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Chapter three

You Can't Comfort Ice

Cillian

S he was right. I had never seen the ice queen bleed. Nor did she cry, sweat, or flinch. As cold as a New York winter.

So, who was this vulnerable little princess in my bed?

“Last chance, love,” I whispered. “Tell me who did it.”

Her jaw twitched as she bit down on her molars, her glassy eyes uncertain as she searched my face, probably trying to read my intent.

I prayed and hoped she’d get the message, but when she opened her mouth, I was disappointed.

“It was a mugging. I don’t know who it was.”

A fucking lie.

There was nothing more insulting than a fucking lie.

My finger and thumb moved to her chin when she tried to look away. I restrained the incredible need to punch a wall as I stared at my deceptive bride.

I leaned down, placing my nose near hers. She smelled like sweet berries. Like a kiss beneath a mistletoe. She felt like temptation, carnal and crude. The forbidden fruit.

“You might not know me well, Wife, but for the sake of our marriage, I suggest this be the last time you lie to me.”

I pinched her chin until she winced.

I let her go, and she cast her eyes down, looking at something on the white duvet. She took a deep breath, her posture straightened. I knew that she was building her defenses up again. Her lips parted to tell me more untruths, and I couldn’t stand it.

I am not an impulsive man. But this one time…

I plunged my tongue into her mouth to stop her transgression.

I cupped her cheeks in my hands, clamping her face to mine, as I devoured her whole. The sweetness of her lips made me want to suck the breath right out of her lungs. To steal her air, her soul, and everything that she was.

It was several long minutes before I realized that she wasn’t reacting as planned. I expected her to slap me. To push me away. To protest. Then I would assert my dominance as her husband, and she’d acclimate to her new life.

But instead, she returned my passion threefold. I savored it. I moaned into her lips, as she whimpered into mine.

There was nothing but the softness of her tongue, the roughness of her teeth, and the deep, sensual groan of her acceptance. There was nothing but the haze of bliss as white as a snowstorm, and as warm as a crackling Yule log.

Was the treacherous witch fucking with me?

I flinched away, catching my breath to fight the haze of desire.

Her eyes were closed, lips parted, and cheeks a sweet, warm pink. No, she wasn’t playing a game. This was honest, true, mutual attraction.

I grabbed her thigh, digging my nails into her flesh and parting her legs. I had daintily covered her in my own college shirt, and placed the blankets at her hips, so that she was modestly protected apart from the wound I found on her rib.

I didn’t want the doctor to get any wild ideas.

Side note: I’d need to make sure all future doctors were all female.

There was no reason for anyone to ever see my wife naked. She was mine. End of.

I kissed down her abdomen, to the small divot of her belly button.

Then lower, to the shaved mound that I had averted my eyes from all night.

Her pale complexion extended to every part of her body, except for the sweet pink petals between her thighs.

I suspected that her nipples would be quite rosy too, but that wouldn’t be my focus for now.

Not when she was so compliant and smelled so divine.

Don’t look an Italian gift horse in the mouth. Not when you can ride her bareback instead.

I placed myself between her thighs, lips hovering over the cunt I was ravenous for. She tensed, fisting the blanket at her sides.

Does she think I’m going to bite her? Because she’d be right.

I took a sweet fold into my mouth and grazed my teeth along the delicate flesh. She moaned as her eyes fluttered closed. I swiped my tongue along her slit, groaning against the musky delight of her wet pussy.

She was eager. It was undeniable.

I was surprised. But also, a man. And she was my bride—so surely this was my right. To feast on her, and delight in the pleasures of her body.

Marriages had been built on far, far less .

When her thighs shuddered, and her moans turned into screams, I pinned her thighs to my shoulders, took her clit in my mouth, and held on for dear life. My body rejoiced in her orgasm as her wetness coated my chin as she writhed to unseat me from my new favorite place.

She came again and again, as eager and wanton as any fantasy I had conjured in all my years.

“Please, stop,” she said, her hands pushing at the top of my head as tears streamed down those full, rounded cheekbones. “I can’t.”

“One more,” I demanded, as I sucked a final throaty scream from my sweet little delight.

She was crying when I crawled up her body. The tears streamed freely down when I cupped her face, placing my weight on my elbows and knees so I didn’t crush her.

“Have I hurt you, Wife?” I asked, kissing her cheeks.

What instinct made me act this way? I wasn’t sure.

She shook her head. But still, the tears flowed.

“Don’t lie to me,” I said, frustrated that even now she was holding herself away when I wanted nothing more than to peel her apart.

“I’m not lying,” she said quietly.

“Then speak, woman, before I call the doctor back here to confirm—”

“It’s not fair that you can do this.” Her interruption took me by surprise. “I hate you. I fucking hate you. But you can do this. You have a right to do this. And I can’t stop it.”

I waited, wiping each tear as it appeared, choosing not to kiss them away, even though that was what my soul longed to do.

“I’m your prisoner. As you said. I have no choice in this.” She shook her head, bringing her hand to her face, batting my palms away. “The least you could do is not make me feel anything when you do it.”

I was confused. Her words made no sense.

She’s lost her marbles.

“Have the decency to just… fuck me and get it over with. Don’t make me feel this.”

“Feel what ?” The frustration crept up my chest, and doubled when I realized that I wanted to comfort her.

You can’t comfort ice! For fuck’s sake.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she whispered.

She tried to get up, but I placed a hand on her shoulder, keeping her down. She didn’t put up much of a fight, but surrendered, as she winced from the pain of her stitches. There was no reason to fight me.

I had never been in this situation before. Not in a position to hold a woman in my hands. The need to comfort, protect, and to give was overwhelming.

I placed a kiss on her forehead, and rolled over to my side, pulling the blanket up to cover her bare thighs.

She gazed at me with confusion, her eyes begging for answers to questions she hadn’t asked.

“Sleep, love,” I whispered. “We’re going to have a long day tomorrow.”

I rolled over to the nightstand, flicking off the light switch to the room and plunging us into darkness.

I turned over, emboldened by a new resolve, and took her in my arms. With my bicep beneath the crook of her neck, her cheek on my chest, I felt her fall into slumber as I stared at the dark ceiling.

As my wife slept in my arms, I contemplated the strange enigma of Giovanna Eugenie Green.