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He nods. “I would have loved you to distraction, Nicolette.” His tone deepens. “I still could, but I know a lost cause when I see one. You love that bastard.”
He gives me one last spin as the song ends.
“I’m sorry.” I almost choke on the words, not able to deny anything. Marcus sees too much. He is so preceptive. I guess he would need to be as the scion of a cutthroat financial dynasty.
“Ah, as I figured, your husband arrives on cue. I bid you adieu. Always know you have a friend in me, Nicolette. Guard your heart, little one, women never fare well with Shelbys.” He murmurs, with that warning he kisses my knuckles before turning a sardonic brow on Mathias.
“Shelby, your wife is as delectable as I remember.” Marcus makes sure his voice carries just enough to draw attention from other guests.
“Indeed, too bad she chose me then,” Mathias quips, pulling me into his grip. This time the music slides into a sultry melody.
His hard body presses against me, hitting every curve of my body.
He pulls me close, circling the dance floor in broad circles, with controlled, elegant moves. My body molds to his as he commands me, bends me to his will, masters me in a way I belatedly realize Marcus and no other ever could.
We are one being on the dance floor. Obvious lovers. It’s evident in every movement how well he knows my body. He is my maestro. In my periphery I can see mouths agape. Not that we are doing anything lewd. It’s just that we are so in sync, so made for each other, that onlookers can barely tell where he begins and I end.
As the final strands of the song fades, I see he’s moved us to the edge of the ballroom and we’re facing the outer doors.
He makes no excuses, nor does he try to hide us slipping out of the terrace doors.
Cool breeze and honeysuckle greet me as he leads me out to the veranda. He moves us to a darkened alcove. We can see the gardens before us, but thanks to a humongous, ostentatious potted plant situated cleverly in front of the window behind us, we are hidden from any prying eyes.
Positioning me so I face the garden labyrinth, he tells me, “I’m tempted to take you out there, strip you naked, and fuck you on the grass, but I saw your cousin and Takeda heading that way moments before. It would seem a little incestuous for us to join them.”
Inhaling the honeysuckle mingling with the light breeze, I take in the lovely garden and the night. It would be perfect, were it not for the obvious rage I hear in every syllable he utters.
“Sommerland touched you.”
The last part is said so wrathfully, I still at his words. He cages me in his arms. I can feel his hard length pressing against me. The balustrade is blocking my front, and my hot angry husband is as unmovable as the Citadel of Saladin at my back.
“The first man I killed was trying to fuck a kid. I don’t regret putting that worthless motherfucker down. Don’t think for a fucking minute I’d lose any sleep over a bitch who touches you. Be careful, little wife.”
“I—”
“You let him touch you,” he whispers viciously into my ear, nipping my lobe. The sting of pain sends shivers down my spine. I squeeze my thighs tightly, trying to quell the throbbing pulse in my pussy.
“We just danced,” I begin, explaining to him the waltz was harmless. Way more harmless than the dance Mathias and I did moments ago. Even as I foolishly try to explain, something tells me he’s too far gone. Dangerous energy permeates the air.
A hard band of steel snatches me close, while his other hand pulls my beautiful dress up, his hand snaking between my legs.
“Tell me, little wife, and don’t lie because I will know, who are you wet for?” His voice is nasty and cruel as two long fingers spear into my pussy.
“Thi—” I pant, my heart feeling like a panicked bird slamming against a cage to free itself.
“What the fuck did I tell you about calling me that name?” Hot rage pours through every word as he finds the spot deep inside me, bringing me to my knees. “Coming already?” he taunts, knowing full well he’s hitting my spot with every thrust of his fingers.
My pussy is a puddle. He finger fucks me with ruthless purpose, and I am powerless to stop him.
“Little cumslut. Who is it for? Me or your blond bitch?” He adds his thumb menacing my clit with torturous swirls. “Who?” he demands. His hot mouth sends quakes of pleasure down my spine. His hard dick is pressing so hard against my ass, I’m on the cusp of coming.
“You, only you.” I pant, turning my head to the side of his face. Our breaths mingle. He licks my lips, tugging, sucking on my bottom lip, worrying it with his teeth, before licking the sting away.
“It better be, little wife.” After ruffling the hem of the dress, he bunches it at my waist, then frees himself from the confines of his suit pants. His dick is like granite as his thrusts inside me, driving me to my tiptoes.
“Nah. No running, baby. Don’t act like you can’t take it, darling. Take this motherfucker like you own it. Like it owns you.” Sucking my neck hard, he fucks into me. Owning me, marking me, making me his again.
“I’m going to fill you with my come,” he promises. “You’re my wife. Mine.” He thrusts for emphasis. His body is a powerful force of emotion—anger, fear, passion. I don’t know why I sense his fear, but I do, and that more than anything bends me to his will.
