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God help me.
A four piecestring ensemble plays classical music to the side. I stand alone at the rose-covered altar with the priest. I feel numb and cold. My head feels like it’s spinning and being pulled in a hundred directions. I see movement at the top of the little garden aisle. The small crowd of barely twenty people stand as Katrina steps out from behind the rose bushes. She’s a fucking vision in white. But even thinking that makes me feel like a monster.
I can remember the way she clung to me in those flames. I remember how small she was. How innocent and frail.
But I can also vividly remember the sounds she made when she just came on my tongue. The mix of the sultry and the pristine white sweetness has me groaning. It has me hating myself, too.
I turn to look at Anton standing by his chair. I scowl. Does he know? Is this a fucked-up mind game for him? A way to knock me down a peg?
I turn to watch Katrina walk down the aisle. I reach into my pocket and I freeze. My fingers brush her lacy panties that I slipped into my pocket earlier. I groan. I remember the fact that the angel walking down the aisle towards me is bare under that pristine white dress. I remember that she tastes like candy.
Her eyes dart to mine but she hides it away as she walks closer. Anton looks past her at me. He grins smugly. I wonder again if he fucking knows. If he’s done this to fuck me up. Katrina trembles as she gets closer. Her eyes are lowered as she walks the last few steps to the altar.
We face each other. But still, her eyes won’t meet mine. Christ, I don’t even know how to look at her either. The priest says the vows. I take her hands, and we repeat them back. She says I do, quietly. I say it too, with the taste of her cunt still on my lips.
Her virgin, never-been-touched cunt.
“I now pronounce you, man and wife!” The small crowd stands and claps. And now, indecent secrets or not, danger or not, temptation or not… she’s mine.
10
Katrina
I stare blanklyout the window at the rain. It’s been raining for the last two days, since the wedding. Sincemywedding. It’s a concept that I’m actually having a hard time seeing as reality. But it is. It really happened, and I really am married now.
But that’s not the biggest thing screwing with my head. That isn’t why I’m staring numbly at the rain. My mind wanders back to the cottage. I blink, and I see the scars on his hand again. At the window now, my own hand reaches up. It touches the locket around my neck.
I remember the man in the smoke and fire. I remember screaming stupidly for my locket. But then he ran back for it; my hero, I mean. I remember his cry of agony when he picked up the flaming-hot piece of metal from the floor before carrying me out of there.
My hero. My savior. The fantasy man I’ve been lusting over in my dreams ever since. That man, I know now, is Micheal Genovese. I’ve fantasized about him for ten years. And now I’m married to him.
It’s a strange mix of feelings and emotions. On one hand, part of me can’t even believe it. Part of me is almost giddy. Somehow, the man I’ve just married is the man I’ve been in love with for ten years. Okay, not “in love with” in love with. But a fantasy sort of love.
On the other hand, I wonder if the fantasy has been tainted. The fantasy has always been this charming but gruff hero. A roguish hero with a gorgeous smile and a golden halo around him. But there sure as hell isn’t a halo around Micheal Genovese.
My fantasy hero has turned out to be one of the biggest villains around in reality. Now I’m married to him. And the problem is, I don’t know if finding out my hero is the brutal boss of a criminal empire makes me terrified or turns me on even more.
It might be both.
But it also doesn’t matter now. We might be married. I may have been thinking of his wicked mouth between my thighs for two days now. But Micheal hasn’t even seen me since the wedding. He hasn’t spoken to me or sent word to me. Nothing. We’ve been ghosts in this house together.
Something has changed. I was scared of him before. I still am, only now I also want him. I desire him, terribly. I shouldn’t, and I know that. I should be glad that he’s keeping his distance and not coming to me to lay hands on me. Except the dark part inside of me wishes he would. The naughtiness inside of me wishes he would lay his hands on me. Very much so.
A few days ago, Micheal ignoring me would be a blessing. Now, it’s a curse. Because now, I’ve had a taste of the forbidden fruit. I’ve been given a small teaser of what true pleasure feels like. I’ve touched fire, and now I can’t go back to the darkness.
I crave him. It’s not just a want, it’s a craving lust. It scares me, actually. I’ve felt desire before. But I’ve never felt it so deep like I feel this. I’ve never felt drawn to a man as heavily as I feel it with him.
I don’t know how long I’ve been staring out the window. But at some point, I realize it’s stopped raining. The sun is out. The light bathes the gardens and the huge pool in the backyard in gold. Well, at least the weather’s brightened up.
I’m actually sitting in the library part of my quarters. It’s really more like the living room. But the walls of floor-to-ceiling books, the cozy fireplace, and the big high-backed chairs have made me redub it the library. I put the copy ofGreat Expectationsthat I’ve been reading down. I look out the window at the gorgeous sunlight.
Suddenly, there’s movement down below by the pool. The mechanical pool cover begins to retract and wind back up. Sunlight reflects off the glistening pool water. And then a figure emerges from the house and walks over to it.
I takes me a single second to realize it’s Micheal. He’s shirtless, with a towel around his waist. My eyes slide over the coiled muscles of his back. His thick arms, his grooved hip bones and v-lines disappearing into the towel. Instantly, heat burns inside of me. Good lord, he’s in perfect shape. He’s in perfect shape for a guy my age. Let alone his.
He pulls the towel free. My pulse skips. He’s in a well-fitted short bathing suit. I blush when my first thought is how good his butt looks. He tosses it aside and stretches. I feel like a complete pervert watching him. But I also don’t look away. I watch as he stretches his arms up. His back ripples, and his biceps curl and bulge. Heat tingles in my core.
I blush and turn away. I glance through the open door of the library, across the main room of my quarters, to my bedroom and closet. I bite my lip. The day after the wedding, as if by magic, my walk-in closet was suddenly filled with clothes. And I mean filled.
