I’m writhing, aching, cursing myself for the two-week break we took. If we hadn’t refrained during that time, I might not be so pitifully desperate now. I’m pathetically sensitive, embarrassingly wet. But he keeps toying with me, giving me justenough friction to bring me close to the edge, then changing his tactics, easing the pressure, shifting his attention to another spot. The ache for relief builds inside me like a glowing tower.
“Please, Beresford,” I sob. “Please.”
“Call me by my title,” he says. “Husband.”
“Yes, you’re my fucking husband. Gods… if you’re not going to fuck me, at least let me come.”
He laughs, cruelly delighted. “I could keep you squirming on this table for hours.”
“No, no,” I whimper. “If you love me, don’t do that, don’t. Let me finish myself if you won’t.” I jerk my wrist, trying to break his grip. “Let me go, you asshole.”
Beresford rises, but he continues holding me there, his big hands pinning my wrists against my thighs, keeping me wide open. His blue eyes glitter in the dark room.
“I like you like this.” His deep voice sends shivers through my cunt. “Naked, helpless, your body weeping desire for me.”
“Bastard.” I wriggle, but he only forces my thighs wider. His hips sway forward until his cock bumps my pussy. Just one maddening nudge, and then he breaks the contact.
“Get inside me, or I swear,” I hiss.
“You’ll do what, sweetheart?”
At this point, I am so tortured I’m practically murderous. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
“A bit of an overreaction, seeing as we just swore lifelong loyalty.” He rocks forward again, and this time the tip of his length slips inside me. I freeze with a dazed, hopeful gasp, but he pulls out immediately.
“Confess, wife,” he says with a smirk. “You married me for my cock.”
“I certainly prefer it to your mouth at the moment,” I retort. “Your cock doesn’t talk me to death while I’m suffering. Maybe I should have married that curly-haired fellow from the orgy—what was his name—Tavrid? He was good with his tongue.” Iwatch my husband’s face closely, noting when his smirk fades and his jaw tightens beneath the thin cloak of his beard. Finally I’m irritating him, so I keep prodding at his jealousy. “Even the priest at the wedding looked like he knew how to give a woman a good time. I’ll bet none of them would keep me waiting. Imagine Tavrid coming in here and seeing me like this… he’d be inside me and rutting my brains out before you could say ‘cuckold.’”
With a roar, Beresford slams into me like a battering ram breaching the gates of a castle. I shriek at the violence of the thrust, but it’s what I wanted. I clench around him as tightly as I can, willing him to stay inside, to live within me where he belongs.
“No one else will ever touch you,” Beresford snarls. “You’re mine.”
I give him my most rebellious look. “Prove it.”
He takes me like a man going to war for the most precious treasure he will ever own. My vision goes entirely dark except for his face, his bared teeth, his violent gaze. Everything is rock-hard muscle and surging sinew, heat so intense that we’re both sweating from the blaze of it. His hands leave my thighs and smack down against the table. I grip his shoulders and drive my nails mercilessly into the muscle, curling forward while he fucks me so that I can meet his beautiful glare with my own.
I want to command him to never torture me like that again, but at the same time, the delay took me to unimaginable heights of need. What I’m feeling now is like the roar of an army in my blood, the floodgates open between my legs, gushing my shameless desire for this man. His invasion is ruthless, monstrous, and yet my whole being greets his aggression with equal force. I’m arching my spine while he thrusts, urging him deeper.
He gathers me closer, uses me and the table for leverage, reaches a frenzied speed that scrapes the air from my lungs and leaves them dry and open, dying for the orgasm.
The pulverizing friction against my cunt achieves the final conquest. The tower inside me reaches its highest point, and then it collapses, an avalanche of ecstasy that leaves me utterly destroyed. I can barely snatch enough breath to scream. They’re short screams, sharp as arrows, and in the descending hail of them, Beresford comes inside me, releasing a battered groan, like a warrior who has finally won.
“Yes,” I gasp out, kissing his shoulder where my fingernails cut into his skin. “Yes, give me everything. I want everything that you are.”
There is no contraceptive incense, but tomorrow morning I can take the herbs my mother packed in my trunk. They’ll prevent me from conceiving with this beautiful man until I’m ready to carry his babies.
“Would they have blue hair?” I whisper.
“What?” He shifts back so he can look at me better.
“Our babies, when we have them.”
“Babies?”
“Yes. I assume you want children. Most men do.” Though as I sit here, newly married and freshly fucked, it occurs to me that we never discussed it.
We didn’t discuss a lot of things.
