In the handful of hours since he stepped into my world, he’s fucked me twice, threatened to spank me, and told me I’m his wife and that we’re together whether I like it or not, and I’m not scared. I’m not panicking, or running, or calling the cops. I have the means of raising the alarm. I have my cell. We’re in Rockhead Point, less than a mile from the Barnetts’ home. I could run, and I might even get away, but the thought of escaping hasn’t even crossed my mind.
“Let me show you the rest of the house, and then you can start picking furniture,” he says, lifting me off his lap and lowering me to my feet.
Taking my hand in his, he leads me across the huge open-plan living space and into a mudroom, a laundry room, and a garage. Upstairs, he gestures to our room, then guides me up a second set of stairs and shows me the four bedrooms and bathrooms on the top floor.
I follow him back down to the ground floor and let him tow me to a closed door. When he opens it, I gasp. The room is the gothic arcade of my dreams. The walls are wood paneling painted black. The floor is the same white marble tile as the rest of the living area, but there’s a huge black-and-white fluffy rug covering most of the open floor. Pushed against the walls on three sides are vintage arcade games, pinball machines, a foosball table, an air hockey table, and several other unfamiliar things that my fingers are twitching with the urge to explore. Every single machine is gothic themed in one way or another, even down to the little dudes on the foosball table being Frankenstein characters on one team, and Wolfman characters on the other, while the pitch is painted to look like a graveyard.
“Why? How?” I whisper in awe.
“Welcome home, Doll,” he says simply, like this is no big deal.
Spinning around to look at him, I fling an arm out behind me. “I don’t understand.”
“Do you like it?” he asks, and for the first time, his usually indifferent expression slips.
“Like it? I love it. It’s…no one has ever. How did you know?”
“You took your landlord to court over an Addams Family pinball machine,” he says simply.
At the reminder of my beautiful pinball machine being smashed to pieces, some of my excitement dims. “I can’t believe…it’s…thank you,” I whisper, pushing up onto my tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his lips.
The moment my lips make contact with his, he jerks like I’ve startled him, and for a moment, I worry I’ve done something wrong. Just as I’m about to pull back and apologize, his huge hand curls around the back of my head, and he pins me in place, kissing me like he’s been waiting to do it his entire life.
I’ve kissed a lot of boys and a couple of girls, but I’ve never been kissed like this before. Knight’s kiss is all-consuming. His lips are soft and full and dominating. I might have started the kiss, but he is firmly in control now, turning my head how he wants me. Holding me in place, he devours my mouth while his free hand slips beneath his shirt, curving beneath my butt to lift me off the ground, holding me like I weigh nothing.
I can feel his hard cock through the thin fabric of his boxers, but despite my half-nakedness and how easy it would be to free his dick and push into me, he just kisses me, like it’s all he wants, all he needs.
Melting into him, I realize this is all I want and need too. I’m wet, and if he were to slip inside of me, I wouldn’t complain, but I’m more than happy to just kiss him, because his mouth on mine is divine.
After we kiss for what feels like hours, Knight eventually lowers me to my feet, cupping my bare ass with his huge paw-like hand. “Kissing you is addictive, Wife,” he says, his voice gravelly and rough.
“I’m not—” I start.
A stinging pain radiates from my ass cheek as his palm swats at me.
“Addictive,” he says, a devious smile tipping the corners of his lips. “What do you want to play with first?”
“You,” I silently say inside my head.
When he swats me again, I lurch forward with a squeak, reaching back to protect my ass from his spanky hand.
“Adding it to the list,” he says quietly.
“What list?” I question.
“I have a list of all the things I want to do with you,” he answers honestly.
“You have a…what?”
“A list,” he says again, his tone neutral.
“Wait, you have a sex TBR for me?” I splutter.
“What is a TBR?” he questions.
“To be read,” I say, waving away his question.
“I don’t want to read you,” he starts. “Unless you were naked, then I think I’d enjoy reading from your bare body.”
