Page 50 of Sinful Bride

There isn't.

Then, slowly, she moves.

She walks around the side of the desk, her movements stiff and mechanical. Then she sinks to her knees with a grace that's almost painful to watch and crawls into the space beneath the desk, disappearing from view of everyone except me.

The room goes very, very quiet. I can hear my own heartbeat, and the sound of Elena's breathing beneath the desk, quick and shallow. I can feel the weight of my men's stares, even though I'm not looking at them. I’m looking down at my wife kneeling under the desk, prim and elegant even as she looks at the bulge in my jeans where the cock she’s about to suck is trapped, and I can’t look away for a moment.

She’s so fucking beautiful. And I’m so hard it fucking hurts.

I clear my throat and look back at my men. "Finn, you were saying?"

Finn blinks. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. His face has gone slightly pale. Then, after a beat, he continues his report like nothing happened. His voice is steady, but I can hear the slight strain in it. He’s confused, but he’s behaving the way I’ve asked him to, because he’s loyal.

It reinforces what I’m doing. Elena is going to learn the meaning of that word today. All my other efforts have been for naught, so now we’re going to take a different path.

"Right. So the shipment is scheduled to arrive at the warehouse Thursday night around eleven. We've got the route secured, but there's been some chatter about increased police presence in that area, so we might need to adjust⁠—"

I can see the way the men are sitting now, straighter and more alert. Their eyes keep flicking to me, then away, then back again. They know what's happening. This isn't shocking to them—in the motorcycle world, displays of dominance like this aren't uncommon. I've seen it before, men asserting their power over women in public, making them perform, making them submit. I’ve known more than one club president to have his wife do exactly something like this when she stepped out of line.

But it's out of character for me. I've never been the kind of leader who flaunts his power this way, and I’ve never used a woman in this manner. I've always prided myself on being different. On treating people with respect and earning loyalty through fairness rather than fear.

I glance down at Elena. “Go on,” I say quietly, and then I refocus on my men.

Elena's hands slide up my thighs, tentative and uncertain. I feel her fingers working at my belt, fumbling slightly. She's shaking. I can feel the tremor in her touch. She's terrified and humiliated, and probably angry.

And she's never done this before.

She was a virgin when we married. She's from a traditional mafia family where women are kept sheltered and pure until marriage. And now her first time doing this—her first time with her mouth on a man's cock—is happening here, like this. As punishment. With my men sitting ten feet away, knowing exactly what she's doing.

I feel a sudden flicker of guilt as she undoes my belt. This should be something we do together in our bed, with the door locked and the lights low. Something she chooses because she wants to, not because I'm forcing her to prove her submission.

But I don't stop her. I don't tell her to get up or call this off. Because I'm a bastard, I guess, and I'm angry. I need to prove something to her, and to myself, and to my men.

And I want this, even though I know it's wrong.

My cock is aching. As she unzips my pants, her fingers grazing against my bare, straining flesh for the first time, I have to clench my jaw to keep from groaning aloud in front of my men. I didn’t think about this part when I came up with this punishment—how hard it might be to not make a sound of pleasure while Elena, the woman I’ve jerked off to more times than I can count now, my wife, touches my cock for the first time. Puts it in her mouth.

Sucks me until I come down her throat.

A pulsing throb of heat spreads through my groin, and for a moment I’m worried I might not make it long enough for this to really be a punishment for her. I draw in a breath, refocusing on what Rian is saying now about a territory dispute. This is on the verge of becoming a punishment for me as well as for her, because when she frees my cock to the open air, I can’t let out a hiss of relief. I can’t moan when her hand wraps around my shaft, her grip tentative and uncertain. She doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know how to touch me. But God, it feels fucking incredible all the same.

"Cormac," I say, somehow managing to keep my voice only slightly strained. "What about the situation with the Northside territory?"

Cormac starts talking about negotiations with another family, about territory lines and making sure everyone understands the boundaries. I hear the words but don't fully process them, because first Elena gives my cock a tentative, almost exploratory stroke… and then her mouth touches my cockhead.

Jesus Christ.

It’s been so fucking long since a woman’s mouth has been on my cock, and now it’s her. Her lips are soft and warm and hesitant. She takes me in slowly, just the head at first, her tongue sliding tentatively along the underside of my cock as she gets used to the width of it, how much space it takes up in her delicate mouth. I have to grip the arms of my chair to keep from reacting visibly. Every nerve ending in my body is screaming.

She doesn't know what she's doing. That much is painfully obvious. Her movements are uncertain and unpracticed. She takes me a little deeper and immediately gags, pulling back with a small, choked sound that makes my stomach clench with guilt and arousal in equal measure.

I hear her breathing hard beneath the desk, trying to compose herself. Trying to figure out what to do.

"Good," I manage, though I'm not sure if I'm responding to Cormac's report or to what Elena's doing. "Keep monitoring that."

She tries again, taking me in her mouth more carefully this time, not as deep. Her hand comes up to wrap around the base of my shaft, holding me steady. She starts to move, her lips sliding up and down, her tongue working tentatively against my skin. The wet heat feels like fucking heaven. She's learning, figuring it out. Adjusting her technique based on what seems to work.

And fuck, it's working. Christ, it’s fucking working; I’m having to fight not to come. It’s not a punishment if I come down her throat in five seconds. But the effort of keeping my orgasm at bay, even with the distraction of the meeting, is making this as difficult for me as it must be for her.