Beastly Passions (13 page)

She glared. “Is it so hard to admit that you care what I think? That you would like to see me, at the very least, complacent rather than be insulting?”

“Yes,” he retorted, watching her eyes widen. “But only because I know no other way.” Taras paused. “However, as I was told yesterday by dear friend, perhaps I should try being far more…
charming 
than being dick.”

“Yes,” Asha agreed. “Perhaps you should.” She moved away and stood. “And while you are at it, the next time you send someone to collect me like goods for any purpose that involves the two of us spending time together like the average, married couple, expect for me to send you back a message that will include not only my decline, but an enormous, 
‘Fuck you, you cavalier, self-important, impolite, low-brow ass.”

Before she could flounce away from him, he reached out and yanked her down into his lap, holding her still when she thought to move.

“So I am no longer allowed to send others to request that you spend your time with me?”

She glared. “No.”

“You would want
me
to do this?”

“That would be the point, yes.”

“So what is it that you would like? Normalcy? Romance?”

“From you?” she scoffed. “No.”

Taras sat up straighter. “You make such a thing seem like an impossibility where I am concerned.”

“You said there would be no dewy stares. No softness. Those were 
your 
words.”

“Because I don’t know of these things, but I am also competent enough to understand that flowers may make you smile. Or that a dance could give you some sense of routine. We don’t have to be at war. Everyday does not have to be full of animosity. I can be your…friend.”

Asha’s head tilted at an angle. “My friend?”

“If this is what you want, yes,” he answered nodding. “With some…differences.”

She smirked at that. “Such as the concession to fuck me whenever the mood strikes you.”

He nodded. “To put things plainly.”

“I don’t believe that is something friends typically do.”

“We will change definition,” Taras told her, watching her mouth as he always did. “We will also change other things if we hope to grow closer and understand each other.”

“You’re
not
sleeping in my room, Taras,” she predicted before he could even voice it.

“I would offer deal.”

She eyed him. “What?”

“I will find you fulfilling work that you will enjoy and there will be no more staff speaking on my behalf.” He interlocked their fingers, already comfortable in the knowledge that he had her right where he wanted her. “I
do
wish to share every meal that I can with you. So you must make yourself available for that as I do. Also, we will do things together, activities that we both enjoy. And eventually we
will
share a room and bed. However, nothing will happen between us that you don’t want.”

Quirking a brow, she replied, “All of this sounds so beneficial for one of us.”

He imitated the expression. “Do you need to see where mutual benefits occur?”

“Shut up and ask me to have breakfast with you properly,” she demanded instead of answering him.

Taras rolled his eyes. “I have already made request.”

“
No,” 
Asha argued. “You said you were doing it yourself, yet I have heard no words. No invitation. No request.”

Lips twisting, he ground out, “Dear brat of a spouse, would you do me the honor of climbing down from incredibly high horse to sit with me and share a meal like
average, married couple
?”

“Am I required to wear pants?”

Taras frowned. “Not if you do not wish to but I was thinking that some mornings we could leave property and go to—”

“I want something fried and greasy and easy,” she cut in. “I don’t need my food to be particularly complicated. I want to time pretending that this,”—Asha waved a hand between the two of them—“can be compromised and reformed into something tolerable.”

“I do not understand. You want to go out, in a city that has world renowned restaurants, and eat like cub who hasn’t mastered hunting yet, while without pants?”

She nodded very slowly. “That is correct. I also want to have another conversation like that of 
yesterday’s
 lunch.”

Taras felt his lips curving. “Is the conversation all you want imitated from yesterday?”

He watched her swallow as she folded her arms across her chest and redness crept up her face. “Yesterday was an anomaly. Unexpected and surprisingly enjoyable. However, I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you about another incident following that one. I don’t feel that riding your appendages at will is conducive to any type of development in this relationship that gets us past snarling and growling.”

Taras didn’t deny himself the pleasure of her bottom pressing to his groin as he held her and told her to remain there so they could enjoy sunrise together. Something did occur to him though. Something he decided to point out because he simply couldn’t help himself. “I did not hear a 
no.”

“You’re bordering on returning to square one with me.”

“Because I refuse to let you squirrel away from attraction?”

“Because you’re trying to force me to admit something that I’m not entirely sure isn’t just comprised of chemical reaction and Stockholm syndrome,” Asha snapped.

Taras only grinned. There was the bite. “Kiss me.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Kiss me. If your…chemical reaction and Stockholm are truly to blame, you will feel absolutely nothing,” he goaded.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

“No,” he agreed. “You do not. However, 
I 
already know the truth of your feelings. You are not lying to me, wife. You are lying to self. End the misery so you can stroll from here and sleep another night in another bed ignoring true wants because you are too afraid to admit that you desire to have big, beastly, horrible husband stuff you full of co—”

Asha’s fingers curled around his nape and jerked his head down with surprising strength and their mouths collided. Her tongue swept between his lips forcefully, writhing against his own until he put his palm to her back and brought her chest to chest, his erection sandwiched between them now as her thighs bracketed it while she straddled him. Taras angled his head to deepen the kiss while a low growl built in his throat and came tumbling out in the midst of her nails raking over his scalp. His cock jumped and her answering moan made tension coil in his shoulders.

