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He takes me up to the third floor, unlocking a pair of double doors with an old-fashioned key. “The master suite,” he says as he pushes the doors open, and I step hesitantly inside, looking around.
This room looks to be in some of the best shape in the house—although I don’t think for a second that it’s for my benefit. The walls are done in dark green wallpaper edged in a muted gold, with a white-washed brick fireplace on one wall, the hearth still in need of some repair. There’s a four-poster bed along one wall with glass French doors to the left of it that appear to lead out to a balcony. The floors in this room are finished—a gleaming dark wood that matches the furniture. It’s equally as cold in here, and I glance at David, wondering if he’s going to light a fire. I don’t want to be the one to ask.
He slips his jacket off, draping it over one of the wing chairs in front of the fireplace. His tie is next, and I don’t miss the way his gaze slides over me as he undoes it, anticipation beginning to show in his eyes. When I look down, I can see his cock starting to stiffen against his thigh, pressing against the light wool of his suit trousers, and I wonder if there’s any way I can get out of this tonight.
“I’m tired,” I say softly, biting my lip.Is there anything in there that I can appeal to? “Maybe we can—do this in the morning? It’s not as if I’m going to leave blood on the sheets for anyone to see, you know that. Please—”
His jaw tightens imperceptibly at the mention of blood, and I wonder if he still doesn’t believe me that he was my first.
“We are going to do this,” he says slowly, that hard look still on his face as he gazes at me, “properly. Turn around, Amalie, so I can undo your dress.”
My heart sinks at that. “David—”
“Don’t argue with me.” His hands touch the back of my dress, just where the lace meets my skin, and I shiver. I can’t help it—my skin heats instantly at the touch of his fingers, and as he sweeps the hair away from my neck almost gently, I close my eyes, wishing I could not want him. Wishing that he didn’t make me feel this way.
He leans forward as he begins to slip the buttons loose, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “Do you want to deny me my pleasure on our wedding night,cara mia? Is that how you want our marriage to start?” His breath is warm against my skin, and I swallow hard, trying to fight off the waves of desire that are already flooding through me.
He’s seducing me—and he does it so easily. Button by button, his fingertips trailing a slow, molten path down my spine, sending shivers over my skin. His hands smooth over the silk of the bustier underneath it, and I press my lips together, suppressing a moan when his hands slide beneath my dress to grip my waist for a moment.
David pulls me back, my ass pressed tightly against him, and even through the layers of fabric, I can feel the hard shape of his cock pressed against me. “No one will care about the sheets, Amalie,” he murmurs, his fingers returning to my buttons. “Your family is far too disgraced for that. No one would be surprised that you weren’t a virgin on your wedding day. Anyway, I’m the one whoruinedyou, isn’t that right? If your story is to be believed.”
I feel his fingers curl into the shoulders of my dress, and he pulls it down with a quick yank, the sleeves slipping free as the bodice pools around my waist. “This is pretty,” he says, his voice low and thick with desire as his hands slide around to cup my breasts, molded into the silk of the bustier. “But I prefer you naked.”
He undoes the last of the buttons at the back of my dress, sending it cascading to the floor. Then I feel the sudden, hot press of his lips to the back of my neck as he begins undoing the hooks of the lingerie. “I can make this good for you, Amalie,” he murmurs. “You know I can. If you’re a good girl.”
“What do you want?” The words come out in a hiss, and I blink back frustrated tears. “I married you, as I was told. I’m standing here letting you undress me, as I was told. Do you want me on my knees? What do you fuckingwant, David—”
“Your submission.” He spins me around suddenly as the bustier falls away, leaving me bare except for the lace panties, standing there in front of him with him still fully clothed. “I want you to admit that you want this,” he murmurs, leaning in close again to graze his lips over my throat, his fingers hooking in the edge of my panties. “Ask me for what you want me to do to you.Beg, and I’ll give it to you.”
He yanks the panties down, discarding them as if my wedding night lingerie means nothing—just something to be ripped off of me. A flare of anger burns in my chest, and I sink my teeth into my lower lip, stopping myself from doing exactly that. From begging, because there’s so much that I do want from him.
I want his hands all over me. I want his mouth between my legs. I want him to make me come, over and over again, while I gasp and shudder and scream his name. I want all the pleasure and passion that we had in Ibiza, and none of the coldness that’s invaded what we have now, none of the hurt, none of the complications.
I want to go back to a sun-drenched hotel room where we had a week of nothing but each other, and it didn’t matter that we’d never see each other again at the end of it.
Not this. Not a cold, forbidding mansion and a husband who doesn’t even feel like the same man.
He backs me towards the bed, my heels catching in the pile of silk and lace at my feet. I feel the backs of my thighs brush against the soft comforter, and then I’m tumbling back, my hair loosening from its updo as I land atop the bed. I feel David looming over me, and as I look up, I see him sink down to his knees, his broad, long-fingered hands spreading my legs wide.
“God, you’re fucking wet,” he breathes, his fingers pressing hard into my flesh. “My filthy little bride. You can’t wait for my cock.”
To my surprise, I feel his hands slide down instead of up, briefly cupping my knees and then gliding down my calves, all the way to the straps of the high-heeled sandals I’m wearing. I feel him deftly undo the buckles, loosening them and then slipping my shoes free, and I let out an involuntary moan as he presses his thumbs into the arches of my feet.
“See how good I can be, when you stop fighting me?” he murmurs, his fingers massaging along the curve of each foot. It feels like fucking bliss, and I hear him chuckle, low and deep in his throat, as he bends to press a kiss to the side of one arch.
He leans up again, his hands gripping my inner thighs as he drags his lips over the soft flesh. There’s the barest hint of stubble on his chin, and I can’t help but gasp when I feel it graze over my skin, sending shivers over every inch of me. His breath is warm against my damp flesh, and my breathing quickens as I feel him brush his lips over my folds.
I want his mouth, his tongue—I want him to devour me. I want him to make me come like that, sucking and licking me to a messy, all-consuming orgasm the way I know he can.
But I refuse to beg him for it.
When he slides his tongue over me, hot and soft in all the right places, finding those spots that he knows will make me shudder and moan and cry out, I hate him. When he presses his lips tight against me, sucking my swollen flesh into his mouth as he pins my hips to the bed, I hate him. And when he pulls away just as he knows I’m about to come, his lips glistening with my arousal as he leans over me and starts to unbutton his shirt; I hate him more than I think I ever have before.
My entire body is wound tight, throbbing on the edge of release, and frustrated tears burn at the corners of my eyes. He knows what he’s doing—heknows; I can see it in his eyes as he shrugs off his shirt.I won’t beg,I think fiercely as my gaze rakes over him, my body responding helplessly to the sight of his bare, muscled torso, the ink patterned over his skin, the dark hair that makes me itch to run my fingers through it. He’s impossibly handsome, a perfectly sculpted man, and he knows exactly how to use it against me. He knows how much I want him.
He undoes his belt, pushing his suit trousers down his hips, and it’s all I can do not to moan when his cock springs free, hard and thick against his abdomen. I can see the pre-cum pearling at the tip already, his length straining with arousal, and I feel myself clench with anticipation, my pulse beating hard in my throat.
I gasp when his hands grip my hips, pulling me sharply to the edge of the bed as he nudges his cock between my thighs. Even as wet as I am, it’s still always a tight fit, and he groans as he starts to push inside of me, my body tightening even more as I feel the sharp jolts of pleasure through me.
