HALEY JENNER

“I’m not a possession.”

He lifts a shoulder. “What is a wife if not the property of her husband?”

I move to yank my hand away, but he holds it steady in his grasp.

“Equals,” I spit.

He laughs, a bitter and resentful sound that flushes my cheeks with embarrassment. “Trust me, Bianca. You don’t want to be my equal. That would mean dancing

I didn’t kiss you, dolcezza, because I wasn’t certain I’d be able to stop.”

No.”

“No?” I ask dumbly.

“No,” he says again.

“But...”

“I don’t fuck scared little girls.”

I recoil like he’s slapped me, the fire of lust in my stomach flushed out with the tsunami of his rejection.

I feel ripped in two. My heart claimed only to be discarded on the floor like yesterday’s trash. I was ready to give him everything. My body would have been his and only his, whether he knew that or not

His words play over in my mind. He wanted me until we kissed, then he made certain to cut me down and shame me for my inexperience.

I don’t fuck scared little girls.

I’m so humiliated, and I hate him for making me feel that way. Moreover, I hate myself for giving him the power to do so.

“Bianca.” Vincent steps closer. “You don’t need to worry, baby.” He eases the frown on my forehead with a gentle push of his thumb. “I told you. I’ll protect you.”

“I’m fine,” I lie,

For the people I love, I’m exactly who you describe.”

“For the people you love,” he echoes, tasting the insult on his tongue. “Maybe my hope is that one day you’ll love me.”

“Would you love me back?” I ask after taking a steadying breath, pleased my voice doesn’t shake.

He doesn’t speak for a long time. Long enough that I resign myself to the fact he’s chosen to ignore me. But then he speaks, and my heart feels something for him I never imagined it would. Pity.

“I don’t think the darkness within my heart would ever allow space for love, dolcezza. Monsters are more afraid of the light than angels are of the dark.”

“You have a body men would kill to touch, Bianca. Do you know that?”

I shake my head.

“Men will fantasize about you. About grabbing the thick sway of your hips. They will think about all the ways they would like to fuck you. They will crave the feel of your pretty nipples on their tongue. They will envisage you with their cock lodged down your throat.”

I remain unmoving.

“It makes me murderous,” he hums. “How do I make sure they don’t think of you like that? How do I ensure you exist only in my fantasies?”

“I—”

“Don’t speak,” he cuts me off. “Your voice is too much of a temptation. Can I ban you from speaking to anyone but me moving forward? Can I save that voice for only me?”

“Vincent,” I whisper.

“Like that,” he growls. “You sound like sex, Bianca. Your words are so soft. Throaty and scratched. You sound like you’ve just had your organs rearranged from the kind of fucking saved for whores.”

“You’re my wife.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll protect you. I’ll care for you.”

Naked backside on the balls of my feet, I look up at him, listening intently.

“When I touch you, though, Bianca, I’ll treat you like the dirty little whore I know you to be.”

My pussy clenches, and I struggle to reconcile the vile word on his lips.

Whore.

“My whore.” He vibrates with need and appreciation. “To please. To fuck. To touch. To use.”