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I know what he’s doing, and something about it is a thousand times more arousing than if he’d demanded things from me from the very first night. He’s been gentle and slow with me, not being too dominant or asking too much, and now, little by little, he’s showing me what it is that he wants. What turns him on. It’s clear that he likes being in charge, is aroused by things like seeing me on my knees or asking me to clean his cum off of his cock, and that making me ask him to eat my pussy is erotic to him. But he’s introducing me to it slowly, instead of forcing me to do all the things that he wants in bed.
It makes mewantto please him.
“Not there,” I whisper, my head tilting back. “Theo—”
“Say it, lass.” His lips slide a bit higher, up to my inner thigh. “Let me know where you want my mouth. What you want me to do to you.”
“I want your tongue—”
“Where?”His voice is thick, his accent roughening. “I’ll please you ‘til you scream, lass; just ask me for it.”
There’s a ragged need in his own words, too—his own desire to hear me say it. I give in, my body aching for his touch, my clit feeling swollen and sensitive. “I need your tongue on my pussy. On my clit.Please, Theo,fuck—”
The words are so filthy I didn’t think I’d ever say them. I couldn’t have imagined it. But the low growl of need that Theo lets out makes it all worth it, his hands suddenly hard on my inner thighs as he spreads me wide, pushing my knees back so that my pussy is open and vulnerable to his hungry gaze.
“I’ll eat you ‘til you scream for me,cailín,” he growls, and then his mouth is on my clit, and the sounds that come from me are nothing short of keening moans of pleasure.
His tongue is hot and eager, circling my clit, rubbing against it, in a perfect rhythm that has me shaking all over with sensation from the moment he touches me. His lips are pressed tightly against me, sucking and licking and lapping up every bit of the arousal dripping from me. I cry out when he slides his tongue lower, pushing it inside of me as if he needs to taste me even more deeply.
“Theo, I—”
“I want you begging for it, lass,” he pants hoarsely as he pulls away. “I want you to soak my face when you come. I want—” His voice trails off, ragged with desire as his mouth fastens over me again, devouring me as he licks and sucks at my swollen, aching flesh until Iambegging, until I hear myself moaningTheo, please, please make me come. Then he gives me exactly that, his lips and tongue making me come apart for him at the seams, drenching his mouth and chin and stubble exactly the way he said he wanted it as I shudder beneath him, clutching at the fur rug.
His hand is fumbling at his zipper, and I dimly see the thick shape of his cock as he rises over me, the swollen head pushing at my entrance. “God, lass, I love being inside of you like this,” he murmurs as he bends his head to kiss me. “Feeling you still fluttering around me like this, still coming for me—” He moans as he pushes his cock into me, and I clench around him, earning another guttural groan as his mouth presses against mine.
I don’t care that I can taste myself on his lips, his mouth still glistening with my arousal, the tang of it on my own tongue, mingling with the sweetness of before. Iwanthim to kiss me, want the feeling of his lips on mine, his hot tongue tangling in my mouth as he thrusts into me as deeply as he can, faster this time than before. I can feel how much he needs it, his barely-leashed desire, his cock filling me to almost the point of being too much as he devours my mouth the way he devoured my pussy only moments before.
He drives into me, again and again, each long stroke sure and hard as he pins me to the rug, fucking me with the sort of need that makes me ache for him even as my body floods with pleasure from the feeling of his thick cock filling me up, over and over again. Ilikeit when he fucks me like this, hard and raw, reminding me that there’s a rougher side to the man who is so gentle and careful with me the rest of the time. That sometimes he can’t control his desire for me, that it’smewho is making him like this.
