Page 35 of His Arranged Wife
"I don't beg."
"Don't you?" His hand slid down from her jaw to her throat, not squeezing, just holding. Claiming. "I think you'd beg very prettily if I pushed the right buttons."
Heat flooded through her. This was different from their usual encounters. There was something raw in his voice, something desperate in the way he was touching her.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.
"Because someone sent you a gift today. An expensive gift." His hand tightened slightly on her throat. "Diamond bracelet. Worth a fortune."
She blinked, confused. "I didn't receive any—"
"My men intercepted it. Which means someone is thinking about you. Someone is trying to court my wife."
The fury in his voice was palpable.
"I don't know anything about that."
"I know." His thumb stroked over her pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of her heart. "But it doesn't change the fact that someone out there is watching you. Wanting you. Thinking they can take what's mine."
"I'm not—"
"You are." His mouth crashed down on hers, brutal and claiming. His tongue swept into her mouth, dominating, possessing, marking her in the most primal way.
She gasped against his lips, her hands coming up to grip his t-shirt, not sure if she wanted to pull him closer or push him away.
He made the decision for her, pressing his body fully against hers, letting her feel every hard inch of him. The evidence of his arousal pressed against her stomach, thick and demanding.
"This is what you do to me," he growled against her lips. "Walking around my house in your simple clothes, feeding my dog, being so fucking sweet and innocent. You make me want to corrupt you."
"You already have," she breathed.
"Not nearly enough." His hand released her wrist and traveled down her body, skimming over her breast, her waist, her hip."Tell me, Nimisha. If someone walked by right now, saw me touching you like this, what would you do?"
Her cheeks flushed. "I'd—"
"Would you push me away? Play the demure wife?" His hand cupped her between her legs, making her gasp. "Or would you spread these pretty legs wider and let me finger-fuck you in the hallway where anyone could see?"
"Samarth—" His name came out as a moan.
"That's it. Say my name." His fingers pressed hard against her center through the thin cotton of her pajamas. Even through the fabric, she could feel the heat of his touch, the pressure that made her hips buck involuntarily. "Let everyone in this house hear who you belong to."
He found her entrance through the fabric, pressing against it with firm pressure that made her hiss in pleasure. The sensation was maddening—not quite enough but too much at the same time.
"Please," she whimpered.
"Please what?" His teeth found her throat, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark. "Tell me what you want."
"Touch me. Really touch me."
"So desperate." His hand slipped beneath the waistband of her pajama pants, then under the edge of her panties. "Is this what you want?"
His fingers slid through her wetness, and he groaned. "Fuck. You're soaked. Is this from me? Or were you thinking about me while you were in your room, touching yourself?"
"I wasn't—"
"Don't lie." He circled her clit with his thumb while two fingers pressed at her entrance. "I bet you were lying in our bed, your hand between your legs, imagining it was me touching you."
She couldn't answer. Couldn't form words. Because his fingers had pushed inside her, and the sensation of being filled by him while standing in a hallway where anyone could discover them was overwhelming.
