiled, slow and lethal.

“And yet, here you are… still touching me.”

She tore her hand away like it burned, but the damage was already done.

The red in her cheeks, the shiver in her spine—I saw it all.

I stepped back just slightly, enough to give her space she didn’t really want.

My voice dropped to a near-growl.

“You can lie to yourself all you want, Alina. But your body already knows the truth.”

My gaze drifted toward the bedroom—warm, inviting, the bed already aching to be claimed and shattered beneath us.

“Now, as much as I enjoy this friendly banter ” I said low,

“We’d better get inside," I said, voice low and edged with warning.

“Before the cold steals what little patience I have left,” I warned, my voice low and cutting.

I stepped into her space—close enough that her breath hitched. My eyes locked on hers, hard and unblinking, unapologetic.

“You push me one more inch, wife,” I said, voice slow and lethal,

“And I swear to God, I’ll throw you over my shoulder like the spoiled little brat you’re pretending to be—and drag you inside myself.”

I leaned in, my mouth near her ear, every syllable laced with quiet threat.

“And don’t think for a second I won’t enjoy it.”

There was no softness in my tone.

No compromise.

Just promise.

Tameable or not, I didn’t give a damn. She was mine—whether she liked it or not.

Mind, body, soul.

Every fucking breath she took, I’d own it.

Because for the first time in this ruthless, bloody existence, something pulled me forward.

Not power.

Not fear.

Her.

And I hated how much I wanted her.

Wanted to break her.

Or worship her.

Couldn’t decide which would ruin me faster.

I tilted my head, a smirk barely twitching at my lips.

“Well? What’s it gonna be, sweetheart—my shoulders or—”

“I can walk myself,” she snapped, spinning on her heel and storming off without another word.

I watched her go, heat curling low in my gut.

Hellfire in high heels.

God help me, I liked the fight in her.

She hesitated at the edge of the room, eyes locked on the bed like it might bite her. Her fingers curled tightly at her sides—

Then, without a word, she turned and sank onto the damn couch.

I watched, jaw ticking.

The bed sat untouched.

My bed.

Our bed.

How long was she planning to avoid it?

A night?

A week?

Forever?

Cute.

Did she really think planting herself on that couch would hold me off?

That keeping a few feet of distance would undo what had already been set in motion?

Let her play her little game.

Because of that bed?

She’d be in it.

Sooner than she thought.

And not on her own.

Whether she walked to it or I carried her there kicking and screaming, it didn’t make a damn difference to me.

She was mine.

She’d sleep in my bed, in my arms—one way or another.

And when that happened, there’d be no more pretending.

No more running.

Only surrender.

I watched her for another long second—curled up on that damn couch like a defiant little queen on her broken throne, refusing to look at me.

Fine.

But I was done indulging this part of her tantrum.

I moved toward the bathroom, unbuttoning the cuff of my shirt, jaw clenched.

I paused in the doorway, voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

“Get in the bed.”

No raised tone.

No shouting.

Just steel.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

Still, she didn’t move.

Didn’t even glance up.

My fingers twitched at my side.

Brave little thing.

But this wasn’t bravery.

This was begging for a reaction.

I exhaled slowly through my nose, turning away before I did something I’d both enjoy a little too much.

“I'm going to change. When I come out, if you’re not in that bed—”

I didn’t finish the sentence.

Didn’t need to.

She’d either listen, or she’d learn.

And I was perfectly fine with both.

I shut the door behind me, the lock clicking into place.

Let her sit there and stew in her stubbornness.

Because when I stepped out of that bathroom, she'd be in my bed.

Whether by choice or by the weight of my will—I didn’t care.