Theo’s hands reach for my arms, pinning them above my head, his fingers encircling my wrists. “You feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock,” he groans against my lips, his hips shuddering against me as he sinks in all the way again. “Like you were fucking made for me.” Another thrust, harder, his hands and thighs and cock keeping me pinned to the floor beneath his heaving body, surrounded by the scent of firewood and smoke and the warmth of our skin, his cologne and my perfume, sweat and sex, and I feel my body tensing, unraveling, another climax seizing me before I even realize it’s coming. My head falls back, my mouth opening on a keening wail of pleasure, and I feel Theo’s lips dragging down my throat as he speeds up, each harsh stroke of his cock driving me to higher and higher bursts of sensation until I’m not sure if the orgasm is going to stop. I can feel his cockhead dragging over that sensitive spot inside of me, over and over, until I’m shuddering and writhing beneath him. His mouth is pressed to my shoulder, his body trembling against mine as I hear him groan out his own orgasm, his cock throbbing inside of me as I feel him fill me up with his cum.
Afterward, he rolls onto his back, pulling me against his chest. The fire is flickering next to us, and I rest my head on his shoulder, wondering if it could actually always be like this. If this is, quite literally, the honeymoon period—or if Theo would always be such a good husband, if our connection would deepen and strengthen over time, if this would become our home. A place with years full of memories, a place where we could build a life the way we want it, outside of all of the expectations back in Chicago for both of us.
And I wonder why I’m thinking of that at all, when there’s no way off the path I’ve been set on that I can see.
“I’ve been here as often as I could manage,” Theo says quietly, breaking the long silence as we lie there. “But I don’t think I’ve enjoyed a night in this house as much as I’ve enjoyed this one.” He turns his head towards me, tipping my chin up so his fern-green eyes are looking down directly into mine. “I’m glad I decided to marry you, Marika.”
The kiss he presses to my mouth saves me from having to try to hide, right away, the way my eyes well up with tears. I still have to blink them back quickly, fighting the deep swell of emotion, and I know I should say the same thing back to him. It’s what Iwoulddo, if I were still wholly focused on playing the game my brother wants me to, and not on the confusing mix of feelings that Theo has roused in me. But I find that I don’t want to lie to him—which is ridiculous, considering that so much of what’s between us is, and has always been, a lie.
A series of lies, before, during—and certainly after.
There won’t be an after,I think, feeling his mouth move over mine.He’ll be dead.And the pain that lances through me at that thought is stronger than it should be.He’ll be dead, and it will be my fault.
I pull away from the kiss, wrapping my arms around myself. I try not to look as if I’m pulling away from Theo, but from the way his expression falters, I don’t think I’ve fully succeeded in that. “I’m still really tired from the flight,” I whisper, and then, as if to soften whatever he might take away from that, I force a smile onto my face. “Come to bed with me?”
“Gladly,” Theo murmurs, reaching for me once more before he helps me up from the rug. As we gather up my clothes and start to head upstairs for the first night in our bed here, I have a terrible, sinking feeling that it’s not only Theo’s life that is going to be at stake here.
It’s going to be his heart—and mine.
Theo
I’m thankful that I set my meeting with the Kings late, the next day, because getting out of bed with Marika there is more difficult than even I had anticipated.
I hadn’t expected just how good it would feel to have her here. I know she was raised as the only daughter of the Vasilevpakhan, and she was pampered and spoiled, and I wondered how she would feel about this house. It’s far from rustic or plain—it’s luxurious and well-made, fitted out with every modern convenience and anything that either of us could possibly want for comfort, but it’s not the gilded mansion she’s accustomed to. It’s something in between, and I wondered if she would like it, if she would chafe at the lack of staff and the fact that I’ve planned to be the one cooking our meals here.
But she hasn’t so much as flinched. If anything, from what I can tell, she seems to enjoy it as much as I do. And when I wake up next to her, the silk of the pajamas she slept in and her soft bare skin brushing against me, I want her as much as I have every other moment that we’ve spent together so far.
I can’t help but wonder if it will wear off, if I’ll find out things about her that rub me the wrong way, or if she’ll find out those things about me. If this is all just the early blush of infatuation and desire, and not what it feels like—the beginning of a relationship that could be full of the kind of companionship I’ve yearned for.
