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“Mine,” he snarls as I scream, a searing pain making me feel like I’m being torn apart.
He pauses for a second, frowning, when he realizes I’m not wet anymore. Using his blood-soaked hand, he reaches down and strokes my clit, harder than before, his need to fuck me frying his patience.
There is pain, for sure, but the shock of everything has left me mostly numb to it right now, rendering my mind and body useless. Vice continues to work my clit until my body reacts to his fingers, even if I’m still lost in my mind, and before I know it, he’s pulling out and thrusting back inside me.
It still hurts, but this time, he slides in and out of me with relative ease as I stretch to accommodate him. The shock and numbness beginning to wear off.
“Fuck, that’s it, Nova. Squeeze my cock nice and tight.”
His speed picks up as his fingers stroke my clit quicker and harder, almost making it feel like a vibration. And fuck, it makes me soar. He fucks me hard and deep, and I shudder and whimper as my body submits to him.
I cry out as he hits a spot that makes my whole-body clench. My legs tense, and my back arches as he growls into my throat. “That’s my good girl. Come for your husband.”
His words act as a trigger. I come with a silent scream and whimper his name, my hands yanking at the tie. When he feels me ripple around him, he gets up on his knees and grips my hips, lifting me and changing the angle as he continues to thrust inside me. He fucks me with a savagery that will leave me bruised inside and out, and yet all it does is prolong my orgasm.
“Fuck!” he yells as I feel him jerk and flood my pussy with his cum. He sits back, pulling his cock from me, and finishes coming on my pussy.
His gaze has lost the hard edge it had before as our ragged breathing begins to calm. His eyes move down my body to between my legs before he circles my still-sensitive clit with his fingers.
I hiss, feeling tender, but he doesn’t play with it for long. Instead, he coats his fingers in his cum and presses them inside me before dipping down and pressing a kiss to my mound.
Without a word, he climbs off the bed and places the gun on the dresser before picking up his cell phone from the chair. His eyes don’t leave mine as he places a call and orders a clean-up in the bedroom.
“Everything but the sheets. Bag those and leave them.”
Tossing the phone next to his gun, he walks toward me, stepping over the dead body on the floor as if it were a regular occurrence, and right now, I’m thinking it is. He unties my wrists and scoops me up into his arms without a word, his silence somehow more unnerving than his anger.
He carries me into the bathroom, sitting me on the counter next to the huge shower that could easily fit ten people. He leans in and turns it on before picking me back up and carrying me inside. When he places me on my feet, I open my mouth to saysomething to break the silence, but words fail me. Instead, I watch as Vice picks up a bottle of shower gel and begins to wash me, starting at my feet. He’s thorough, taking his time to wipe away all traces of the carnage that took place in the bedroom.
Once he’s finished, he reaches for the shampoo. “Turn around.”
I jump when he speaks and do as he asks. He washes my hair twice before conditioning it. There is something so soothing about someone washing your hair that it’s hard to get my head around this being the same person that just fucked me raw, covered in someone else’s blood.
I feel a few tears slip free, but I don’t wipe them away, knowing the shower will hide the evidence. Now that the numbness has worn off, the shock has given way to disbelief.
I’ve heard horror stories over the years of how wedding nights have gone, but I bet none took quite the turn mine did. And yet, I’m okay. That’s what’s messing with me more than anything. There was a moment when I truly thought he was going to kill me. But yet here I am, still a little freaked out, a lot tender, but for the most part unharmed.
He nudges me forward until I’m directly under the spray, the soap suds washing away the last of the blood and other things I don’t want to think about.
Once I’m clean, Vice walks me over to one of the benches before washing himself. I’m surprised he doesn’t ask me to do it for him, and I don’t offer.
I had naively thought I could get by in this marriage by remaining detached from Vice, but now I know he’ll never let me get away with that. For better or worse, this man is going to makemy life go up in flames, and he’ll hold my hand as we watch it burn.
He turns the water off once he’s clean and grabs two towels, wrapping one around my hair like a turban before urging me to stand so he can wrap the other around my body. He grabs a third to wrap around his hips before holding his hand out to me.
Whenever he leaves the choice up to me, I feel like an accomplice, like I’m part of what happened tonight and not just a bystander. Every plan I put in place has gone out the window. Every stupid notion I had about being in control was destroyed the minute Vice pointed the gun at me. I itch to prove myself somehow. I’m not this weak little girl, but staring at Vice’s outstretched hand, I know I’m out of my fucking depth.
I place my hand in his and let him tug me into the bedroom. The body is gone, the sheets stripped and in a bag on the dresser, while three men are on their hands and knees scrubbing the floor. They ignore us as Vice leads us across the room, staying clear of the mess.
My eyes fall on the bagged-up sheets, and I frown, remembering his conversation on the phone. “Why do you want to keep those?”
He looks down at me and grins. “I thought it was tradition to keep the bloody sheets from your wedding night.”
I feel my eyes bug out of my head as he laughs, pulling me out of the room and into the one across the hall, which must be a guest room. It’s set up like the main bedroom, though the bedding here is a deep blue, like turbulent waters.
Vice rips off his towel and tosses it on the floor before taking the one from my body, too. He rubs my hair dry with the other onebefore dropping it to the ground. “You want me to find a hairdryer?”
I shake my head. I want to go to sleep and pretend this day never happened. I need time to build my walls back up and fortify them. Something tells me I will need every bit of mental fortitude I can get.
