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I open several doors of drunken groomsmen and even half-dressed bridesmaids getting ready for other weddings in the chapel before I finally find Sophie standing alone in front of a mirror.
“You’re supposed to be walking down the aisle right now, princess,” I tell her when I slip into the bridal suite and shut the door behind me.
She’s stunning in her white satin dress, her black hair pinned up with a veil streaming down her open back. It’s hard to believe that she’s about to be mine. That is, if I can convince her to come up to the roof and say the vows.
I know full well that I don’t deserve someone so beautiful and perfect. I shouldn’t tell her that, though. Admitting that her beauty alone could bring me to my knees isn’t smart. Still, I can’t resist telling her the partial truth. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” That one word when her eyes meet mine in the mirrored reflection is so icy, the temperature in the room drops fifty degrees.
“Cold feet?” She’s obviously still upset with me from last night, stabbing a man for touching her, refusing her ultimatum. And yet she’s wearing the dress. All that’s left is to get her upstairs to the gazebo.
She turns away from the mirror but doesn’t face me, like she doesn’t want to look at me. “Did you fuck any whores last night after you took my virginity? More than one?”
When I don’t answer because I’m still not convinced that I was her first, she finally turns to face me, blue eyes blazing in anger, assuming silence is a confession. “You’re a disgusting bastard.”
Oh, yeah, she’s definitely still pissed. And it takes all my restraint to not flinch at her accurate, yet still infuriating, insult.
“It doesn’t matter who I fucked or not last night because your ass is still going upstairs and saying those fucking vows.” When she doesn’t respond, just paces away from me, I take an unconscious step toward her before catching myself.
Rather than convincing her, I’m only succeeding in driving her further away.
Fuck. Maybe I shouldn’t have lost my temper last night. Even if I wasn’t her first, I was rough. There’s no doubt about that. “Are you sore?” I ask her to try and change the subject.
“Yes.”
I’m not sure why I’m surprised that she’s sore or angry at me for how hard I took her. I couldn’t sleep last night, unable to forget how amazing it felt fucking her, and thinking about her assertion that she wouldn’t let me touch her again unless I swore not to fuck anyone else. She’s not even giving me the benefit of the doubt before the ceremony. There’s not an ounce of trust in those incensed sapphire eyes of hers and I hate it.
Telling her I don’t want anyone else would never be enough. She’ll have to learn to trust me, or this marriage will never work.
And if she doesn’t trust me, she won’t let me inside of her snug cunt again. Virgin or not, she was unbelievably tight compared to the women I’ve been with. I’m trying hard not to think about my Disney princess with another man before me, the man I stabbed on the floor possibly if she was lying. Even if I wasn’t her first, I still want her again. More than I should.
While I’ve always known sex can be used as a weapon, today I intend to utilize it, giving Sophie a taste of how good I get her off on my tongue whenever she wants. I may not be capable of love, but if I can convince her to meet me halfway on the loyalty issue, trade her honesty for my own, then we can both enjoy ourselves in this marriage.
“Are you going to marry me or not?”
“I don’t know yet,” she finally admits.
While I hate that she’s having doubts, I’m still confident when I tell her, “I bet I can get a yes out of you in the next five minutes.”
“How? By threatening me?”
“Come sit down.” I point to the velvet armchair, wondering how big of a stain we’ll leave on it.
“What?”
“Sit down so I can lick your pussy better, and then we can get this show on the road.”
She shakes her head so hard I’m surprised hairpins don’t go flying. “No.”
“That wasn’t a request. Now sit down and spread your legs, Sophie. You’re not leaving this room until I taste you. And if you refuse to marry me, your father will have me marry Cass instead.”
“What?” The appalled look on her perfect face is one that likely matched my own.
“You heard me. Sit. Down.”
She looks from me to the door, thinking it through. I brace myself for her to tell me to get the fuck out and go marry Cass, that she doesn’t give two shits.
Instead, she asks quietly, “Are you going to at least lock the door this time?”
