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Lustful.
It’s the only way to describe his gaze. I look down, unsure what to say to his generosity. The sparkling gold wedding band on my finger catches my attention, reminding me I’m now his.
“Come on, Layla,” he whispers softly.
Alaric takes my hand and leads me up the grand staircase. I notice that each step is cushioned as nerves fill me. He doesn’t speak, but the hungry looks he keeps throwing my way leave no question about his intentions.
He plans to consummate the marriage, to take his wife.
To fuck me.
Surprisingly, I’m not against the idea. My pussy clenches at the thought, and I get wet, embarrassingly so, until each step has my drenched panties rubbing against my sensitive pussy. I may not know everything about this man, but there’s time. I tell myself it’s only like a one-night stand or a fling. Even though it’s a lie, the premise is the same. People fuck strangers all the time, so why can’t I? This stranger just happens to be my husband.
When we finally get to the top, I’m trying to control my heavy breathing. He spares me a considering look, his lips parting as his eyes run down my body before he turns and practically drags me down to a set of double doors at the end of the hall. They are partially open, and I barely have a moment to notice the wood is decorated with orange designs and golden handles before I’m rushed inside.
A hand cradles the back of my head, and in the darkness of the room, Alaric towers above me. He commands my obedience as he steps closer, pressing his hard body to every inch of my soft frame. The slip dress doesn’t give me much protection from him in his tux, and he looks dangerous and sexy as hell.
“Little Layla,” he coos. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment for a very long time, imagining you in my bed with your nails in my back and your pussy wrapped around my cock.”
I gasp at his words, almost recoiling at how forward he’s being. Up until now, he’s been tame, but it seems with the marriage completed, he’s not holding back anymore. No one speaks like that, but he doesn’t allow my retreat. He stares into my eyes as he surges ahead.
“I’ve spent a lot of time imagining fucking you and making you mine, and now you are. You’re my wife . . . but I won’t force you.” He drops his hand and wanders away. I follow him like a moth to a flame, watching him wordlessly. My mouth feels dry, and my thighs clench together, hoping he doesn’t notice my desire for him.
My husband.
The thought repeats in my head.
“I don’t take what isn’t mine.” He looks over his shoulder at me. “So know this, I can sleep at your side tonight, and I won’t touch you. But if you step into this room and look at me with those big fuck me eyes one more time, I’ll throw you on our new bed and have you. I’ll lick and taste every inch of that delicious body until you scream my name. I’ll fuck you all night, Layla, until you can barely walk, until you know exactly whom you belong to. It’s your choice.” He disappears into another open doorway to the left, leaving me gaping after him.
He’s . . . letting me choose?
The shy part of me demands I go sleep in Zoey’s bed, but that’s a child’s fear. Because me, Layla, the adult who just married this rich, dangerous stranger really wants to take him up on his offer, on the promise in his dark voice. I want to see what lies behind that tux and find out if sex with him is as really as good as he stated.
I step after him hesitantly, holding the side of the dress with one hand, gripping the material for courage. Can I really do this? He’s my husband, that’s legal and true, but can I take him in every way he demands? Can I let him into my body when he’s already barged into every other inch of my life?
But the pleasure he spoke of and the way he looked at me . . .
Hungrily.
It’s seared into my mind, and I know before I even step foot into that bedroom what I’m going to do. I’m going to trust my husband one more time. Not to save us, but to damn me. To make me his.
Kicking off my shoes, I follow like a good girl.
He’s standing next to a huge, king-sized bed draped in silks and pillows. His eyes are fixed on his task of slowly removing his cufflinks and rolling back the sleeves on his shirt, his jacket discarded on a sofa. I don’t notice much other than that. As always, my whole focus is drawn to the man expertly removing his wedding clothes with a surety that has the mundane task seeming very sensual. Or maybe that’s just my filthy thoughts. He doesn’t look at me, but I know he’s aware of my every move as I step farther into the room, sinking into the deep gray carpet beneath my feet.
It’s now or never.
I swallow my nerves and gather my courage. “Alaric?” I call, my voice shaking only slightly.
He stops and turns his head, those dark eyes blasting through me until I actually jerk from their impact. My heart begins to race as nerves fill me, and I know if I don’t do it now, I’ll chicken out.
I grab the zipper on the side of the dress and slowly pull it down. My fingers shake as I stare into his eyes, and when it’s undone, my panting is loud in the awfully silent room. I let it drop to the floor, the fabric flowing around my feet like a declaration. I’m wearing nothing but silky white underwear and a strapless bra as I stare at him.
He watches me back.
“I want the second option.” I tilt my head back, lifting my chin.
He narrows his eyes and drops his hand from his arm as he prowls toward me like a predator hunting its prey. “You want what, little Layla? Say it.”
