I smother a groan. Somnophilia is a favorite game of mine, but not before establishing boundaries with my new wife. Though her innocent enthusiasm last night, even while I was railing her into unconsciousness, makes me think there’s a very long list of games she’d be willing to play. She’s so sweet, she’ll be easy to persuade.
For now, I’ll let her rest. There’s work piling up, I’ll head into the office.
Still… I stay where I am, staring down at her glossy hair.
The room smells of the two of us, like sex, and sweat and sin and it’s enthralling.
I rarely had women come to mine and never into my bedroom. The thought of having my wife’s warm little body so close, so available for whenever I want her is suddenly, wildly arousing.
For now, at least. Before I send her to another one of my houses. Maybe in Nova Scotia, so she’s closer to her family.
The greedy, vicious part of me is yowling to be let loose, to rip those covers off her and bury my face between her legs and bite and lick that juicy pussy.
I shove him back into his dark corner. There’ll be time. For every filthy thing I want to do to her.
***
Afton…
I can’t do this. I can’t go downstairs.
After he’d hovered over me for a while like a ghoul, Mason silently left the room, showering and dressing in the guest bathroom.
He doesn’t want to wake me up,I think bitterly.How sweet.
Sitting up wearily, I drape the blanket across my shoulders. I’m so tired. I don’t want to get up and face this day. I don’t want to meet these cousins that he’s expecting to “keep me busy,” like I’m a toddler who needs daycare.
Then, a worse thought.
Do all these cousins know his plan? That Mason married me out of duty and intends to dump me in one of his houses? I’m not an idiot (though recent behavior might indicate otherwise) it’s not like this is a love match. This is a grim arranged marriage between two crime families.
But to realize that his kindness is actually manipulation, that he’d narrowed down my weaknesses so quickly and used them to shape my behavior… It’s humiliating. Am I really that needy, so obviously, transparently eager to please?
Bodily functions finally demand that I get up and use the bathroom, and when I return, I’m horrified to see the bloodstains on the sheets. More than I thought there should be, to be honest. Ripping the expensive cotton sheets off the mattress gives me enormous satisfaction, panting, yanking off the pillowcases and ignoring his scent. I stomp on the pile on the floor with my bare feet, picturing his smug, cruel face.
Mason’s master suite is rigidly organized and spotless, which I’d expect after my tour of the house. I’m a little surprised that he even allowed me to go to sleep before removing this messy reminder of taking my virginity from his bed and throwing it in the hamper, or burning it.
The vision of hauling the entire bundle outside and setting it aflame gives me enough energy to remake the bed after a brief search for the linen closet.
Once I’m dressed and the t-shirt he’d put me in last night is rolled up with those sheets, I try to find my next step. Eyeing my sad, single suitcase, “Well. I’m not staying in here.”
My suitcase and I find shelter in a guest bedroom down the hall. Slowly hanging up the little stash of clothes my mother packed for me, I wish I could grab my bag instead and walk out the door. Just walk out into the city and disappear.
“I’ll call Sam, he’ll make me laugh and I can get all the gossip about- damnit!” I groan, “Dad took my phone.” I have my wallet, but has he cut off all my credit cards already? This is pitiful. I was never allowed to work; I have no money of my own. Dadcarefully kept me helpless without me realizing just how far it went.
“Useless and spoiled,” he used to sneer.
“Yeah, Dad,” I murmur, “you did a great job.”
As the bleak afternoon stretches out before me, there’s a knock on my door.
“Mrs. MacTavish? This is Talon. May I open the door?”
Stalking over and opening it myself, I nearly yelp at the sight of another enormous man. What the hell are theyfeedingmen here in Scotland? Raw wolverine meat and nettles? He’s nearly as tall as Mason, with black hair and a bushy beard, dressed in a dark suit. I’d crack a joke about him looking like an undertaker, but I suspect he’s the guy who sends the bodies there.
“Is your name really Talon?”
Smooth, Afton. Great beginning.
