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“Do you consent, wife?” I gritted.
Her fingers fisted the tulles of her dress, burying her hands into the fabric. Her body was practically trembling with nerves and I almost felt sorry for her. “I’m willing,” she breathed.
“Your red lips speak beautiful lies, wife.”
She shook her head, vengefully. “No, I want this. Killian, I offer myself to you – willingly. I need this.”
I gestured toward her with the bottle. “What are you waiting for then? I don’t mind fucking you in that dress, but we both know I will ruin it and you seem quite partial to this gown.”
Advancing toward her, I slammed the whiskey bottle onto the nearest coffee table. I carelessly tugged on my tie, sliding it from my neck, and threw it somewhere on the floor. I watched as Julianna unlaced her bodice from the back, her hands clumsy and slow. Once her dress had come loose, she lowered the top, her breasts spilling out.
The moment the cool air touched her bare skin, she flinched and her fingers clenched around her dress, holding it to her stomach. Gooseflesh peppered her skin and I could see her tight nipples through her thin bra.
“Drop the dress, Julianna,” I said, my voice so deep and thick – I barely even recognized it.
Her chest heaved with a shuddering breath, before doing as she was told.
Her dress pooled at her bare feet until she was standing in front of me in only her silk bra and panties.
Something twisted in my gut and my dick twitched in my slacks, hardening at the sight of my wife, standing in front of me – offering herself to me.
Her surrender.
Her devotion.
Her undoing.
Fuck.
Julianna Spencer was so goddamn maddening.
This was twisted and utterly insane. Our whole relationship was toxic and this moment itself was proof of it.
I wanted this, even though I hated her.
Julianna needed this, even though she despised me.
I didn’t know what I expected when I came to her room, but it was definitely not me being aroused by the simple sight of her bare skin.
Her slender shoulders caved in before she took a deep breath and straightened. “I need the lights off.”
I pointed at the lavish chair beside her bed, while unbuttoning my cuff links. “Sit down, Julianna. Discard the rest of your virtue and show me how you touch yourself.”
“What?” she breathed.
“How do you touch yourself at night, wife?” I leaned back against the table, crossing my ankles. “Show me.”
I watched as Julianna swallowed, watched as she debated with herself and then finally surrendered to my demands. She limped toward the chair and took a seat.
I arched an eyebrow as I unbuttoned my black dress shirt. Her gaze lingered over my exposed skin before she slowly dragged down her panties and dropped the thin fabric beside her feet. Her bra soon followed until she was naked to my eyes, except for the masquerade mask.
Her breasts were heavy and swollen, her nipples puckering tight in the cold air. Or was it anticipation?
Her hand inched between her thighs and she quivered. I was already rock hard, my dick pushing against my slacks in a very obvious manner. Her gaze darted there for a second before she gasped and looked away.
My lips curled as her whole body flushed. “Hook your left knee over the armrest and spread yourself for me, wife. I want you to delve into your deepest desires and show me the woman behind the prim and proper façade, the expensive gowns and jewelleries.”
Her grey eyes flared. “Why? Why can’t you just–”
“I will hurt you,” I rasped. I didn’t want to have to touch her, in the way she needed to be caressed and devoured before I took her. To make this more intimate than it already was.
Me fucking her would just be… mechanical. Detached from any type of romance or intimacy. It was only my duty as her husband. Nothing more. Nothing less.
“Maybe I want it,” she shot back, nudging her chin up like a haughty princess.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for, Julianna.”
Julianna slowly brought her leg up, hooking her left knee over the armrest, just like I had ordered her to do. So vulnerable – there was beauty in surrender and it looked decadently sinful on Julianna Spencer.
In this position, spread wide open, I could see the sheen of wetness over her slit.
“Pain is subjective,” she whispered.
“I’m doing you a favor, wife. Accept it or leave it – but know this, I won’t be gentle with you. I will hurt you.”
Her fingers delved between her thighs, parting her folds. Her breath came as a sharp inhale and her legs twitched before tensing. I watched as her thumb circled her hardened nub, pinching and rolling it between her fingers.
Her arousal dripped onto the white cushion of the chair, her wetness sliding between the cleft of her ass.
