The wedding night comes to an end, and you're alone in his bedroom.

He enters without knocking, moving with silent grace across the marble floor. You stand frozen as he approaches, his presence overwhelming the spacious room.

"Strip," he says, voice low and commanding.

Your hands tremble as you reach for the zipper of your dress. He doesn't look away, his gaze burning into your skin like a physical touch.

When the dress falls to the floor, he steps closer, his fingers brushing your jaw. "Look at me," he demands.

Your eyes meet his, and you see the hunger there—raw, unfiltered, dangerous.

He pushes you backward onto the bed, following immediately, his body pressing against yours. "You belong to me now," he whispers against your neck.

His hands grip your wrists, pinning them above your head as his lips find yours in a brutal kiss that leaves you breathless.

"Do you understand what that means?" he growls when he pulls away, his fingers tightening on your wrists. "Every part of you is mine. To touch, to taste, to take—whenever I want."

You try to speak, but he cuts you off with another kiss, harder than before.

"And I want you," he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. "Right now."

His hand slides between your legs, and you gasp as his fingers find you already wet for him.

"You want this too," he says, a smirk in his voice. "Don't pretend you don't."

He pushes a finger inside you, and you arch your back involuntarily. "Say it," he demands, adding a second finger and pumping them slowly.

"Say you want me to fuck you."

Your resolve crumbles, and you whimper the words he wants to hear.

He smiles against your skin. "Good girl."

His fingers leave you, and you hear the sound of his belt buckle. Then he's inside you, filling you completely in one thrust.

"Mine," he growls, setting a brutal pace. "All mine."

And as he takes you, you can't help but think—you may have married him to save your family... but now you're not sure who's saving whom.