Page 126 of Captive Ruin

“Careful,” I admonish. “You’re damaging my dress.”

“Are you going to wear it again?”

I pause. I could. It’s not really a wedding dress, despite the lace and its ivory color. “Maybe.” Probably not. “I want to keep it,” I add, surprising myself. One day, I might want it, if only because of the memories associated. To burn, if I ever get free of him. To cherish, if he ever fulfills his promise of making me happy.

He pushes it down more slowly after that, working it over my hips and letting it fall to the floor. I suppose I should be fighting him, but that would risk the dress. Besides, this was always going to happen.

“Can we close the door at least?”

“Why?” He unclips my bra. “This is nice. Lacy. Virginal.”

I clutch it to my chest. “Because… because people will hear us!”

“I don’t care.” He drops to a knee behind me, fingers sliding into the waistband of my thong, tugging it over my ass and down my legs. I’m naked, facing the wide-open door. The rumble of Fournier’s voice comes from the hallway, Linda giving a reply, though I can’t make out the words. If I can hear them, they’ll be sure to hear me.

“But I care. I mean it, Van Wyk. I want the door closed.” I’d do it myself, but I can’t move. The thong is around my ankles, hobbling me, and in these heels I can’t even step out without them catching.

He places a kiss on the top of my ass, strangely tender. “You’re so beautiful, my Little Stray. Call me Lukas, and I’ll close the door for you.” He pauses. “Or husband, if you prefer.”

I close my eyes, bracing myself. “Please close the door, Lukas.” How many times have I said his name? Why does it affect me so? It makes him… human, acknowledging him as something other than my monster.

“Was that so difficult?” he asks, but he gets up and does what I asked. While he’s distracted, I bend and slip the thong from around my shoes, because there’s no way of doing it gracefully. It’s probably ridiculous, but I don’t want my husband seeing me ungainly and awkward.

I might not have any choice, but I have my dignity.

The door shut, he turns, regarding me from across the room. A smile plays across his lips, and there’s even a hint of his dimples. For someone who never smiled, there are a lot more of late. Am I responsible for that?

“Lose the bra,” he commands. “Let me look at you properly.”

I’m still holding the garment to my chest, but I straighten and let it fall, standing naked and proud in just my heels. He’ll do whatever he wants to me, but he won’t take my pride. Never mind that part of me wants him to look.

He exhales slowly. “You are, without a doubt, the most stunning creature I’ve ever beheld.”

“More beautiful than your wife?” I don’t know why I ask. It just slips out. Maybe it’s the teddy bears on the wall, constantly reminding me of her presence.

He doesn’t reply, merely walks to the dresser and opens a drawer, taking something from it. Then he turns to face me, and he’s holding another pair of those goddamn cuffs. He did buy more. True to his word, like he always is.

I can’t pull my eyes from them. I know what’s going to happen. My heart races, my skin tingles, and heat pools between my legs. I’m wet from just the anticipation. Or was I already wet, from when he stripped me? I hate how much this man affects me, but I can’t stop it. I’ve never been able to.

He takes a step toward me. “First, you are my wife.” Another step. “Second, my marriage to Juliette was one of convenience. While I grew very fond of her, I didn’t love her like that.”

“I’m seeing a pattern,” I say dryly, pulling my eyes from the cuffs with an effort.

He shakes his head. “Not what I meant.”

“Yes it was,” I retort. “You don’t love me, and our sham of a marriage is just as much a convenience.” Aside from how inconvenient it is.

“I worship you,” he replies softly, taking another pace closer. “I’m in awe of you.”

That’s unexpected and unconvincing, despite the seriousness of his tone. I can’t help my scoff. “Do you pin everyone over a terrace table when you worship them?”

He steps closer, almost in reach. “That was before I learned how strong and fierce you are.”

I don’t feel very strong and fierce, not when I’m naked save for my heels and he’s still fully clothed. Not while he’s holding those cuffs, that I both love and despise. My straight spine and lifted chin are an illusion. It takes all my courage to stand before my husband and not quail, or run. It’s too late for that, and I brought it on myself.

“I see that defiance in your eyes,” he murmurs, “and it calls to me.”

Defiance? Is that what he sees? “What does it say?”