I would wonder if he likes me, but there’s one thing stopping me from thinking that. The wholewhiny wifething. Which he clarified he didn’t think that I’m the complaining type, which was nice. But still, there’s something that makes me think that he sees me as a duty. Like he’s obligated to take care of me because I’m going to be his wife.
There’s nothing more I hate than someone acting out of obligation. Especially something like loving or taking care of me.
He’s distant, too. Which I suppose makes sense, we’re just getting to know each other, after all. It’s not like he’s going to wear his heart on his sleeve. But there’s something about his cold attitude that makes me think he doesn’t actually like me, not really. Like he’s hiding something when it comes to me, something just under the surface. Perhaps he likes using me to one-up my grandfather, or he likes the idea of having a wife to show off or something, but I don’t know that he really likesme.
It’s a strange situation. One I’m not really sure I’ll figure out for the time being. He seems like a thoughtful man, and he’s certainly able to read me better than most. But I don’t know. Everything is still so new and terrifying. It’s possible that the trauma I endured is coloring everything. But it’s hard not to see everything through those lenses. That trauma is my world now.
And, considering Mr. Alasdair is a major part of this world, how could he not be colored by it, too?
Still, my monkey brain, the damn thing, doesn’t seem to care about those reasons. It leads my thoughts back to his soft touch, and, with just a little imagination, I can picture his gaze being more heated, his hand on my cheek drifting down to my neck, which he grips with a firmness while still being gentle.
In my imagination, he doesn’t need to say anything. His eyes tell me everything I need to know. And when his lips crash against mine in this little daydream of mine, I let my hand wander down between my legs, slipping under the waistband of my pajamas and gasping as I find myself already wet, just at the thought of him.
In my head, he’s quick to put me up on a counter and step between my legs, grinding himself against me to show me just how much he wants me. It’s thick and long, and already hard just from knowing he gets to have me.
He’s practically frenzied as he strips off my clothes and sinks into my heat. I imagine this just as I plunge my own fingers into my slit, trying to mimic what’s happening in my daydream as much as I can with little to work with. I suck in a ragged breath as I match his imaginary pace with my fingers, the other hand trailing down there too to circle my clit.
It doesn’t take me long to come, not when I’m picturing him whispering sweet praises in my ear, groaning and telling me how good I feel.
I stare up at the ceiling afterwards, trying to catch my breath.Well, shit. I just did that.Maybe fantasizing about him like this isn’t the best idea. Not when I feel like it could open up feelings in me that could be exploited. I don’t want to create a blindspot towards him, that would be the dumbest thing I’ve done yet. But, yet again, the animal part of my brainandmy body don’t seem to care. They want him, and that’s all that matters to them.
I mull over what I’m going to do with myself and basking with the happy feelings in the afterglow of my orgasm. I don’t even realize I’m drifting off, until I wake up in the middle of the night with the tv still on and a crick in my neck. I rub at the tense muscle as I get up, turning off the tv and going to the bathroom before collapsing back in bed.
I wake up late the next morning, my head feeling heavy and my body weighed down, like it’s overencumbered in a video game. I take things slow, putting on some fresh clothes and rummaging through what minimal drinks and food I have left. It’s pretty sparse, so I’ll have to order some room service.
I’m looking over the menu when there’s a knock at the door. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever’s to come. Who knows what’s on the other side of that door.
Thankfully, no one familiar is there when I peek through the peephole. It looks like hotel workers, with carts full of food, even though I haven’t ordered any room service yet.
I prepare myself to be seen in my comfy clothes, not that the workers care, but still, my social anxiety seems to. As I open the door, I’m almost prepared for them to realize they’re in the wrong room, but instead they smile widely and ask if I’m Ms. Astero.
They bring in a beautiful spread of pastries, eggs, sausages, bacon, and fruit. There’s also all sorts of drinks. Everything from orange juice to sodas, but most notably, several bottles of white wine.
He didn’t need to leave a note saying it’s from him. Clearly, the Irish Demon decided to play around with his husbandly duties today. I’d be annoyed that he’s acting so casual with this, like it’s almost meaningless for him to be so kind and sweet, but frankly, I’m too relieved to be bothered. I don’t have to make the call this way, I don’t have to worry about my grandparents being mad about the room bill, and there’s so many goodies here that I’m going to really enjoy.
I don’t realize how hungry I am until I start eating. I practically inhale the deliciousness, and once I finish, I text my mother. Screw it. She’s going to be upset that I didn’t just call her, but I don’t care anymore.
Hey Mom. Something happened that you should know about.
I’m dreading her reaction. My fingers tighten on the phone as I see the icon light up that tells me she’s read the text, and then those three dots that indicate she’s typing.
What happened, Amy? You’re worrying me with a text like that.
My fingers tremble slightly as I type out my answer.
My grandparents arranged a marriage for me. I don’t have much of a choice. He’s another member of their…business.
Thirty seconds later, she’s calling me. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the shrieking. “Hi, Mom.”
“What do youmeanthey arranged amarriagefor you?!” Her voice is shrill in my ear.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. Dad has gambling debt. This guy is…he’s threatening them, Mom. He’s threateningallof us, leveraging the debt against us. If he marries me, he gets access to this dock that Grandpa Astero has access to. But the dock owner only wants to work with our family. So…he wants access, via marriage. To me.”
There’s silence on the other side of the line for a moment. “Oh, god, Amy…that’s…my god. What are we going to do? We could…I mean, the police…”
“Do you really think that’s wise?” I chew on the inside of my cheek.
She scoffs. “What’s the alternative? You actually go through with marrying him?”
