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I brace one hand against the marble counter, wrap the other around my cock, and start to stroke.

The relief is overwhelming. I let my head drop forward, my eyes closing, my breath coming faster as I glide my hand over my shaft, dripping enough pre-cum from the torment of tonight to make it slick. I'm not trying to draw this out. I just need to come, release some of this tension before it drives me insane. My head is full of thoughts of Oksana, my wife, a montage of images of her in every state of undress, her skin under my hands and mouth, her body tied up in my playroom, her skin reddened with marks, her pussy dripping, her mouth and hands and tight pussy around my cock.

My grip tightens. My hips rock forward into my fist. I'm close already, the pressure building at the base of my spine, my balls drawing up tight. I'm so lost in the pleasure, the need, that I don't hear anything until I feel the sudden sensation of being watched.

I open my eyes and look up at the mirror.

Oksana is standing in the doorway.

For a second, I freeze. My hand stills on my cock, my entire body going rigid with sudden embarrassment. I've never been one to be embarrassed about anything sexual, and I did this to avoid burdening her with my desire—but I still feel a jolt of the emotion at being caught by my wife jerking off on our wedding night.

But mixed with that is a flood of lust, my cock jerking in my hand at the sight of my wife standing there. She looks so fucking beautiful. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted, her face flushed. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, tangled from sleep.

She doesn't look away. Neither do I. We stare at each other in the mirror, the moment stretching out, and I see the moment her shock shifts into something else. Her pupils dilate, and her breathing quickens. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

She's not horrified or disgusted. She's turned on.

"Oksana," I murmur. "You should go back to bed."

She doesn't move. "I heard you," she says softly. "I thought... I thought something might be wrong," she whispers, but I can tell she's lying from the flush of heat that crawls up her neck. She knew what I was doing, and she was curious. My cock jerks again at the thought.

"Nothing's wrong." I force myself to let go of my cock, and turn around and face her properly. My erection juts out obscenely from my body, hard and flushed and aching, and I don't bother trying to hide it. "I just couldn't sleep."

Her gaze drops to my cock, then back up to my face. "Because of me."

"Yeah." I let out a sharp breath. "I just needed to take the edge off."

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean to—I know I said I wasn't feeling well, and I wasn't lying; I just⁠—"

"Oksana." I cross the space between us, cupping her face in my hands, tilting her head up so she has to look at me. "You don't have to apologize. You don't owe me anything. If you're not feeling well, then you're not feeling well. I can take care of myself."

"But you shouldn't have to." Her hands come up to rest on my chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of my T-shirt. "Not on our wedding night."

"It's fine⁠—"

"It's not fine." She looks up at me, her eyes bright. "I'm your wife, Cormac. I want to take care of you."

My breath catches. "You don't have to⁠—"

"I know." She slides her hand down my chest, over my stomach, and wraps her fingers around my cock. "I want to."

I groan, my hips jerking forward into her grip. "Christ, Oksana..."

She strokes me slowly, her touch light and teasing, and I can feel my control starting to slip. I should stop this. I should take her back to bed, let her rest, be the considerate husband I'm supposed to be.

But I don't want to be considerate right now. I want to fuck my wife.

"Oksana," I mutter, my voice dropping to a growl. "If you keep doing that, I'm not going to be able to stop."

"Good." She strokes me again, her thumb swiping over the head of my cock, spreading the pre-cum dripping from it. "I don't want you to stop."

That's all the permission I need. I grab her by the back of the neck and turn her sharply, unable to even stop long enough to get us back to the bed. My cock is throbbing, aching, and it's all I can do to remind myself that I have to last long enough to make her come, too. I pull her in for a hot, lustful kiss, pushing her hand away from my shaft as I do. "Don't touch me," I growl against her lips. "I was close before you walked in. Give me a minute, so I can fuck you properly."

She moans against my mouth, and I grab her by the hips and lift her onto the marble counter, stepping between her legs, my hands already working at the tie of her robe. She gasps, her hands flying up to grip my shoulders, and I yank the robe open, exposing her body to my gaze.

Silk and lace greet me, and I groan, pushing the straps of the bralette off of her shoulders along with the robe, so that the silk falls down to expose her breasts. "Fuck," I breathe, my hands moving over her skin, cupping her breasts, thumbing her nipples until they harden into tight peaks. "You're so fucking beautiful."

She arches into my touch, her head falling back against the mirror, her legs spreading wider. "Cormac..."