“You look perfect like this, princess,” he says coldly. “My wife as far as the public knows. But my whore in the privacy of our bedroom. That’s your place. Maybe now you’ll understand.”
They’re the final words he says to me as he fastens his pants and then walks out the room, slamming the door shut and leaving me where I am.
On his bed, bound and plugged, covered in his cum, forced to think about what he’s said. Everything that’s just happened.
ELEVEN
Ronan
I headto my office to get some work done, my body still humming with adrenaline from what just happened in the bedroom. The feel of her lips sealed around my cock. The image of her flushed and tied up. How wet her pussy was as I punished her.
All of it’s seared into my brain for good.
As it turns out, my beautiful little wife enjoys exploring in bed; she’d never admit it, but I’m excellent at reading reactions from people.
She was getting off in her own way.
I drop into the leather chair behind my desk and prop open my laptop. There’re some emails about business deals I’ve got to read through. Someone knocks at the door only seconds into my scrolling.
“Go ahead and come in.”
Oona enters, her expression tight. She’s wearing her usual cardigan and sensible shoes that are easy on her feet, her gray-blonde hair pulled back in a bun. She stops mere feet inside the doorway, folding her arms across her chest.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes.” I lean back in my chair, tapping a pen against the desk. “My wife will require some cleanup.”
Oona bristles. I see it in the way her shoulders stiffen and her mouth presses into a thin line. Her eyes narrow at me.
“What did you do to the poor girl this time?”
“Bedroom fun,” I say flatly.
She scoffs. “Jesus, Ronan. You can’t be treatin’ her like some whore off the street. She’s your wife, not a toy to be played with.”
“Simone determines how she’s treated,” I answer dismissively. “She still hasn’t learned to behave herself.”
Oona simply shakes her head again, disappointment written across her face. “Aye, well. That’s a funny way to go about it.”
Then she turns and walks out without another word.
I scowl to myself in the dim office lighting. The only sound is the ticking of the clock on the wall. Some antique from my late Grandpa Finn.
It felt good to teach Simone a lesson after what she pulled tonight. Going out without permission. Dancing with another man. Letting him touch her. She needed to understand who she belongs to.
And I knew the limit.
I knew how much she could handle. I watched her carefully the entire time—her breathing, her body language, the way she responded to every lash of the belt and my cock down her throat and the tiny plug. I emptied an entire fucking bottle of lube just to make sure the penetration was as easy as possible for her.
Certainly it was easier than taking my cock back there. That’ll require more time. More preparation.
But she thoroughly enjoyed herself the entire time.
She was dripping wet. Her pupils were dilated, widened by lust. She had a flushed look about her, like she was completely turned on. The sounds she made—the whimpers, the moans, the heavy breaths—weren’t faked.
We have a deep sexual attraction to each other. That much is undeniable. But it’s intensified by our shared hatred.
The anger, the resentment, the constant power struggle—it all feeds into it.
