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But I’m not, I want to protest out loud to the room. I know it’s not true, though. It’s not just Adrik pinning me up against the staircase that has me wet and throbbing, my hips pushing upwards against my hand in a desperate bid for more friction, faster touches, for the orgasm that I’m aching for now. I try to picture Adrik’s mouth between my legs, the way his smooth, clean-shaven face feels against my thighs, but instead, I get a glimpse of Theo, that reddish stubble scratching against my skin, those long fingers pushing inside of me as his tongue circles the swollen, pulsing spot that I’m now frantically rubbing my fingers against, desperate for more pleasure.
Will he eat me out, on our wedding night?I could never have imagined anything like that would feel so good, before Adrik did it to me, the very first time we’d slept together. He made sure I was ready for him, teasing me with tongue and fingers, making me come twice until I was drenched and begging for his cock. I’d never known there was any kind of pleasure that could have felt so good. It was beyond anything I’d ever done with my fingers.
I can’t imagine Theo will. I’m not his lover, and after our wedding, I’ll be his wife, bought and paid for with a contract that ensures my family’s safety. He has no need to pay attention to my pleasure, to make me come with his tongue, to do anything other than fuck me and take his own pleasure from me. I can’t imagine my wedding night being anything like what I’ve experienced before—
Except Iamimagining it. I can’t stop, even as I try to push Theo out of my head and picture Adrik—which is still inappropriate, but somehow doesn’t feel as damning. All I can see in my head are those long-fingered hands pushing up my wedding dress, lifting my skirt above my hips, those fingers tangled in lace as his mouth slides up my inner thigh, his tongue finding the aching, pulsing spot where I need it so badly. I would be wet for him, so fucking wet, and that would just be more wet heat, so much of it, until—
I gasp, my fingers rolling over my clit, the muscles in my thighs tensing as I cry out, clapping my other hand over my mouth before someone hears. I try, desperately, to replace the image of Theo in my mind as I come, but I can’t. All I can see are those fern-green eyes looking up at me with satisfaction as he makes me come with his tongue, licking up my arousal, those fingers sliding in and out of me as I tighten on them. The orgasm lasts longer than any I’ve ever given myself before, until I roll onto my side, my hand still working between my thighs as I curl in on myself from the force of the pleasure.
I should feel embarrassed. Iamembarrassed. But I also feel loose-limbed and sleepy, relaxed at last, lost in the aftermath of the pleasure that imagining Theo gave me, and some of the embarrassment slips away.
It was just a fantasy,I tell myself as I close my eyes.Your wedding night will be nothing like that. And once he disappoints you, you won’t have to stop yourself from fantasizing about him any longer.
It’s a strange thing to stake hope on. But I do, nonetheless.
Theo
Igo back to my own home, anticipating my wedding more than I thought I would.
Marika is young, that’s true. I hadn’t asked her exact age—it seemed insensitive—but I think my guess of twenty is likely close. Despite that, she’s self-possessed, well-educated, poised, and intelligent, and I think she’ll make a good wife. She’s also sweeter than I expected, which startled me.
She was beautiful, too—I desired her more than I thought I would.
I know it was a foolish, romantic gesture, giving her the ring—one that she likely didn’t understand entirely, which is probably for the best. I question several times on the ride home if it was the wrong choice. But I’d enjoyed her company—the thing I’d been afraid to hope for—and I had thought that she might understand the sentiment behind it, at least somewhat. That while I don’t expect for there to be love between us, I think there can be something else—a commitment to trying to give each other some happiness, in a sort of arrangement that so rarely bears that fruit.
She didn’t strike me as materialistic or greedy, traits I’d hoped to avoid in a wife. She wasn’t cold or snappish. She seemed confused, if anything, that I’d taken even a night to get to know her before our wedding, which had saddened me. It had been nothing, to extend that courtesy to her, but it had still surprised her.
If she was expecting coldness or cruelty in our marriage, I don’t intend to give her either.
I’m forty-three, and not a fool. I don’t expect a love story between Marika and me, or a romance of any kind. But what I had hoped for was a companion—and tonight made me feel that hope might not be entirely lost.
I want to try to be a good husband to her—to be faithful and kind, to find common ground with her that we can meet on and enjoy one another’s company. I want to raise children with her, not get her pregnant, and then ignore both her and them. I want, quite simply, a family that I find some enjoyment in.
God knows I find less and less enjoyment in my work as the years go on.
I’d loved the power, when I was younger, the wealth, and everything that came along with it. It had been a heady thing, to stand at the forefront of a table in front of men from my age to my late father’s age, and have them defer to me. It had been thrilling to hold the power of life and death over others. It had been pleasurable to spend money however I pleased and have a bevy of women willing to do whatever I asked of them. There’s no sexual experience I haven’t had dozens of times over by now—except for one.
I’ve never fucked someone I actuallyliked. I’ve never woken up with a woman still in my bed because I wanted her to stay there.
I’m hoping Marika will be the first.
And I hope that this is the beginning of peace between our families.
As I go up to my bedroom, shrugging off my jacket and undoing my tie, I think of the old rumors—the ones that have fed the enmity between our families for so many years. Nikolai’s father refused to believe they were lies, that his wife was covering up for something else, or merely out of her mind. A great many men, his and mine, died over it. It could have erupted into full-scale war, if he’d thought he could win, and if I had wanted to destroy him and his family. I’m not always entirely certain why I didn’t.
All I know is that I was at Irina’s funeral, and I saw her children. Something in me hesitated to destroy their lives over a lie. And now, with Marika as my future bride, I’m glad that I didn’t.
Nikolai must know now there’s no truth to it,I think as I pour myself a glass of whiskey, unbuttoning my shirt with my other hand. If he thought there was truth to the rumors and lies about myself and Irina, he would never have allowed Marika to marry me. I can’t believe that anything else would be true.
Whatever he discovered after his father’s death must have led him to the truth. And I’m glad of that, because it means all that messy business can be put to bed, without any further discussion or violence over it.
And speaking of bed—
My cock throbs, remembering Marika’s lips under mine. It was the second time I’d kissed her—and the second time she’d kissed me back. I’d been startled at the church. I hadn’t expected her mouth to yield like that under mine, to feel her sway into my hands. I’d expected her to be stiff and cold, angry that I kissed her at all, for all that it was part of the ceremony. But she’d softened to me, in a way that I could only think was unexpected desire on her part.
I had been curious to find out if it would happen again.
I had wanted to touch her so many times tonight. I groan, my cock swelling along my thigh at the memory of her in that dress. I could have sent my assistant shopping for me, but I’d picked it out myself, unable to deny myself the pleasure of choosing something personally. It had been everything I’d imagined, seeing it on her. I’d wanted to run my hands all over her in the car, to kiss her, to find out how her breasts fit in my hands, to slip my fingers between my thighs and find out what she was wearing beneath it. I hadn’t so much as touched her hand or her knee at the theatre, because I wasn’t sure I could stop myself from going further if I did.