He placed his hands at her waist turned them over as he spread her supple thighs wide and made a home in the middle of them. It was the forward tip of her hips that made him shudder. Nipping at her lush mouth, he pushed aside her robe before placing his trembling hand at her sex. Moist silk and heat greeted his fingertips and he danced them along the swollen lips of her pussy. Asha’s breath hitched when he rolled his middle finger over her clit and he used his free hand to take her by the throat, slipping his mouth down her jaw and towards her clavicle, leaving a trail of light bites on his way.

“Taras,” his wife panted.

He grunted and hooked a digit into the seat of her panties, plucking it out of his way. The moment he came into contact with the pulsing bundle of nerves there, he lost all reason.

“Taras,” she tried again.

“Yes?”

“Don’t.”

Lifting his eyes from her exposed pussy, he commanded, “Say, ‘
I don’t want this”.”

She closed her eyes.

“No,”—he lightly squeezed her throat—“open eyes, say this and it all stops. I will go no further.”

“We shouldn’t.”

“Those are not the words.”

“This isn’t a good idea.”

“Still not the proper words.”

“I barely even know you.”

“Familiarize yourself with the feel of me then,” he rumbled, taking her hand and wrapping it around his length. She seemed to stop breathing momentarily, as did he. Taras moved her palm to stroke him. “I will only touch you. Nothing else unless you beg me.”

“I’ll beg you for noth—”

“You will,” he interrupted confidently. “And when this happens, I will not hesitate to ensure you swallow every denial.” Taras twisted his wrist and smoothly pushed into her. Asha’s mouth opened and unable to resist, he thrust his tongue into it.  A whimper escaped her and her hand tightened around his cock. He moved with the caress as he slowly fucked her with his fingers.

The rhythm changed, quickening in speed. Taras pulled his mouth away from the comfort of hers while using his free hand to yank the collar of her robe down over one breast. Her tit, cupped prettily in the same material as her panties, sat as pert and full as he knew it would, her nipple pebbled beneath the fabric. Snarling low, he latched onto it through her bra, clenching it between his teeth and tugging.

Asha cried out and her strokes turned almost violent. Taras barely refrained from disregarding his own rules and spreading her legs as far as they could go before sinking every inch of his dick into the clenching, drenched muscles clasping at his fingers. Instead he focused on pushing her higher, fucking her faster. His balls drew up tightly and his chest bulked. She leaned forward to fasten her mouth onto his shoulder and he felt the quake of her pussy as she flooded his palm with the sweetness it housed. The scent of her come combined with the cinch of her teeth on his flesh was enough to send him spilling everything he had.

With shortened breaths, and hooded eyes shifted to reveal what lay inside, they stared at one another once the erratic beats of their hearts calmed. Taras’ gaze slid to Asha’s reddened lips and he managed to voice through extended canines, “We have answer now.”

Nine

“You conformed 
to what you saw.”

Taras watched Asha quickly shake her head at his assessment as she shifted small plates around at their shared table, moving a dish of Crimean mussel pilaf towards herself so that she could take a well-portioned size. “No, I didn’t conform,” she retorted, picking up on the conversation about her time in the United Kingdom. “I…adapted.”

His face pulled in a grimace and she noticed.

She paused. “What?”

Sitting back, with a bottle of ale in hand, he told her, “You say the word 
adapt
 the same way one would say 
dog shit.”

Asha’s nose crinkled adorably. “I do not.”

“You do,” Taras argued. “There is expression here,”—he waved to his own face and then reached across the table to place the tip of his pointer finger between her brows—“and a line that forms here.”

She rolled her gilded eyes heavenward. “There is nothing wrong with adaptation.”

“It is when you are being forced into doing so.” He took a drink of his ale and angled forward. “You perfected English, released religious habits and changed your way of dressing.”

“Wrong, wrong, wrong,” Asha dismissed, waving a hand. “I wasn’t 
forced 
into any of those things. I wanted to perfect my English, as it was hard enough to be in an unfamiliar country without always having someone lean over to ask ‘Could you repeat that?’ However, as you’ve noticed, I retained both my accent and my fluency in Kannada, because I am in no ways ashamed of my heritage. I love the way my people speak. It’s lyrical and enchanting.”

He wouldn’t argue with that considering his affinity for the sound of her voice.

“As for my tastes in clothing,” she continued. “While I have my fair share of the 
Sari, 
the
 Ghagra Choli, 
and so on
, 
I was a teenager in one of the world’s most foremost fashion capitals. Both practicality and adolescent desire won out. So when the formality of traditional garb wasn’t required, on the average day I would be found in looks that had gone from billboards to stores or runway to rack.” His wife looked off as if reminiscing and then winced. “I won’t claim that all my choices were appropriate or even wise, but I will say I had the freedom that most girls need in order to express themselves at that age.”

Taras bit back a smile. He could certainly appreciate the choices she made now, as they benefited him greatly with the revealing glimpses of skin he received. “And religion?” he questioned.

Asha took a sip from her wine and her expression grew somber. “I never retained the belief system, as I was taught to worship at another altar—that of
rupee.”

He felt his mouth curving downwards. “Indian currency?” 

She nodded. “That was the god of my pride, it has 
always 
been the god of my pride. And as I grew older, I realized that though their praise was misguided and misplaced, it was better suited for something that actually benefited them as opposed to deities that ignore until they can benefit from our cries in some way.”

Though Taras had retained that same indifference towards their creators, hearing it come from her bothered him greatly. He couldn’t explain why, but he felt as though at least one of them needed a moral high ground to anchor them. “So you are…faithless then?”