Charlotte "Yeah, I am crazy and what?"

Choice. Everything is based on fucking choices. Good or bad. Strong or weak. Normal or crazy? Only the idiot who came up with this didn't even realize that people are designed to be both. It's possible.

Doing weird things is in my genes. I can want to kill my husband as much as I want to protect him. It's not my brother who pulls the trigger. If anyone ever does it, it'll be me. I have the biggest reason in my soul to do it that eats me up and destroys me. Inside and out.

But I can't feel like that at this moment when our bodies are pressed so close to each other. And if you remember that I'm in just a towel, you can say that the previous Mafia Dons and owners of this mansion are turning over in their graves.

If anyone were to watch this scene from the outside, they would think it was the epitome of madness. The Russian is in their house and practically fucking his wife with his body language.

An alien entity has been taking over my consciousness since I was ambushed at the door because of my words. I can't stop thinking about why I said it. "Pay with your body." That's what my idiotic mouth decided to say. From a gun to this? I'm done.

Adrenaline rushed through my veins with a sickening force until I was almost sick of it. If this is the madness of my brain, then the one whose name I still bear is at the pinnacle of madness. Our madness.

He didn't let me threaten him so many times over the last few days to give me a chance, no. He did it because he probably likes to see me struggling. Choking. Losing myself in my thoughts and doing something he can use to his advantage. And so I did it. Now.

Practically gave him the green light to use me right there next to the damn door. Is his heart pounding as wildly as mine? Is the blood rushing through his veins with unstoppable force? And his muscles as stiff as if they were held in place by a thousand and one needles? But alas, he remained silent and stared blankly at me. For now.

If I were to reach into my chest, the only thing I could feel was the remains of my exploded heart and the destruction of my fading morality that never existed.

But shame is the last emotion I can feel as I continue to stand so close to him. Fallen branches and bushes scratch my legs and arms, but I push them out of the way.

My lungs are burning, from such sharp inhalations and exhalations, and the worst thing is that Cade hasn't even started doing anything. I could run away, but that means I'll run away. Hide. That means my bare feet will be chained to this place until the very end.

"So, pay with my body." Goosebumps ran across my skin from his grin. "You realize you've crossed the line, krasavica?" "There is no line between us anymore." I forced my voice not to shake. "I am not your wife anymore." I'm done again.

He cursed to confirm my thoughts and the last thing I saw was that dangerous dark look in his eyes before Cade grabbed me roughly by the elbow. I growl as he successfully tackles me to the hard floor. I try to fall to my hands and knees but at the last second I don't have time to unclench his fingers and end up on my stomach.

The hard surface smashes my chest and ribs, a dull blow, giving pain everywhere and knocking the breath out of my lungs, and the gun flies off to the side with a thud. I was still trying to arch, to turn over and somehow hit him in the balls with my knee. Preferably hard.

I've been fighting for control so hard that I forget that this scene is my doing but every part of me believes in the survival instinct as it can happen to anyone. And it always happens if your opponent uses wild force to grab you. Even if you like it and want it. It's not comforting.

No, he's probably hovering over me with no plans to be gentle or calm. Cade is doing this to invade and conquer. This is real. Him, uncut and with the sole purpose of inflicting pain and pleasure with such force.

His calm, deep breath echoes in the air and hits my skin. His relentless grip is a promise, a foretaste of what he has in store for me. The more I try to do anything, the harder he pulls my hair until I think he'll rip it out by the roots and the poor towel barely holds on.

I arch my back, using the last of my strength to try to twist away, Then something heavy and still lands on the middle of my back. A knee. His knee. In my peripheral vision I see his black pants, one knee on the floor and the other pressing against my back, which looks very much like a cage.

It's enough to make me stop and accept defeat. The pressure is so intense I thought it might break a bone in my spine or several.

Perhaps physical injuries are also a hard limit and for everyone it is self-evident. But it is not. Not for us. We live in it. And always have.

He pinned my face to the floor with his unbearable grip on my hair. I can smell the parquet and taste the fine dust on my tongue. Unlike before, I remain still, pondering the threat of his power. My body trembles as I feel the reality of the situation sink in.

It's so much more intense than what I signed up for, if I did it at all. Yes, I wanted the freedom I had, but the unknown territory, the complete helplessness, tugged at my heartstrings.

My breath hitches, and each inhale chokes me with the scent of the floor and him. Skin. His skin. He is a combination of skin and his own scent. I have never associated these scents with anyone other than my husband, but I have also never heard such a low voice in anyone, perhaps because these styles of nights have only ever been with him.

Nights when he sheds his elegant mafia façade and fully embraces the beast within, suffocating himself and everyone else.

