Page 26 of Devour (Blood and Roses #1)
Ariel
H e looks around, clearly in pain from my knee nailing him when I scrambled away from his chest, searching for whatever might have caused my scream.
“What are you doing here?” I bite out.
He finally looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, realizing there’s no threat.
“What do you mean, what am I doing here? I’m your husband. Where else would I sleep?” he growls, rubbing his wounded, bulging crotch.
I should’ve known Griselda would put me in his room, especially after handing me that damn box of lingerie as a wedding gift. I don’t know what gave her the idea that this is some kind of happy marriage.
“I thought this was just a marriage of convenience.”
“You thought wrong,” he says, his eyes suddenly glazing over, fixated on my shoulder, where one of the thin straps of this nightmare of a nightgown has slipped down, exposing my right breast.
I quickly pull the strap back up, but his gaze turns hungry—almost feral like I’ve just taken his favorite candy. He watches my every move like a predator stalking its prey.
“As long as you’re my wife,” he says, crawling toward me like a beast closing in, “you sleep in my bed.”
I start inching backward, my heart racing—desperate to put space between us as he punctuates each word with slow, deliberate movements.
“You’ll get on your knees and open that pretty mouth,” he murmurs darkly. “You’ll spread those soft, sexy legs and beg me to take your pussy. And when I’m not too pleased… I might take your ass instead.”
Did he just say my ass? I swallow the lump in my throat at his threats but my pussy pulses, clearly not in line with my brain. The bed is so massive I barely reach the edge before he grabs my ankle and yanks me back toward him.
The force knocks me onto my back, stealing the breath from my lungs. A startled screech escapes my lips. He positions himself between my thighs, leaning over me, his hot breath ghosting across my face.
“You’ll do your wifely duties whenever, however, I want,” he growls, before sealing his mouth down onto mine.
I expect a forceful, dominating kiss—so my fists fly to his shoulders, striking in rapid protest. But they slow the moment his lips meet mine… soft. Almost pleading, as if he’s begging me to meet him halfway.
Something inside me cracks. The ice I’ve built around my heart begins to melt, splintering bit by bit as I wrap my arms around his neck. My fingers tangle in the soft hair at his nape, pulling him closer as I deepen the kiss.
He hesitates—his arms braced on either side of me like a push-up, holding himself above me, careful not to touch.
But I crave contact. I wrap my legs around his waist, digging my heels into his lower back. He groans into my mouth, and the sound ignites something deep inside me. The pressure makes him falter slightly, and some of his weight sinks onto me.
His tight abs press flush against my core, and I shamelessly grind against him, my clit dragging over the hard ridges of his stomach through my soaked panties. The friction is maddening.
I move faster, chasing the pleasure. I know I’m leaving a wet trail across his skin but I don’t care. I’ve never needed something so badly. All sense, all shame, vanishes.
The kiss grows deeper. Hotter. More desperate as I take control of it sucking on his tongue, devouring him as I ride him harder. My thighs tremble, the coil inside me winding tighter, tighter until it finally snaps.
I come with a shudder, gasping into his mouth as wave after wave crashes through me. And he just holds himself there, still not moving, still not touching except for the fire in his kiss.
When I finally come back to my senses, he pulls away. I brace myself, expecting him to take what he wants now, expecting him to flip me over and take me from behind like some claiming ritual. But he doesn’t.
He untangles himself from my limbs, peels away from the bed, and walks to the bathroom like he can’t wait to get away from me.
I stay frozen in place, my body still trembling, thinking maybe he just needs a second. But then I hear the shower turn on.
My brow furrows in confusion. I know he wants me there’s no denying the evidence straining against his boxers. So why leave?
The water shuts off a few minutes later, and I hear the quiet slap of his bare feet as he moves into the adjoining walk-in closet. Drawers open. Soft movements follow.
Suddenly, shame crashes over me shame for how wanton I’d just been, when it was only yesterday that he forced me into this marriage. I should hate him. Not just for the marriage, but for forcing this life onto me… onto my child.
I’m married to a freaking mobster. A killer. A manipulator. And yet, the terrifying truth is I think I might still be in love with him. Even knowing he’s not the same person I once gave my heart to.
It’s only been a day, and already I’m dangerously close to giving it to him all over again. I pull the fallen covers over my body and curl onto my side, facing away from the door.
The blanket is drawn up to my neck like a shield, as if it can protect me from the hollow ache inside.
A few minutes later, I hear him return from the closet. I know he’s fully dressed, the soft click of his watch clasp gives it away. My body tenses, bracing for something—anything. A word. A touch. A command. But nothing comes.
Then the bedroom door clicks shut. And he’s gone. I sit up slowly, pushing the covers off my body, confusion and something dangerously close to rejection twisting in my chest.