Page 9

His hands. His fucking hands. Why were they so warm and electric? Why did they land on my body so roughly, then gentle in a blink? And why did I respond to every bit of it?

“Look at me,” he whispered.

“Am I more precious now that you know I don’t have a lover?” Would he taste the bitterness of my words, as clearly as he would taste the salt of my tears?

He shook his head, not as a denial, but in frustration.

“You need to look at me Gia,” he whispered.

And my foolish body obeyed. I looked into his black eyes and waited for him to command me. To tell me what to do, as everything throbbed with need, and fear. Desire, and despair.

With one hand, he slipped it into the space between us, his palm landing on my shaved mound, his thumb circling on my clit.

My eyes fluttered shut, as I moaned beneath him, writhing against his touch, pushing against that delightful, happy thumb.

But with the slow move of my hips, I felt his cock inside me move.

Pushing further still, my eyes flew open at a flash of pain.

He was watching me. He was as still as a statue, the only movements from that delightful thumb.

It took several more sways and thrusts before I realized that I was fucking myself on him. In my eagerness to chase my high, my hips had moved back and forth, undulating like a wave against his stiffened cock as he patiently waited…

Waited… for what?

“Cillian…”

“Shhh,” he said quietly. “It’s alright, love. You’re starting to relax. You’re opening for me. Just breathe.”

His black eyes were as hot as lava, and as deep as the ocean. I was lost in them. Lost in their hypnosis. Lost in the eyes of a snake.

“You’re alright, Wife,” he whispered, as he leaned down to bite the lobe of my ear. “My lovely bride,” he cooed, before he bit down on my throat, sucking the flesh into his teeth as I whimpered. “My darling Mrs. Green.”

He bit down hard on my shoulder, and I didn’t even pull away. I accepted the pain. I took it with eagerness and moaned against the forming bruise his teeth made on my flesh.

“You’re doing so well.” His praise made my nipples heat with need, my chest arching towards him, as though my breasts begged for his mouth.

He smirked, looking down as the little pink skin rose to his lips.

“Are you offering these to me?” he whispered, his lips grazing them lightly. “It’d be impolite to say no, I think.”

He latched on, biting down on them with the same aggression he had used everywhere else. Teeth scraped, then soothed the tender skin, and I wept with pleasure. My hips moved harder, bucking against him and his hand, until my thighs protested the exertion, but still, I couldn’t stop.

“Cillian, please,” I whined again.

He let my nipple go with a pop, smiled down at me—not smirked, but genuinely beamed with pride.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?”

Ready for what? I had no idea. But the answer was a resounding, “Yes! Yes! Yes !”

He lifted himself up, his hand on either side of my head, boxing me in.

He pulled himself out, until only the tip connected us. Then he violently thrust in, entering me easily and quickly, the slick sound of my juices accentuating the slap of our hips.

I screamed. I screamed and struggled, but not to escape. To get more.

He thrust in again, and the corners of my vision blurred. Another thrust, and I lost all sense of the world. I was floating on a cloud, my body coiled in anticipation. One more thrust, and I was in ecstasy and bliss, high above the clouds, cresting a wave that pushed through my entire being.

“My God!” I marveled, unsure how any one person could hold such feelings within themselves.

“Well done,” he praised, bringing his face down to my throat.

In a flash, the binds around my wrists were undone.

“Wrap your arms around me. Wrap your legs too.” The instruction, like all the others, was obeyed. “Don’t let go.”

He rode me like a madman. I saw my own feelings mirrored in his frantic movements. Despair, desire, desperation. His skin heated, just like mine, as the sweat pooled between our bodies. He kissed me.

I was surprised. I never thought that Cillian would be the kind of man to kiss. But he was.

And I liked it.

The words blared in my mind.

And even that was a robbery. He stole another part of me. I didn’t even get to choose whether I liked this arrangement. This marriage. My husband.

He growled, as his pace increased, his hips rubbing against my sensitive clit until a second wave went through me.

My back arched, my hands clawed at his skin, he moaned in pleasure as our bodies bucked together, slamming as one until the final, hard thrust that joined us.

The sensation of him coming inside me was thrilling and satisfying—even more than the two orgasms he’d granted me.

The feeling of him, satisfied inside of me.

Our arms and legs tightened, as we clung on, holding each other until we fell back down to earth.

The haze of lust burned away, and sadness gripped me in its jagged claws.

I was a traitor to Morelli. I had betrayed my father, my mother. My family.

“It’s alright, love,” he chanted over and over again.

I realized that I was crying.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” He went on and on. “You’re alright.”

I clung on tighter. I held on and wept.

“Talk to me, Wife,” he whispered against my cheek as he kissed a tear away. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s not alright,” I wept. “It’s not right.”

“What’s not right?”

“This. This isn’t right.” I balled my hand into a fist and slammed him on the chest. But he didn’t move. “I hate you. I hate you so much.”

He kissed my other cheek. “I know.”

“I hate you.” I wept as if he hadn’t said anything. “And you’ve taken my hatred too. You’ve taken everything. You’ve even taken this. The choice. I didn’t even get to choose who I gave my virginity to. It wasn’t a gift. It was a commodity.”

I was so distraught that I didn’t feel it when he rolled us to his back. That he had brought me to his chest, and held me to him, his fingers stroking my back.

“I can’t even choose how to feel, ” I wailed like a child. “I can’t even choose to feel violated. I can’t even hate you, the man who has taken everything from me.”

When had he tucked us beneath the blanket? I wasn’t sure.

I just cried and cried. And when my vision cleared, the lights were out. The blanket was tucked up to my chin, and his arms held me to him. Safe and secure.

“I wouldn’t have harmed you, you know,” he whispered against my hair.

I didn’t know what he was talking about. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to know. I didn’t need to feel anything for my husband, but he wouldn’t be dissuaded.

“I didn’t expect you to be a virgin,” he said, as his lips grazed my forehead. “I wouldn’t have been angry, if you weren’t.”

He adjusted us, so that we were on our side, staring at each other.

“I’m not the villain you think I am.”