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“Get up.” His hand returns to my neck and he lightly tugs, until I’m on my knees with him pressed directly behind me. The heat of his skin sears into mine, though he’s still wearing his boxers. His cotton-covered cock presses against my ass and a whimper escapes me when his fingers tighten around my throat, just enough to make my breath catch. “I’m so fucking pissed at you, Charlotte.”
I swallow hard, about to say something but he places his other hand over my mouth, silencing me.
“Don’t bother defending yourself. I know you want me to believe you had nothing to do with him showing up.”
He rubs his fingers against my lips, mashing them, his index finger slipping into my mouth and touching my front teeth. I lick the tip of his finger and he growls into my ear. “Look at you, all the rose petals stuck to your skin.”
I glance down at myself, realizing that he’s right. I’m covered with them, though they’re also falling off, one by one. He removes his hand from my neck, sliding it down, brushing away the petals. He cups one breast, then the other, pinching my nipples, his hold almost brutal and yet I whimper anyway.
He’s not treating me like a delicate doll, and oh God, I like it.
His hand drifts across my trembling stomach, then lower. Teasing me before he reaches forward and scoops up a handful of rose petals off the bed.
And then promptly smashes them against my pussy.
Their silky softness contrasts with the rough way he’s touching me and I tilt my head back, leaning against his shoulder as I moan into his fingers. He’s still clutching my lower face, his other hand rubbing, crushing the petals into my sticky wet folds, and when he circles my clit, my entire body begins to shake.
Blindly I reach behind, my arm going around his nape as I slide my fingers into his soft hair. I cling to him, my hips moving as his fingers rub and circle, playing with my clit, driving me out of my mind. Until I’m coming, so hard I can barely breathe as the shivers consume me completely.
He whispers filthy things in my ear as I come. How fucking wet I am and how good I feel. Slick and hot. Asking me if I like it when he fucks me with his fingers. How he’s going to fill me with his cock and make me come all over again.
This new, angry side to Perry is hot. Addicting. I can only whimper and moan, my skin coated with sweat from the intensity of my orgasm. I angle my head toward his and he kisses me, a savage taking of my mouth, his tongue thrusting, his fingers still pressed against my pussy.
“I own this,” he whispers against my lips, his fingers clamping tighter, making me tremble. “You’re mine now, wife. And if I have to fuck that asshole out of your thoughts over and over again until you don’t even remember his name, then I will.” His fingers slide inside of me, holding there. “Watch me.”
Chapter Eight
Perry
Once Charlotte hascome down from her orgasm, and I’ve composed myself as much as possible, I flip her over on the bed so she’s facing me. Her skin is flushed and damp, a few rose petals sticking here and there as she lies in the middle of them. The heart shape is long gone, the heady scent of the flowers filling my head. So strongly I swear I can taste it.
Can still taste her too. Salty and musky sweet.
I reach for her panties and tug them all the way off, my eyes narrowing when she slides her legs open, revealing herself completely to me. Pink and glistening and so damn pretty. I reach for her, trailing my fingers along the inside of her damp thigh, noting the way she shivers at my touch.
This isn’t fake. My wife wants me, and that fills me with a certain satisfaction that shouldn’t feel so damn good, yet it does. Our situation is unusual. Fucking crazy if we’re being real right now.
But in this moment, I wouldn’t have it any other way. She understands where she fits into my life. Just like I know where I fit into hers.
I meant what I said, though. I will fuck that McTiernan asshole right out of her thoughts. Her memories. Her everything.
Like her heart.
He can’t have it, especially if I can’t either.
Running my hands down her smooth legs, I clamp my fingers around her ankles and spread her even wider. As wide as she can go. She watches me with a hint of fear in her eyes, though she must know I’d stop if she was truly scared.
Meaning I don’t think she’s afraid at all. She seems to like it. How rough I’m being. It’s not my usual style, but damn. When I undressed her earlier, this foreign, possessive urge took over me, filling me with the need to show her who she belongs to.
Me.
I never want her to forget it.
I climb onto the mattress and rain kisses all over her thighs, her glistening pussy calling to me. I lick at her clit. Swirl my tongue across it. Around it. Draw it between my lips and suck on it. Hard.
She lifts her hips, seeking more of my attention and I let go, moving away. Abandoning her completely so I can get rid of my boxer briefs and slip on a condom.
I’m fucking her. I told myself I wouldn’t, but it’s my right. My duty as her husband. It’s our wedding night and this is expected. I’m fucking her and making her mine.
