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Her bottom lip quivered. “Okay.”
“You’re sure,” I asked once more, wanting to be certain.
If she was a regular bride and I a regular groom, I wouldn’t have asked her so many times if she was okay with this. She’d told me, quite clearly, with her body that she wanted me. But Inessa had had no say in her groom, her wedding, or her honeymoon. She’d been beaten to within an inch of her life, to the extent I was pretty sure she’d had a fucking concussion and that was why she’d been quiet most of our wedding day—not from nerves like I’d first thought, or discomfort, or unhappiness. But because she was concussed.
There were times when I wouldn’t ask her in the future, when I would listen to the clear signals her body was sending me, but this time?
It was important.
This time set the scene for the rest of our lives, and for a passion this hot? No way in shit was I going to fuck things up.
“I-I’m certain.”
My only consolation here was that she was used to pain, so I was hoping taking her virginity wouldn’t be too uncomfortable for her. It boggled my mind how squeamish I was about that part.
Blood, flesh, and bone—both were aspects of my daily life.
But the thought of hurting her in that way fucked with my head.
She frowned, reached up, and her small hand cupped the back of my neck. “What is it?”
My instinct was to stay quiet, but when I didn’t reply, I saw hurt filter through her expression. “I’m concerned about your first time,” I rasped.
She licked her lips. “Don’t be.” Then she stood on tiptoe and licked mine. “I’m not.”
Blood rushed to my head, and I swept her against me at her words. Hauling her up high, I pivoted so I could press her to the counter.
When her butt hit the marble top, she squealed, and I knew that was because it was cold.
I shoved shit aside that she’d been using to cook with, and ignored the fact that her ass was also coated with flour and what looked like sugar crystals.
My focus was on the honey between her thighs.
I pushed back, saw her there, arms and legs all over the place, zero grace, zero seduction, and it worked on me better than a lap dance.
She looked vulnerable and nervous when, seconds ago, the way she’d tasted me had been pure confidence.
I wanted that back, and I was going to show her how.
I grabbed the hem of her shorts, and she lifted her hips to help me lower them to her knees.
Seeing that she wasn’t wearing any panties fucked me up even more as I saw her parted pussy lips topped with a landing strip of hair.
I reached down, rubbed my thumb over her snatch, that tiny line of hair, and rumbled, “Who did this for you?”
She swallowed, her focus on my hand, and whispered, “Someone at a salon.”
“I’ll do this for you from now on.”
Inessa laughed, and her eyes sparkled when she looked at me.
Then, when she realized I wasn’t joking, her mouth rounded into a perfect O that made my dick weep pre-cum.
“You’re not serious?” she questioned.
“I’m deadly serious. No one sees this pussy but me.”
Her mouth worked again. “That’s not practical.”
