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“Are you alright?” His green eyes are full of worry as they skate down the front of my naked body, not with lust now, but concern. “It was too soon to fuck you like that. I’m sorry—”
“No.” I shake my head, that now-familiar guilt coming back in a rush and replacing the pleasant afterglow. “It felt good.”
“I hurt you—”
“A little,” I admit. “But you—it was good.”
Theo doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Wait here,” he says, gently nudging me back down into the chair. “I’ll get your clothes.”
“Aren’t we running late?” I ask, feeling suddenly very tired. My throat is a little sore from going down on him, my pussy isverysore from how hard he fucked me, and I wonder if there might not be a nap in my future, wherever we’re going.
Theo glances at me as he picks up my jeans and blouse, a wry smile curving his attractive mouth. “We’re taking a private jet,” he says. “We leave whenIsay. And after seeing my beautiful wife go down on her knees for me—”
He comes back around the desk, handing me my clothes. “I thought we could stand to take off a little late, after all.”
Theo
Iwanted to make sure Marika knew just how much I was looking forward to taking her on this trip as a honeymoon, even if it was partially business. I’d left instructions with the staff on how to arrange the private jet, and when I lead her aboard, the look on her face makes me glad that I did.
There are flowers throughout the plane, arranged in vases along the sides, and there’s champagne in an ice bucket already waiting for us at our seats. There’s a cashmere throw folded on each of them as well, and the entire setup looks as cozy and romantic as I had requested.
I’m hesitant to say that I’m in love with my new bride, but the expression as she takes it all in makes me feel a rush of emotion that I hadn’t known I was capable of.
It’s a foolish thing to say, for one, considering how briefly I’ve known her. I’m old enough to laugh at the notion that love at first sight could exist, and wise enough to know that lust can feel like love, even if I’ve never experienced that before.
Butgod, I love making her smile already. I fucking love making her come. For the first time in my life, I have someone I want to spoil and pamper and adore, and it’s a heady feeling. I have to hold some of it back so I don’t frighten her. I know she wasn’t expecting a husband besotted with her. Kindness all on its own seems to be enough to spook her more than a little.
Marika stands in the aisle, looking at the array, her face somewhat stunned—and I think pleased, too, although I can’t quite tell.
“Do you like it?” I look at her curiously, and she nods.
“It’s lovely,” she says softly. She stands there for a moment more, as if she’s not entirely sure what to do, and then steps over to one of the soft leather seats, reaching for the blanket and setting it to one side. “I love roses,” she murmurs, touching the petals of one of the flowers near her seat. “I know it’s not very unique, but I do.”
“You shouldn’t apologize for what you love. Beauty is beauty.” I sit down across from her, reaching for the champagne to uncork it and pouring the sparkling liquid into each of our flutes. I hand one to her, and she takes it, her slim fingers wrapping around the stem. “To our honeymoon.”
“To our honeymoon,” Marika echoes lightly, tapping her glass against mine, but I can feel a tension still simmering in her. I’d hoped when I gave in to her brother’s request—his demand, really—that his security accompany us, she would relax. But she still feels as if she’s going to flinch at the slightest movement.
I can’t blame her, exactly. Our families have been enemies for a long time, and Marika would have been raised with that knowledge. I can’t expect her to change her mind about me overnight, or to instantly feel comfortable with me—a virtual stranger. But I find myself craving the time when shewillbe comfortable with me, when we can start to relax into the kind of intimacy I hoped for in a marriage.
“Is it a long flight?” Marika asks, sipping at her champagne, and I see her shifting slightly in her seat. I realize, to my surprise, that she’s nervous.
“Have you never flown before?” I ask curiously, and she shakes her head.
“Never.”
“Well, a private jet is a good way to start,” I tell her wryly. “You’ll barely even feel it.”
Marika nods, letting out a small and shaky breath. “I hope not.”
“It’s only seven and a half hours, also,” I add. “Not long at all.”
She gives me a tight smile, taking another sip of her champagne, as the jet starts to taxi down the runway.
After a second glass of champagne, we settle back for the flight. Marika has a book with her, and I go over some work on my laptop, but I occasionally glance over at her, enjoying the view. She wore a dress for the flight—a fitted knit sweater-dress of some kind in a shade that brings out her blue eyes and compliments her figure—I find myself regretting the cashmere throws when she tucks it over her legs, hiding any chance I might have had at getting a look up my wife’s skirt.
The thought startles me. I’ve always enjoyed the company of women, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been this continuously aroused. I’d come down her throatandinside of her only a few hours prior, and yet I’m looking at her from across our seats, thinking of how much I’d like to get a glimpse of what she might have on beneath the dress.
As if she can feel my eyes on her, Marika looks up suddenly, her expression curious. She pauses, as if considering something, and then she speaks. “What are you thinking about?” she asks softly, and I feel a smile at the corners of my lips.
