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Scar closed the door behind him with a resounding thud that echoed through my bones as I set my champagne on the nightstand. Closing us into the bedroom where all my transformations had happened, the space that had seen me turn from a broken woman to the phoenix who could worship her husband’s cock without feeling an ounce of regret, surrounded me. It was home.
Hewas home.
And I never wanted to leave the sanctuary we’d created together.
He shoved off the wood of the door, prowling toward me slowly until he came to a full stop with the tips of his shoes touching the pointed toes of my stilettos. Raising a hand, he picked up a single lock of raven hair from where it rested against my dress.
“Kneel, wife,” he growled, the command in that deep bass voice of his sinking into my pores. He slithered inside me, reaching all the parts of me that I’d worked so hard to disguise from the world.
But those pieces of me were safe with him, safe to be his little “slut” while understanding that the word didn’t mean I was promiscuous or dirty.
It just meant I was his, and I would do anything he told me to; I’d be a slut for him only.
The rest of the world could go to Hell.
I dropped to my knees in front of him, resting my hands against the tops of my thighs and staring up at him while I waited for him to tell me what he wanted.
There were so many ways we could spend our wedding night, the options ran through me in a torrent.
“Just in case you started to wonder if this made us equals,” he said, touching his thumb to my bottom lip. I opened, letting him sink the tip inside and press down on my tongue. “Always remember that you are so much more than I could ever dream to be, Butterfly.”
The words washed over me, bathing me in the sweet contradiction of our lives. It was me on my knees, but it was him who worshiped me outside of the way he fucked me.
I gave him what no one else could—a body he could use and degrade without guilt or remorse. A body he could touch and that could touch him without causing his trauma to interfere.
I gave him love when he didn’t think he was worthy.
“Open,” he said, making me drop my mouth open immediately. He stared into the void, into the blackness of my throat, and leaned down over me. Using a harsh grip at the front of my neck, he tipped my chin up further as he grabbed the glass of champagne I’d deposited on the nightstand.
He tipped the glass into his mouth, drawing a sip of the bubbly liquid before he spit it into mine. I swallowed greedily, taking it into my stomach.
He tipped the glass over my mouth, pouring a steady stream into my throat as I worked to swallow it down. Some of it splashed onto my blouse, the sticky fluid staining the white fabric and seeping through to touch my skin beneath it.
He leaned over me, sweeping his tongue inside my mouth to taste the champagne from inside of me before depositing the glass back on the nightstand. When he drew back, he dropped his hands to the belt at his waist and undid the buckle. He pulled it free from the loops on his slacks, snapping the leather in front of my face as my pulse started to race. His eyes were hard as he watched me fumble, sweeping my hair up into one hand so that he could drape the belt over the back of my neck.
It fell in a curtain over the strap touching my skin when he released it, shifting his hands to the front to feed the belt through the buckle. He pulled it tight, the leather pressing into the front of my throat as it restricted my breathing.
I stayed still, letting him drape the end down to rest between my breasts. He took the last sip of champagne from my glass, watching me and seeming in no hurry to put me out of my misery. The heels of my stilettos dug into my ass, the bite of leather at my throat driving my anxiety higher and higher as I waited for Scar to decide what to do with me.
Stripping off his suit jacket, he tossed it onto the chair by the bed.
His hand eventually went back to the button and fly of his pants, opening them and pulling himself free. He hung in front of my face, his cock hard and heavy already from just the sight of me on my knees for him.
Grabbing me by the belt around my throat, he pulled it tighter and used it to yank me toward him. The head of his cock pressed against my mouth as he rubbed my face all over it. “Open your fucking mouth,” he groaned, tugging on the belt until I couldn’t breathe.
The moment my lips parted, Scar surged inside and struck the back of my throat. Holding there, he moaned before finally releasing me and easing up the pressure on my throat.
His eyes connected with mine and held them, searching for any hint that he’d crossed a line in what I could tolerate. Whatever he found there, he used that belt to tug me onto his cock again and again, thrusting in and out of my mouth so harshly that I thought I would suffocate.
“Fuck,” he growled, pulling free and lifting me to my feet. He tore my blouse down the center, making quick work of stripping me out of all of my clothes until I was naked in front of him.
His hands landed at my waist, lifting me and tossing me onto my back on the bed. I watched, tormented, as he stripped off the rest of his clothing and prowled between my legs.
His face dropped to my pussy, the vibration of his growl rumbling through me the moment his mouth touched my lips. He shook his head from side to side, devouring me as if he could take his last breath with his face buried between my thighs.
Taking the leather belt in one hand, he used the other to shove one of my legs up and out, lifting my knee high to give him a better angle. His tongue touched my entrance, sinking lower until it skimmed against the part of me that shouldn’t be touched like that.
“Scar,” I protested, my voice trailing off into a squeal as I tried to shift away from his invading mouth.
“There’s still one part of you that isn’t mine yet. That’s unacceptable, wife,” he said, sliding a finger inside my pussy.
I swallowed, pinching my eyes closed as his finger drifted lower and pressed against the ring of muscle that clenched against his intrusion.
Oh fuck no.
