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Kassiani hated it when she disappointed him. She hated it even more when he hurt her, but she’d come to crave time with him. Truthfully, her day only really began once she saw him. The only hours that were important were the hours with him, and the only hours she felt truly alive were the hours in his company. Was that normal?
What was this terrible need she felt for him?
Kassiani slid her hands under his shirt, relishing the texture of his hot skin. She wanted her mouth on him. All of him. She wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go. Damen leaned her back against the marble counter, exposing her neck and throat. His lips traveled the length of her jaw, lighting fire beneath her skin. She whimpered, and whimpered again as his teeth scraped a sensitive place on her neck that made her desperate for more. Her whimpers always stirred him, and he growled against her throat, his hips pressing against hers, and then his knee was between her thighs, his knee grinding against her, driving her wild.
She felt wild now.
“Security cameras,” he panted, peeling away from her to go punch buttons into a box on the wall. “Don’t need to give everyone a show.”
She smiled, answering breathlessly, “It would be a good show.”
“You are shocking.”
“But you like it,” she flashed, as he closed the kitchen door, locking it before returning to her side. “You like that I can’t get enough of you.”
They made love on the marble island counter. Damen took her in so many different ways. Kass prayed the kitchen was soundproof because tonight he took advantage of those jars of olives and the accompanying olive oil to feast off her, dribbling the oil across her breasts and down her tummy to her thighs. After he made her come with his mouth, the oil became a massage, and then a lubricant and used for an exploration of her most sensitive, private places. Each orgasm was more intense than the last, and the pleasure so overwhelming that there were moments where she thought she would break down and cry, and she did end up crying after the last orgasm, the intensity of the intimacy making tears fall. She didn’t even know why she was crying, only that she felt spent, and turned inside out. Her body didn’t hurt, but she felt him everywhere even now when he wasn’t in her. She felt his imprint and felt his possession and so the tears came and she tried to hide them from him, but he gathered her to him and held her, her body slippery and shuddering against his.
“I’ll get oil all over you,” she choked.
“I already have oil all over me.”
“We’re a mess.”
“Chef is going to have to sanitize this center island tomorrow.”
She laughed unsteadily and Damen used the pads of his thumbs to wipe beneath her eyes.
“I think I push you too far,” he said, drawing her back against him so that her head rested against his chest. “I fear I am too much for you sometimes.”
“You haven’t broken me.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said hoarsely. “That’s the last thing I would ever want to do to you.”
She lifted her head to look up at him. “But you like the forbidden.”
“This is true.”
“So how far is too far?”
“That is up to you. I suppose I push you to see where you will draw the line.”
“I don’t want to draw lines between us. I don’t want walls and boundaries. I want to trust you,” she said softly, breathing in the scent of his skin, nearly always comforted by his nearness and the warmth of his skin. It was in these moments where she could hear his heart, and feel him relax, that she felt most comfortable, and safe.
Despite the unpredictable quality of the lovemaking, Damen felt like hers, and he still felt like home, and she couldn’t remember a time, or place, or person who had felt like home...until now.
She kissed the side of his neck, and then the upper plane of his chest. “My goal is to trust you,” she whispered, “so you can also trust me.”
She felt him stiffen and she loosened her arms, but didn’t let him go.
His hands smoothed over her arms, a caress to her upper arm, before carefully, deliberately peeling her hands away from his shoulders. “Do not take this the wrong way, but it will be years before I trust you. I find trust a very difficult thing. It’s why when I find the right staff, I keep them. I pay them well and reward their loyalty because it’s vital I retain them. Turnover makes me uneasy. I like to know who is true.”
“Then I hope you will discover that I can be trusted, and not because I am your wife but because I care about you.”
He let her hands fall and he pulled away, taking several steps back, putting distance between them. His features hardened, his expression had shuttered. “I don’t need those words. I don’t respond to those words. I would prefer not to say things like that in the future. If you don’t mind.”
Kassiani blinked, confused. “I don’t understand.”
His broad shoulders twisted carelessly. “I don’t trust strangers. I don’t trust people in general. And I most of all do not trust words. Your actions will matter to me more than anything you can say. So please do not use words of affection here. Don’t say I care for you. I don’t believe it. I will never believe it. Just show me with your actions that you are a loyal wife, and with time your actions will reveal the truth.”
A knot formed in her throat, matching the knot in her chest. His voice had become brittle and icy cold. His features looked as if they’d been carved from stone. This harsh, unfeeling man frightened her a hundred times more than their edgy sex games.
When he spoke so disparagingly about love and affection, it made the fine hair on her nape rise, and her stomach cramp, and her survival instinct scream at her to run. But run where? Go where? He wasn’t a date. He wasn’t a boyfriend. He was her husband. She had to make this work. She had to find a middle ground. “We have been spending a lot of time together,” she said quietly, calmly, trying to keep her voice even and reasonable. “It’s only natural that I will develop feelings—”
“No,” he interrupted sharply. His jaw flexed, his body tensed. “No,” he repeated more quietly. “Feelings are not natural to me. I find ‘feelings’ suspect, particularly any that you might have for me. Why would you have feelings for me? I don’t give you affection. I am not tender in bed. I use you as I use my mistresses. I’m hard, and demanding, and when I take you I...”
She flinched at his words, but refused to look away.
“I warned you that first night. I said I was hard. I am hard. And it gives me pleasure to be ruthless. It turns me on—”
“Yes, I know. You’ve made that abundantly clear,” she said coolly, impatiently, masking her frustration and hurt. “But just because you like sex a certain way doesn’t make you a bad person.”
“But I am a bad person.”
“I’m sorry, but I see no evidence of that, anywhere.”
“Oh, no?” he retorted, in that deep, rough, unapologetic voice, before running his hand across the firm, carved plane of his chest, sweeping the sheen of oil lower, over his chiseled abdomen, and then down to his cock, which was thick and hard and fully erect. “Would a tender groom do this? Would he enjoy shocking his bride? Wouldn’t a good man try to be a gentleman in front of his bride?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t really care. What I care about is you, and me, and you don’t intimidate me, and you don’t threaten me. You’re my husband.”
