“No. I’m fine. I, um… I don’t want an annulment.” My breath hitches as the rough pad of his thumb caresses my skin. “Don’t send me back,” my voice is barely above a whisper. “Please. I’ll… do whatever you want. I promise.”
Cupping my jaw, he tilts my head back until our eyes meet. He stares at me with genuine concern. It’s unnerving. Why has he gone from ruthless to caring? Is this some twisted game?
Softly, he asks, “Will you trust me? Just for tonight, I know I haven’t earned it for any longer than that—or at all. But if you put your trust in me tonight, I won’t let you down. You’re my wife and I take that responsibility seriously.”
“You won’t send me back to my father?” I need to hear him say it.
“No. I won’t send you anywhere. You’re mine.”
“Okay.” My relief is probably palpable.
“Did he—?” The Irishman cuts himself off and shakes his head as if he’s dismissing a thought. “After tonight we only have to do this a few times each month, when you’re most fertile, until we produce an heir. Maybe two.”
Children.The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind when I stepped into my sister’s place at the altar. Of course he wants children to continue his line, and we’re married now, so the sooner the better for the sake of the treaty.
I did not think this whole thing through. And it’s too late now. The room spins. I blink until I can focus again.
“That’s fair,” I say, though my voice sounds distant to my ears.
“Will you trust me for tonight, then?” He strokes my jawline.
I nod. What other choice do I have?
“Good.” Releasing me, he grabs the duvet and shakes off all the flower petals and chocolates before spreading it back on the bed. “Lie down.”
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I do as I’m told. I kick off my heels, then lie on my back in the center of the mattress. I anxiously wait for whatever he’s going to do next, and pray that it won’t cause irreparable damage.
Not that my prayers have been answered at all today.
Mama once told me how painful and humiliating this act is between a husband and his wife. How she escapes into her own mind while Papa takes her body.
I’m not at all prepared for this. I just thought I’d have more time before…
The lights switch off, plunging me into darkness. “What?—?”
“Shh, it’s okay. I don’t do this with the lights on. Just stay where you are and I’ll be there in a minute.” Rustling fabric follows his words as he undresses in the dark.
I swallow, my throat dry, attempting to get a grip on my rising panic. The mattress dips, and I push down my welling fear, replacing it with my usual steely resolve when I’m feeling afraid. His hand lands on my thigh and despite my efforts, I stiffen further.
“Relax,mo stoirín, I won’t hurt you. I’m not that kind of man.” He draws soothing circles on my skin. I’m not sure what to make of his change in behavior. Doesn't he want to hurt me? “Trust me for this moment. Give yourself to me.” His deep, gravelly voice lulls me into at least trying to relax. “That’s it. Good girl. Now touch yourself. Give yourself pleasure.”
Embarrassment courses through me. “No. I can’t.”
“You can. It’s dark. Pretend you’re alone, that my hands are yours, and you’re touching yourself.” He guides my fingers to my clit, leaving me to do the rest, as he caresses my thigh with one hand and teases my nipples with the other.
Tentatively, I do as he demands, slipping my fingers through my astonishingly wet folds to play with my clit. I can’t believe how turned on I am by all of this—byhim—I’m soaked.
Beside me, his heat sears my skin. His spicy cologne fills my nose. There’s something dangerous, but also alluring about his massive form.
I think Iwantthis. I want him. That realization subdues both my fear and resistance as I give in to the pleasurable sensations.
I circle my clit, arching my back in a silent demand for him to do more with my breasts. He reads me loud and clear. His hot mouth claims a nipple, and holy hell if it’s not the most amazing feeling ever. I whimper, pressing more firmly against him, and work myself faster.
My orgasm’s within reach one moment and gone the next, it keeps building and fading away. I grunt in frustration. I must be overstimulated, overwhelmed. If I can just?—
“Let me help you,mo stoirín.” His thick, rough fingers replace mine. They feel so good. Undulating my hips, I shamelessly ride his hand.
Yes! If I knew sex was going to be this amazing, I would have jumped on him as soon as we walked through that door. Hishands feel so much better on my body than my own. I love the roughness of his palms, the dry heat, his confidence.
