You've already passed that point,a bitter voice whispers in my head.You passed it when you said, "I do." When Adrian told you this was happening, and you didn't run. When you realized you had nowhere to run to.
I let the dress fall.
It pools around my feet in a waterfall of white silk and lace, leaving me in just the strapless bra and panties the stylist insisted matched the dress. Perfect for the sacrificial lamb.
Saint walks around me slowly, taking in every angle. I stand there, frozen, feeling his eyes on every inch of exposed skin. Myarms want to cover myself, but I force them to stay at my sides. If I'm going to be inspected like livestock, I'll at least maintain some dignity.
"Too thin," he says finally. "But we'll work with it."
Too thin.
Fucker. I hate him.
But I don't say anything. I know that is what he wants. I just stand there. Cold. Dead.
He's not getting my anger.
He's not getting anything.
"Get on the bed."
I turn to look at it. It's a massive four-poster monstrosity that dominates the room. Our bed. Where we'll sleep together, fuck together, create the heir that will cement this alliance.
I close my eyes, doing my best to turn off my brain, allowing my feet to move me automatically.
I sit on the edge, then lie back when Saint makes an impatient gesture. The silk sheets are cool against my overheated skin.
He kicks off his shoes, unbuckles his belt. The sound of the leather sliding through the loops makes me flinch.
"Relax," he says, not unkindly. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not really."
Not really.What a comfort.
He pushes his pants and boxer briefs down in one motion, and suddenly he's naked, and this is happening, and I can't breathe?—
His voice cuts through the panic. "Breathe."
I suck in air, force my lungs to work.
He climbs onto the bed, caging me in with his arms. "This is going to happen. Fighting it just makes it worse. So take a breath, and let's get through it."
Get through it. Like a dental appointment. Like something unpleasant but necessary.
I nod. I can do this.
His hand slides up my thigh, pushing my legs apart. No preamble. No seduction. Just efficient preparation for the main event. His fingers hook into my panties, tugging them down and off. Then he's between my thighs, his weight settling over me.
"This is going to hurt," he says, almost apologetic. "Sorry, I'm big."
I try not to roll my eyes. What a fucking blowhard. But I can't—he pushes into me, and God, it does hurt.
He is huge. Explains a lot.
I've only had sex exactly four times, all with my college boyfriend three years ago, and I'm dry, and his cock is splitting me open.
He pauses, gives me a moment to adjust, then keeps going until he's fully seated inside me.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Okay. Okay."
