Because I couldn't pull the trigger when I saw that woman and child in the car with Brennan.
And now Maeve is paying the price for my failure. Saddled with a husband who doesn't know how to be gentle, who doesn'tknow how to be anything other than what the Council made him. A weapon. A tool. The Wolf of Dublin.
Not a man who deserves a wife like her.
I should have just done it. Should have gritted my teeth and pushed through, consummated the marriage like I was supposed to. It would have hurt her, badly even—Christ, I'm too big for someone so small and inexperienced—but it would have been over. Done. We could have moved on.
But when I touched her, when I felt how tense she was, how terrified…
I couldn't do it.
I've killed men without hesitation. Pulled the trigger, slit throats, broken bones. I've done things that would make most people sick. But I couldn't force myself on a frightened girl who was shaking so hard I could feel it through the bed.
Even if she is my wife.
Even if the Council expects it.
Even if every instinct I have is screaming at me to go back to that room and claim what's mine.
Mine.
The word echoes in my head, dark and possessive and wrong. She's not mine. Not really. She's a punishment. An obligation. A burden I never wanted.
So why does the thought of anyone else touching her make me want to commit murder? If the Council finds out I didn’t follow orders, that I didn’t fuck her tonight, I’ll end up with a bullet in my brain, and she’ll be given to someone else. Just the thought makes me feel as if every muscle is wound tight, like I’m going to come out of my skin and turn into the beast they’ve nicknamed me. I’m clenching my fists so hard I can feel my fingers digging into my flesh, and my jaw aches from clenching it so tightly.
She’s not going to anyone else. But neither can I finish what I tried to start tonight.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. My cock is still half-hard, pressing uncomfortably against my trousers. The arousal hasn't faded, even after the disaster in that hotel suite. Even after seeing the tears on her face, the fear in her eyes.
If anything, it's worse now. And that makes me hate myself even more.
I know what she looks like under that nightgown, at least the sweet, small, tight pussy that I was supposed to fuck tonight. I know the soft outer curve of her breasts and the shape of them under silk, the pale skin of her inner thighs, how fucking soft she was under my hands when I spread her legs apart. I know the sweet, musky scent of her, the way she gasped when I touched her most intimate flesh for the first time. I know what her clit feels like under my fingertips.
I know that she's not wearing anything under that silk.
"Fuck," I mutter, my hand moving to the front of my trousers before I can stop myself.
This is wrong. So fucking wrong. I should be thinking about how to fix this mess, how to make this marriage work without destroying her in the process. Should be planning how to protect her from Connor, from the Council, from every other threat in her life.
Instead, I can’t stop thinking about the way her body would feel under mine. The sounds she'd make if I took my time with her, if I made her want it instead of forcing her to endure it.
I undo my zipper with my good hand, the other one throbbing as I move. My trousers are open a moment later, and I'm palming myself through my boxers, already rock-hard again just from the memory of her.
I should stop. But I can’t.
I shove my boxers down and wrap my hand around my cock, hissing at the contact. I'm so hard it hurts, my body demanding a release I denied it earlier. Demanding her.
I close my eyes and let myself imagine it. Let myself picture what would have happened if she hadn't been so scared. If I'd been able to get her wet and ready for me. If she hadn’t been terrified at the idea of me going down on her. I imagine running my tongue up the length of her small, tight slit. Up to her clit, teasing and licking it until it’s hard and pulsing for me. My cock throbs in my hand as I slide my fist up and down, my breath coming in quick, hard pants as I imagine her splaying her thighs wider, hearing her small, mewling moans as she experiences what it’s like to have a man’s tongue on her pussy for the first time.
Christ,I never thought I’d be turned on by a virgin. But the thought that no one else has touched her, tasted her, that I’d be giving her every sensation for the first time… it makes me hard as fucking rock, my entire body aching with the desire to make it a reality. The thought of teaching her what I like, of guiding her rosy mouth over my cock, instructing her how to suck me, how to take me… pre-cum leaks and drips from my swollen tip at the thought, pushing me close to the edge.
I’d have worked her open with my fingers, one at a time, until she could take me. Made her come once with my tongue and fingers, andfuck, if the thought of giving her her first orgasm doesn’t make my balls tighten, my body tense and ready to explode at the thought of seeing the awestruck pleasure on her face at discovering the sweet release I could give her.
And then…
Then I'd have pushed inside her. Slowly. Carefully. Watching her face as I took her virginity, as I made her mine. She’d be so fucking tight. So perfect. Opening up for me and only me, her body shaped to the length of my cock, only evermine.
My hand moves faster, my breathing harsh in the quiet room. I can almost feel it—the tight, wet heat of her. The way she'd clench around me, her body struggling to accommodate my size. The little gasps and whimpers she'd make as I filled her completely.
