Turning to face me, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Start talking,” he growled.
“F*ck you!” I fired back.
Damien stalked toward me till I was pressed against the wall. Towering over me, he used both hands to cup my jaw, tilting my head back. “Start talking,” he repeated with more emphasis. “Or I take off my belt.”
My jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t dare! I’ll scream for Dimitri and Vaska!”
“Go ahead. Cry out for help. I dare you,” he challenged. His dark eyes glittered with rage.
Breaking free, I fell several steps back till I was within arm’s reach of the canvas equipment cart.
Placing it between him and me, I shouted, “I don’t want to marry you!”
Not like this, my heart screamed.
The truth was I did want to marry him. I just wanted to know he was marrying me for me and not for some sense of obligation to protect me, or male pride.
“I got some bad news for you, my malen’kiy padshiy angel. You will marry me if I have to toss you over my shoulder and drag you in front of that judge.”
Reaching into the cart for one of the padded pugil sticks, I grabbed the red one.
Arching an eyebrow, he asked, “You really want to do this?”
I adjusted my grip on the pugil stick and held it defensively in front of me.
Damien whipped his belt off and tossed it aside. He then ripped off his black t-shirt. Oh God. He really was magnificent. All toned muscle and brightly colored tattoos. They ran up his arms and shoulders before creeping up his neck. Twisting and writhing images of mythical beasts, strange symbols, and even flowers. His black cargo pants hung low on his hips, emphasizing his flat, muscled abdomen. I could see the press of his already hard cock against his inner thigh.
Swallowing, I ignored the sick twist of my stomach.
Raising my chin, I challenged, “Bring it on.”