You like playing the slut?!

Christian POV

I pushed out of the club’s entrance, the heavy door slamming shut behind me, silencing the chaos. The guards were already waiting by the car, tension carved into their stances as they opened the back door.

I dropped her down—none too gently—her feet wobbling in those ridiculous high heels. She swayed.

I caught her chin between my fingers, forcing her to meet my eyes.

“Jesus,” I muttered darkly, leaning in, “you reek of alcohol.”

Her lips were parted, glossy and red from too much lipstick, her eyes glassy, unfocused. She looked up at me like a fucking lamb caught in the wolf’s jaws.

“Did you forget you’re someone’s wife, Elizabeth? My wife ffs! Or did you come out tonight hoping to be reminded what that means?”

She said nothing.

Smart girl.

I dragged my thumb across her bottom lip, smearing the red gloss. “You think you can flash this mouth, this body… and I’ll just look the other way?”

I smiled. Cold. Dangerous.

“Get in the car.Elizabeth”

She slid into the car without a word, the hem of her dress rising scandalously up her thighs.

Fuck! I blame myself for leaving her behind.

I slammed the door behind her, rounding the car and getting in on the other side. The door clicked shut, sealing us in with the thick silence.

She didn’t dare meet my eyes. Good.

I leaned back, elbows resting on the leather seat, studying her in the dim light of the car.

Her chest was still rising and falling, flushed from dancing, her milky thighs pressed tight together. She was trying to make herself small now, sober enough to feel the weight of my silence.

“You like playing the slut, is that it?” I said, my voice low, calm, dangerous. “Wearing that fucking dress, grinding on strangers like you didn’t have a husband.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.” I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t have to.

“You think I’d let another man look at what’s mine?” I leaned in closer, voice cold against her ear.

“Do you have any idea what they were thinking while you danced like that? Do you even fucking care?”

She flinched.

I reached over and gripped her chin again, turning her to face me. “You wanted attention? You got it. Now deal with it.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.

“Save it. I’m not interested in whatever drunk excuse you’ve got.”

I let her go roughly, and she immediately looked away, lips trembling slightly.

The air between us was thick, electric.

I dragged my eyes down her body—legs bare, dress wrinkled from moving, glitter smudged on her cheek. And still... even now, she looked fucking beautiful. And that pissed me off even more.

Because I wanted her.

Even when I was furious, maybe especially when I was furious, I still wanted her.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out a black card, and tossed it on her lap. She jumped slightly at the sound.

“Use that,” I said. “Anything you need, anything you want—clothes, shoes, whatever.”

She stared at it.

“But,” I added darkly, “if you ever go out again without telling me, especially to a fucking club, I’ll burn every store in Manhattan down before you ever get the chance to shop again. Understood?”

She nodded slowly, clearly shaken.

“Good girl.”

I turned my head away, jaw clenched, staring out the window as the car pulled off into the night.

She’d learn. She had to.

**********

The penthouse doors swung open the second we arrived.

Nana stood waiting, hands wringing nervously in front of her apron, eyes darting between me and the barely-standing woman at my side.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she said quickly. “She—she just wanted to get some air. I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” I snapped. “You let my wife leave this house looking like that?”

Nana’s face paled. “She begged, sir. I didn’t know she’d—”

“She’s reeking of tequila, sweat, and bad decisions,” I cut her off, tossing a glance at Elizabeth. She swayed in her heels, dress riding dangerously high, glitter on her cheekbones like a warning sign.

“Christian…” she mumbled, blinking up at me with that glazed look that made something in my chest twist.

Not from concern. From restraint.

I wanted to wring her out. And not gently.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, reaching to touch my arm. Her fingers missed.

I caught her wrist mid-air.

“You will be,” I said flatly. “Tomorrow morning. When your head is splitting and your dignity’s crawling back from the club floor.”

Her lip trembled.

I didn’t care.

With a sigh, I turned to Nana. “Go to bed. I’ll deal with her.”

“Yes, sir,” she muttered, bowing slightly before disappearing down the hallway.

Elizabeth looked like she might pass out right there, or start crying. Or both.

“Come on,” I muttered, before bending down and throwing her over my shoulder like a sack of trouble.

“Christian—” she gasped.

“Don’t,” I warned. My hand slid down to her bare thigh, gripping it hard. “Not a word.”

I could feel the heat of her skin, the tension in her body. Her breath was shallow. A part of her wanted to argue. Another part—smarter—knew better.

Her ass shifted against my shoulder, soft and bare beneath that ridiculous dress. I gave it a sharp slap.

She squealed.

I can’t lie a part of me love smacking her ass.

“You wear this shit and expect me to behave?” I muttered, starting up the stairs.

“You think I want other men seeing what’s mine?”

She said nothing. Just groaned softly, drunk and ashamed.

“Get comfortable, sweetheart,” I added darkly.

“Tomorrow, when your head clears and your legs start to ache, maybe you’ll remember you belong to me.”

When I reached her room, I opened the door and dropped her gently onto the bed. She rolled onto her back, eyes fluttering shut, chest rising and falling like she was trying not to cry.

I stared down at her for a long moment.

Then, quieter—colder—I said, “Sleep. You’re going to need it.”

I didn’t wait for a response.

I walked out, shutting the door behind me.

Tomorrow, the rules would change.

Permanently.