Page 224 of Arrow

I tugged at his tie, needing to feel his skin against mine. “I want you,” I whispered.

His smile was slow and dangerous as he allowed me to loosen his tie, to unbutton his shirt. I pushed his shirt off his shoulders, my hands trembling with need as I traced the hard planes of his chest. His skin was hot beneath my palms, muscles tensing under my touch. I wanted to devour him, to mark him the way he’d marked me countless times before. My eyes drifted to a fresh tattoo above his heart.

Harlowe.

My fingers traced the raised letters. “When?”

“Last night,” he admitted, his eyes never leaving mine. “I guess we both had the same idea.” His hand covered mine, pressing my palm flat on his heart.

Tears welled in my eyes. Arrow Romanov, my enemy, now my husband, spent his entire life taking what he wanted through violence and intimidation. Now, he’d given me the most vulnerable part of himself. My name was permanently etched into his skin, positioned where a bullet might one day find its mark.

“You have me,” he replied, his voice dropping to that register that made my pulse quicken. “In every way that matters.”

“Prove it,” I whispered, my nails dragging down his abdomen hard enough to leave red trails. “Show me I’m yours.”

His eyes flashed dangerously. In one fluid movement, he grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head, forcing me back onto the bed. Rose petals scattered beneath me, their perfume mixing with the scent of candle wax and my own arousal.

“Careful what you ask for, Mrs. Romanov,” he growled, his free hand sliding between my thighs. “I’m not feeling particularly gentle tonight.”

“Good,” I gasped as his fingers found me already wet, already desperate. “I don’t want gentle. I want you to fuck me like you own me.”

His laugh was dark and dangerous. “I do own you. Every inch of this perfect body belongs to me.” His fingers pushed inside me without warning, making me arch off the bed. “This pussy is mine. These sounds you make—mine. Every orgasm I wring from you tonight—mine.”

“Yes,” I moaned, trying to move my hips against his hand, but he held me still with the weight of his body. “God, yes.”

“Not God,” he corrected, his thumb finding my clit and circling it. “Just me. Say my name, Harlowe. Tell me who makes you feel like this.”

“Arrow,” I gasped, my body already trembling on the edge.

He withdrew his fingers, and I whimpered at the loss. But then I heard his belt buckle, the rasp of his zipper, and my entire body clenched with anticipation. He released my wrists only long enough to strip off the rest of his clothes, and I drank in the sight of him. Hard muscles, scars that told a story, and dangerous intent, his cock thick and ready.

“Look at me,” he commanded, positioning himself between my thighs. “I want to see your eyes when I take what’s mine.”

I met his gaze, saw the raw possession there mixed with something softer, more vulnerable. This wasn’t just fucking—this was a claiming, a binding, a promise written in flesh and sweat and need.

He pushed inside me in one brutal thrust, and I cried out at the exquisite stretch, the overwhelming fullness. He was so deep I could barely breathe, could barely think beyond the sensation of being completely filled, completely owned.

“Fuck,” Arrow groaned, his forehead dropping to mine. “You feel like heaven and hell combined. So tight, so perfect. Made for me.”

“Move,” I demanded, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Please, husband, I need⁠—”

He didn’t let me finish. He pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, setting a punishing rhythm that had me gasping his name like a prayer. The bed creaked beneath us, rose petals crushed between our bodies as he fucked me with single-minded intensity.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled against my throat, his teeth scraping my pulse point. “To be fucked like the desperate little wife you are?”

“Yes,” I moaned, my nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood. “Harder. I want to feel you tomorrow. Want to remember this every time I move.”

Arrow’s hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat. “You’ll feel me for days,” he promised, his hips snapping against mine with brutal force. “Every step you take, you'll feel my cum dripping down your thighs.”

His other hand slid between us, finding my clit and rubbing it in tight circles that had me seeing stars. The dual sensation—his cock driving into me, his fingers working my clit—was too much, not enough, everything I needed.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice rough with his own need. “Let me feel this pussy squeeze my cock. Show me how good I make you feel.”

“Arrow—” His name broke on a sob as my orgasm crashed over me, wave after wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. My body clenched around him, milking his cock as I shattered beneath him.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck, Harlowe, you’re so beautiful when you come. So perfect. Mine.”

He thrust into me twice more before I felt him pulse inside me, his own release tearing through him with a guttural moan. He buried his face in my neck, his breath hot against my skin as he emptied himself deep inside me.