The brazen ruthlessness of his touch, his scent, his entire existence flares and pulses in the air around me.

The silence flickers brightly in a calm that is not there at all. Just my ragged breathing and his deep breathing. A minute of silence passes, no, maybe even more, but only one second has slipped away in my life before everything collapses.

The sequence of his movements becomes rougher as his free hand pulls the edge of my towel upwards, deliberately creating strong friction against my bare skin. The cold air, even if it was warm a few moments ago, blows on my bare ass.

"Not my wife." He savors each word as if he were tasting it. "It seems you've forgotten whose last name your real name has ." And then something happens. Beyond my sigh and open mouth.

I focus on my pussy, which is aching, throbbing and absolutely shaking with the need for any stimulation. Am I just now getting turned on? Because of how rough he was or because Cade is so desperate to remind me that I'm his wife.

I didn't think I would like it at all, but I wasn't prepared for it to bring me to this state. That in those moments, I would dream that he would think of me as his wife. His.

The beast behind me must have felt my body's reaction as well, as he pulls the fabric even higher and presses his fingers against my needy core.

A deep groan escapes his throat, and the sound, combined with his calloused fingers against my most intimate part, creates a strange sensation. "You can run away from me all your life or sign divorce papers a thousand times, but you're mine, Melissa. My wife and you always will be." My back arches again, but for a completely different reason than fighting. I reach for the raw strength emanating from him, but a gentle nudge from his knee snaps me back into place. "Especially while your pussy is soaking my fingers, krasavica."

I swallow his words, bitter as he strokes my folds roughly, cruelly, until my lower half begins to flounder, beg, almost dissolve in him, demanding more. But he doesn't give me more. He never will. At least not today.

His middle finger ghosts toward my opening, hovers, shimmers, lingers, but never penetrates. I feel the warmth of his skin, the echo of the cold air, and the promise of a shield against him. The more he touches me everywhere except where I need it most, the more disordered I become. The more my thoughts can no longer comprehend what my soul desires when my body takes control of my mind:

I'm unaware of the incoherent mix of sounds pouring out of me. Every time I arch my hips, his grip on my hair tightens, a silent warning to stay put.

It makes me shudder to see how much control Cade has over the whole situation, how he hurts or pleases me the way he wants it. But I also knew that my power at the moment was to agree that I was his.

The words have been on the tip of my tongue since I was pinned to the floor. If I say them, it will all be over. But I don't. Despite the torture, I decide to alternate breathing through my nose and mouth, then focus on the moment. On his forceful touch,

He's a man who takes what he wants and there's something exciting about that but I hate men so it scares me even more.

Just when I think the torment will never end, two of his fingers penetrate me. At the same time. Down to my knuckles. I scream, the sound piercing our silent surroundings. "Oh, yes, scream, I don't mind if I get killed in this position."

Even though I'm wet and wanting more, I'm not ready for this. My walls clench around his fingers as he pumps them in and out of my heat in a long, controlled rhythm.

Each thrust methodically picks up speed, timing my body's response too precisely until they become merciless and relentless.

My toes curl and my whole body shivers. It's so different from the way I gently, almost shyly, touch myself.

There is nothing timid about his touch. It is a command, a force that cannot be stopped. It is a disaster of my own making. He is here to take, take, take. And I can only give. Only if I am the only one who has an orgasm again, then maybe he is the one who gives.

My hips hit the floor from how hard they arch, so much so that it will definitely leave bruises on my skin. He inserts a third finger. Pleasure mixes with pain as I am stretched to the limit.

It's impossible to breathe properly, but I force myself to relax, to accept it, even if it tears me apart from the inside. Its rhythm becomes more and more intense, and I gasp with each inhalation and exhalation, the sound is animalistic.

Usually I don't want to muffle the sounds of my pleasure, but not in my brother's house. Now I have only under which can not help as could a half-penny.

Before I can focus on it, a sharp current rushes through me. At first it's just a flicker of pleasure, but then it builds, swelling, intensifying until the tremors are all over my skin.

I half scream or sigh loudly when I finish with all the force of my body, not understanding where reality is and where fiction is. Only fog and haze in my eyes. All I can do is scream at the impact, and I almost start licking the floor in an attempt to stifle the carnal pleasure. A low, raspy sound comes from the devil looming over me, watching me. "I could fuck you right here, stretching your pussy with my cock all night long." I felt empty inside as his fingers disappeared. "But I won't do that until I know the reason for your escape, darling."

I gasped for breath and everything around me freezes. Air. My heart. My brain. Because if he finds out the reason, there will be a war. In my head and on this planet.