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I wasn’t even worrying about getting pregnant. I probably should’ve been, but that’s the last thing on my mind as I admit, “Is that what you tell all the girls so they don’t make you wrap up?”
Link cages his arms around me. “Other girls? There aren’t any other girls.”
I’d hope not. Otherwise, it’s fucked up that he made me marry him. I’ll be his wife, but I didn’t sign up to act the part while he keeps his mistresses, and I made sure to tell him that on our way to the judge’s house. It was the only thing I asked before I married him, and Link smirked at me as he said, “Of course.”
In the mirror, I see he’s wearing the same expression now as he did in the back seat of the car. Like something’s funny, or it’s a joke I just don’t understand.
I’m serious. “I’m not talking about now. I mean—”
“I know what you mean. There aren’t any other girls,” he says, and I have to bite down on my lip to stifle my scream when he drops his hands to my hips, pulling me back the same time as he pushes forward, “not for fifteen years.”
I had to have heard him wrong. The sensation of being stuffed full of him, the stretch, the ache, the delicious pain of having his thick cock trapping me between his hard chest and the sink in front of me… I had to have heard him wrong. No way did the Devil of Springfield admit that he hasn’t been with another woman sinceme?
And if he did? Maybe he’s referring to serious relationships, like what we once had. Knowing Link like I did, he couldn’t have gonefifteen yearswithout sex… could he?
I don’t know, but the man behind me is fucking me like he has. Leaving one big hand as a brand on my hip, the other moves to the small of my back, keeping me with him so that I have no choice but to ride his dick at the frantic pace he’s started with.
“I did my time waiting,” he pants, digging his fingers into my skin, holding me in place while he pounds into me. I cling to the sink for dear life, watching the dark look on his face in the mirror. “I did my penance. Now you’re mine, Ava, and I fucking dare anyone to try to take you away from me.”
I can’t say anything to that, and not only because I’m breathing so heavily, I can’t get a single word out. It’s like someone’s flipped a switch in him, and the cold, calculating gangster who thought it was a good idea to make me his wife because he needed one is replaced by a demanding beast whose expression says he’s happy to devour me whole.
Marriage of convenience, I think to myself, scraping the sink with my nails as everything—his possessive hold, the idea that anyone passing by the bathroom knows exactly what we’re doing in here, his pace, myneed—leads me toward a climax of my own… despite him telling me this would be a real marriage, I walked into the judge’s house believing it was a marriage of convenience so that Link could keep his spot as the head of the Sinners Syndicate.
And maybe it is. A dangerous man like this doesn’t need to be in love to fuck like he’s obsessed. He doesn’t need to feel affection to take a wife, and whatever he means by “waiting” and “penance”, it doesn’t matter.
I’m his, and as he grunts out his release, purposely yanking my ass toward him so that he comes as deep inside of me as he can before I get the chance to come myself, I tell myself that I have to remember that.
I belong to Devil, ‘til death do us part.
SEVEN
MRS. CREWES
AVA
Iwake up with my head cradled in Link’s lap.
That’s not really a surprise. As soon as he ushered me back into his car, he spread his legs and instructed me to stretch out along the back seat, laying my head against his crotch.
For a second, I froze, believing that he expected me to down on him. I mean, after what just passed between us in the bathroom, I’ve accepted that acting like his wife “in all ways” basically means that I’m expected to fuck him whenever he wants until he eventually knocks me up.
So a blow job in the back seat of his fancy car? It seemed a reasonable conclusion to me, though I should’ve known better. If the Devil wanted me to suck his cock, he would’ve pulled it out and told me to do it.
He didn’t. Instead, he ordered me to rest. It’s not a long drive from the judge’s house to where Link lives—wherever that is—but I was already yawning as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, guiding me back to the car.
Once I listen and lay my head in his lap, I’m completely out. It’s way too late for me, my sleepy time tea has me dozing, the adrenaline crash makes me feel like my arms weigh a hundred pounds each, and after the way Link demanded that orgasm from me, I’mexhausted.
There’s no reason I should’ve woken up. If I hadn’t, I probably would’ve slept straight through the night, though being that vulnerable around this new version of Link is a bad, bad idea.
I get an immediate reminder of that when I come to and the first thing I realize is that he’s hard beneath me. I can feel his erection, hard and hot, through his suit pants, pushing against my cheek. After we finished in the bathroom, he tucked himself into his boxer briefs before zipping himself back up, then patting my dress back into place.
I have no idea what happened to my panties. Part of me hopes like hell that they’re not lying in the middle of Judge Callihan’s bathroom floor; if anything, maybe they got kicked aside and his cleaning lady will find them behind the toilet. The other part is intimately aware of the stickiness between my thighs, and the tangible proof that Link is more than ready to have sex with me again.
Closing my eyes again, hoping he didn’t notice I woke up, I will myself into falling back asleep. Not like that would stop him. A few years into our sexual relationship, both Link and I began to explore our individual kinks. Though no one who looked at sweet-faced, adorable Ms. Monroe would ever think she had a thing for having sex where anyone could catch them—like, oh, fucking in the bathroom of someone else’s home—Link’s was on the opposite side of the spectrum.
He had a thing about fucking me when I was asleep. We would be in the same bed, me snoring away on my side, and the thought of taking me while I was unaware did something to him. As a nineteen-year-old, he seemed almost ashamed of it, and he never tried anything without getting my explicit consent back then.
So I gave it. If he had no problem letting me climb on his lap while we were at the movies, or draping a towel over my head so that I could blow him at the beach, why wouldn’t I let him explore what turned him on the most. It’s not like I ever told him no whenever he wanted sex back then, and I told him he could fuck me whenever he wanted, whether I was awake or not.
