Page 34 of Redamancy (Fated Fixation #2)

I’m more of a boneless heap than anything else as he lays me down, belly first, on the silk sheets. He makes quick work of the button clasps on the back of my dress and slides the fabric down my sweat-slicked skin.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs with admiration, as his fingers trail down the naked arch of my spine. “And mine.” There’s a possessive edge to that last part, and then I hear his weight lift from the bed.

I turn my face. “What are you—”

A large hand presses my face back into the pillow, obstructing my view. “Do you trust me?”

My breath catches. “Of—”

With his hand on my face, he pushes me down again, muffling the rest of that answer. “Sorry,” he says, and I can hear the amusement in his tone. “That was a trick question. We’re married now.” I can feel his weight shift. “Till death do us part, and not a moment before. You have to trust me.”

He suddenly flips me over, and I have about two seconds to comprehend the slip of silk fabric in his hand before he’s winding it around my wrists.

There’s no fear when I realize what he’s doing—just anticipation followed by another pulse of heat through my center.

His dark eyes find mine.

“You know,” he says quietly, the corner of his mouth still curled with amusement. “A decade is a long time to fantasize about all the things you’d like to do to someone.” He tightens the knot—and my eyes widen.

“A decade? You were fantasizing about me…the whole decade?” Obviously, he was keeping tabs on me the whole time, but…

“Of course,” he murmurs, and then a hand comes up to brush my jawline. “I think I invented three new ways to fuck you in my head every day.” He catches the hitch in my breath, and he smiles. “But we’ll start with this one.”

As he leans back to undo his belt, a thought crosses my head. Probably terrible timing, but—

“You were with other people,” I state. “Even if you were fantasizing about me, you were with others.”

He pauses. Tilts his head to the side. “No.”

He says it casually, like that word has no real impact—but my jaw drops. “What do you mean, no?”

“As I said...” He disrobes completely. “No.”

“Like no one at all?”

He leans forward, dark eyes flaring with heat. “No.”

My mouth hangs open. “You never had any urge to—”

“No,” he interjects. “The interest has never been there for anyone but you. You’re the only person I’ll ever have.

” He parts my legs open. “Obviously, the same cannot be said for you, but I understand. You didn’t know this was our ending yet.

” There’s something in the softness of his voice that makes me uneasy.

“And it’s some consolation to know that at least I’ve killed any man who’s ever touched you in this way. ”

I barely catch sight of his cock—significantly bigger, thicker, and just as pretty—before he spears the entire length into me.

I gasp.

Too big, too big, too big—

“Fuck.” Adrian groans, his head tipped back, as my walls clench uselessly around his size. I can’t distinguish the burn of my muscles stretching from the pleasure of being filled, so completely, but I’m not sure I even want to.

“The wait was worth it,” he breathes, and he stares down at me, transfixed. “I may stay buried in your cunt forever, sweetheart. Just to make up for lost time.”

I’m not even sure why I open my mouth, but whatever it is, it’s forgotten as he starts moving—agonizingly slow, long strokes that leave me trembling, unable to think about anything but the sensation of being full of him.

Adrian keeps one hand latched around my hip to keep me still—as if I’d be capable of moving anyway—while the other fondles every inch of my body.

He seems particularly fond of my breasts—the bouncing made more obvious by my bound wrists in front of me.

“You really are made for me,” he breathes, a comment that follows a particularly deep thrust that has my back arching off the bed, my head tipped back, and pleasure rippling down my body like wildfire. “I will never let you go—not ever.”

His pace picks up, and I let out a shameless whine, helpless to do anything but lie here and take it.

And I don’t think I’d want to do anything else.

He shifts so that he’s hovering over me, one hand pinning my bound wrists above my head. “Do you trust me?” He whispers, expectant dark eyes lit with smoldering heat.

“I—”

His other hand clamps around my throat like a vice, and I gasp, the world muffling down to only two sensations: him pounding his full length inside me, and my pulse hammering beneath his touch.

I can’t be certain how long we stay like that—but he only releases me as the edges of my vision become fuzzy and his hips stutter.

We’re both breathing shakily, as he leans down to capture my mouth in a long, searing kiss and a quiet I love you.

***

When I wake, sore but sated the next morning, it’s to an empty bed.

He must be at work already, is my first groggy thought—and sure enough, the text message detailing how to use the state-of-the-art espresso machine in the kitchen only confirms it.

I rub the sleep from my eyes, yawning.

He must not have left that long ago.

It even still smells like coffee.

But then I hear the coffee grinder whirring.

What the hell?

Heart thudding through my ribcage, I tip-toe off the bed, mind racing with possibilities.

It’s not Adrian. He would’ve just brought me coffee in bed.

Maybe a staff member? He mentioned something about a private chef who did his meal prep a couple times a week.

Or an intruder.

I swallow.

That would happen to me, wouldn’t it?

I don’t see any obvious choices for a weapon in the sprawling large bedroom, but when I hear the fridge open, I decide to take my chances without one.

I don the closest item of clothing—Adrian’s dress shirt from yesterday, and pad quietly towards the kitchen.

The scent of fresh coffee mixes with the cedar of his shirt as I draw closer. There’s rustling.

The opening of a drawer.

And humming.

A woman’s humming.

I turn the corner, prepared to handle anything—intruder, private chef, even a secret mistress sneaking in for her coffee breaks.

I am not prepared to find my new mother-in-law drinking espresso and leafing through a magazine at the kitchen table though.

I freeze, but it’s too late—Mary Ellis looks up from her magazine and offers me a wide, warm smile that looks nothing like the coldhearted monster I know her to be.