Monster A Dark Arranged Marriage Romance - Vanessa Waltz Page 0,8
direction. Rage spoke through the violence in which he undressed. It scoured my skin when his gaze fell on me.
He moved fluidly to my side, a big cat stalking prey. He caught my neck like jaws on a kill. Dread pitted my stomach. My cousin had instructed me not to resist, and I wouldn’t, but this was worse than I’d imagined.
I trembled at being taken by such a powerful man. My lungs tightened. I breathed in shallow gasps. His stare sent a tremor through me as he unlaced the buttons on my lower back.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
I swallowed hard. The roaring in my head drowned out my panic as his lean body molded into my curves. The wall of mouth-watering muscle reminded me there was no escape.
He seemed to notice my torment. His burning palm briefly cupped my face. Then he stroked, the sensation warm and sweet. Heat webbed my skin as he slipped to my neck. I held my breath as he explored my curves. All my senses filled with Tony, the feelings he provoked. He made no sound, but his breathing vibrated through me. I could taste the musky, vanilla scent clinging to him. Flames erupted everywhere he touched.
I waited, my nerves shot. “Are you always like this?”
His eyes flicked at me with a silent question.
“You’re very…intense.”
That was putting it lightly. Tony clasped me to him, roughly, like he’d forgotten how to hold a woman without causing her pain.
I couldn’t swallow the rock in my throat.
“And you’re jumpy for someone who grew up in a clubhouse.” Tony’s stare sliced into my bones. “You must’ve seen all kinds of shit.”
I shuddered. “Nothing I want for myself.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not that kind of girl.”
A sadistic curve touched his full lips. “I’m supposed to believe you’re as innocent as you look?”
“Believe whatever you want. It doesn’t change who I really am.”
He yanked the straps down my shoulders.
Holy fuck.
His violent movements fired my bare skin. He teased the lace over my breasts, and a bolt of pleasure struck my core. I gasped at the unexpected passion flooding me. Shame bit my cheeks as my nipples hardened into stiff, aching points. Suddenly, he pulled the dress down, and just like that, I was topless.
“Fuck,” he cursed, hands on me. “Jesus.”
More soft curses heated me as his arm slid in between my breasts. He took one in hand. The sight of him fondling me was so titillating I clenched my thighs. A hot ache swelled in my throat as he played with me. Warmth spiraled where he stroked.
It felt so good. I was dipped in molten heat.
He flicked my peaked nipple.
I moaned.
“So responsive.” His cold gaze danced over my body, which had begun to tremble. “Maybe you’re not a liar.”
“Of course I’m not!”
Tony seemed unconvinced. He looked at me through a fog. He was on autopilot—not remotely romantic. Even more disturbing, he didn’t dial back the aggression. He turned me around and pushed me against the wall, hard.
I didn’t struggle. I never moved against him, but he ripped off my dress like a wolf tearing into a kill. Flames chased the chill biting me as he jerked me close. A gasp escaped my lips. I had no time to feel embarrassed about being stripped to my thong. A growing hardness pushed into me with bruising pressure. Painful. Deliciously feral. One arm gripped my waist, keeping me still.
My frantic breathing frosted the glass wall.
Did he hate me that much?
I studied his reflection, the grim set of his jaw.
How could he be so cruel?
He raked my hips, catching the cotton string. It caressed my thigh, and then my panties tumbled to my feet. I stared at them, legs clasped, the space between them extremely hot.
The lack of light meant nobody from the street could see us, but my mind ran wild with images of people at the ground floor, pointing at the groom pinning his naked bride against the window.
The air thinned, and I made a choking sound.
“How can you be so afraid of sex?” His nails lightly brushed my curves, and the shock scorched through my body. “Haven’t you seen what happens to club girls?”
I swallowed tightly. “I-I’m not a club girl. I’m the president’s daughter.”
“So it’s all right for them to get fucked by everyone, but not you?”
“Your ideas about us are so warped,” I hissed, annoyed with his assumptions. “They want to be there. Club girls like tattoos and Harleys. It’s a trade-off for free food and shelter.”