Page 22 of The Butcher
“Yes.” His voice was firm, set in stone.
His hand settled on my waist, his fingers digging in as he pulled me forward so we were flush togetherand I felt the solid muscles of his body pressed to my softness.
“You’re my wife,” he said quietly. “And I need to know where you’re at at all times.” His voice had dropped lower then, rougher, and the control in it sharpened into something darker as his fingers tightened and pulled me more firmly against him. His mouth was close enough to my ear that I felt the words more than I heard them. “You belong to me now, Lucia Drakovich. Body, blood, and soul.” His grip shifted just enough to press my breasts harder against him, and his strength was unmistakable.
Hearing him say my new last name should have terrified me. It turned me on instead.
His words didn’t loosen their hold on me. They sank deeper, settling somewhere low and dangerous, somewhere I didn’t want to examine too closely because I was afraid I’d never want to escape.
My breath hitched, but I didn’t pull away even though I should have. Every instinct I’d been raised with told me to put space between us, to fight the weight of what he was claiming, to remind him that I wasn’t something to be owned, no matter whose ring sat on my finger or what name I now carried. But my hands moved instead, sliding up his chest, feeling theheat of him through the thin fabric of his shirt, feeling the steady, unshakable strength beneath it.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said softly, the words barely more than a breath against his throat, but they held more truth than I wanted to admit.
His body stilled. And then his other hand curled around my throat, not tightening, but a steady pressure that told me he was in charge.
“Careful,” he murmured, his lips brushing just beneath my ear, his voice low enough to send a shiver straight down my spine. “Playing with fire, little one.” He leaned in and ran the tip of his nose along the side of my face. “Moya.”Mine.
“If you ever try to leave my sight again, even for a second, I’ll chain you to my bed and remind you exactly who you belong to until you can’t walk. This honeymoon is mine. You are mine. And I protect what’s mine with blood if I have to.”
And as he drew back just enough to look at me, his dark eyes locking onto mine with that same quiet, consuming intensity, I realized something that settled heavy in my chest and burned just as hot.
I wanted to be his irrevocably, until I didn’t know where I ended and he began.
Chapter Twelve
Alexei
After a few days in the villa, I was done keeping my pretty little wife hidden away. This was my world as much as it was hers now, and I wanted to watch her in it.
So, I took her down into the village.
I’d kept my dick in my pants since our first night together, not because I wanted to, but becauseJesus Christ, my cock was hard every time I was around her. But I knew she had to be sore. So instead of fucking her every chance I got, I touched her softly, getting her used to my touch, making her feel good without fucking pounding her like I really wanted to.
The town was a few miles below the estate, all narrow streets and old stone buildings that had been there longer than most of the men walking them.Nothing flashy or modern. It was slower paced. Quieter. But no less watchful. It was the kind of place where people knew everyone's business because that’s all you could do. Gossip.
We took the car into the village, the windows down, her long dark hair tousled from the wind. I’d buy her a hand-stitched, silk scarf in the village, one she could use to cover her hair if she wanted to. Lucia stayed close to my side when we stepped out of the car. My hand settled at the small of her back, keeping her exactly where I wanted her but letting her lead and explore.
The dress she wore was simple and light, cotton and breathable that moved with her when she walked, molding to her curvy body. She wore it for comfort, but fuck, she looked gorgeous. Hell, I knew she’d look beautiful wearing a potato sack.
Men noticed her anyway. I saw the first look from across the street, the way a man’s gaze lingered too long before he realized I was glaring at him. He turned away like he hadn’t just made a mistake that could cost him his life.
The square was small but busy with locals and tourists. There were a few tables set outside a café, locals talking and drinking espressos. I stayed close to Lucia but let her choose our seats.
We took our place at one of the café patio tables, ordered drinks, a few pastries, and enjoyed the comfortable silence.
But that was disrupted when I received a call from my father. I excused myself, stepping a few feet away. My father’s voice was low and measured in my ear, but my attention never fully left Lucia. She sat where I’d left her, sunlight catching in her hair, a cup untouched in front of her, and every man in that square noticed her. That part didn’t bother me. What I didn’t tolerate was one of them acting on it.
I saw him before he reached her, the way he slowed as he approached, the shift in his posture like he’d already decided he had a right to be there. I didn’t interrupt the call right away. I listened and watched as he stopped beside her.
“Bella,” he said, too easy, too familiar, like he’d already crossed a line he didn’t recognize.
She answered him the way I expected, polite, controlled, giving him nothing to hold on to, but he didn’t take the hint. He leaned in, bracing a hand against the table, swallowing the space like I wasn’t already close enough to step in whenever I chose.
And when he reached out, barely touching her hair, that was enough to send me over the edge.
I ended the call with my father abruptly and made my way toward my wife. I didn’t rush or draw attention. A predator didn’t need to make a fucking scene. By the time I reached Lucia, I was already behind the bastard, close enough that he felt me before I spoke.
His shoulders tightened, and when he straightened and turned, I saw the exact moment it registered that he fucked up. I was a big man. Six foot four. Muscles stacked under my tattooed skin. An air of violence emanated from me.
