Page 64 of His Arranged Wife
Every muscle in his body locked down as possessiveness roared through him.
"Is there someone?" His voice was deadly calm.
"That's not the point—"
He was on her in seconds, his hand gripping her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Answer me. Is there someone?"
"No! But would you even care?"
His eyes were black with possession, with something primal and violent. "You're MINE, Nimisha. You don't smile at other men. You don't bring them gifts. You don't even THINK about them."
"Then what am I to you?" Her voice broke. "If I'm yours, what does that make me? Your possession? Your duty? Your—"
Silence.
She waited.
He had no answer.
She laughed bitterly, tears streaming down her face. "Exactly."
Something snapped inside him.
"You want to play wife?" He backed her toward the bed, his voice dark and dangerous. "This is how I want my wife."
"Samarth—"
He grabbed the delicate straps of her nightgown and yanked. The silk tore easily, falling to the floor in emerald ruins.
She gasped, shocked, and he used that moment to spin her around and bend her over the bed.
"This is all we are," he growled, his hand tangling in her hair, pulling her head back. "This is all I can give you."
"Then give it to me," she said, her voice breaking. "Give me something, even if it's just this."
He freed himself from his pants with rough movements. No foreplay. No gentleness. Just raw, desperate need.
He thrust into her in one brutal stroke.
She cried out, her body struggling to accommodate him. He didn't give her time to adjust. He simply pulled back and drovein again, setting a punishing rhythm that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with claiming.
Marking.
Owning.
"Say you're mine," he demanded, his hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.
"I'm yours."
"Again."
"I'm yours, Samarth—"
"Who do you belong to?"
"You! Only you!"
His other hand reached around, finding her clit and rubbing with bruising pressure. The combination of pain and pleasure was overwhelming.
