Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
" D rop the blanket." His command hung in the air, leaving me frozen in place, wrapped in the blankets he'd draped over me.
Surveying the unfamiliar room, I took in the unexpected surroundings, realizing it was the first time I’d been invited into his home. It exuded a modern, yet inviting ambiance featuring an expansive, open space with an oversized brown leather couch positioned at the room's center. The area I stood in connected the kitchen to the living room. My eyes were drawn to a large TV mounted on one wall, while a large fireplace with a roaring wood-burning fire cast a warm glow throughout the room.
The decor balanced modernity and warmth, suggesting a bachelor pad aesthetic that leaned toward sophistication rather than a cluttered, college-kid vibe. My attention turned toward Walsh as he stalked over to me.
"It was a good game we played." I gave him a cocky smirk. "You make a good pretend husband. I almost believed you when you held my hand."
He stopped, and his eyes narrowed. "A pretend husband?"
"Yes."
He growled so low and deep it reverberated throughout the room, terrifying me. "Madison. You are my wife."
"No." I pursed my lips. "Because if I was your wife, then I would live in this house with you. My things would be here. My clothes would be here, and we’d be sharing a bed like the happy married couple we were."
He groaned again, rubbing his temples. I was pissing him off again, which was all part of my plan.
"I am going to fucking kill Enzo."
"No!" I didn’t want anything to happen to Enzo. He was trying to protect me, and I didn’t want him to tell Walsh about my panic attack. "I snuck out."
I lied easily to Walsh, especially when wanting to protect myself.
"I am going to kill you," he added.
This time I chuckled. Walsh was the big bad wolf to everyone else, and yes, he wanted to hurt me in other ways, but I knew he’d never actually lay a hand on me.
"Okay, Walsh-y, I’d love to see that happen."
"Cute nickname," he retorted. "You’re being a brat."
I smiled. "I know."
"Come here, brat." His eyes, now hooded with a deep desire, beckoned me to step toward him. It took all my will to stay planted where I was.
"No." I tried to stop the tremble in my voice, but I knew he heard it the moment a smirk spread across his face.
"You were such a bad girl." He stalked slowly toward me. "You walked out here in your underwear in front of my father, parading around, distracting me."
I stepped backward. "If you were distracted, that’s no one’s fault but your own."
"Ah." He tsk ed. "That's where you are wrong. Your fine ass jiggled with every step as you walked out of that hot tub. Your red hair cascaded down your shoulders as you shook it side to side, letting the water drip."
"Mm-hm?" Barely listening to the words he spoke, I focused on his pursuit toward me.
"You played the doting wife role well, though. I am so proud of what a good learner you are."
Oh shit. If I wasn’t already drenched from being in his presence, I was soaked now. Maybe it was because I was innately a people pleaser, but that praise did something to me. It felt like a warm blanket, healing me in some strange capacity.
"I-I…" Nothing. No words were forming in my head, my thoughts stuck on imagining his cock stretching me. "I hate you."
I finally said something, but I knew the moment the words flew out, they were so far from the actual truth.
As I took one solid step back, I realized I’d somehow backed myself in a corner next to the fireplace, the warmth from the hearth heating my cold legs.
"I know." His eyes were ravenous with an indescribable hunger. I braced the wall behind me, dropping the blanket. The cool plaster was a dichotomy from the heat emanating from the fireplace. "Show me how much you hate me."
He grabbed the back of my head, tugging on my hair and tilting my head to the side. "Let me taste you."
His demand was fierce as his lips roamed down my neck, trailing kisses along my collarbone.
"So perfect," he whispered. A moan escaped my lips, and for a moment, Walsh paused, stepping back to admire me.
His eyes grazed my entire body. "I’m taking in every detail of your curves and committing it to memory."
In the past, I'd felt self-conscious about my muscular physique. But as time distanced me from the desire to conform, I embraced and flaunted my athletic build.
"You are stunning." A smirk played on his lips as he caged me in again, his body pressing against mine, pinning me to the wall. His tongue traced over every inch of exposed skin.
This was the man I resented. He was supposed to be my protector, yet he pushed me away, unable to confront the consequences of his actions. My body seemed to betray me, not understanding the danger. As he advanced, I shrank back, desperately trying to meld into the wall to escape his encroaching presence.
"Spread your legs," he demanded. I obliged, gripping onto the wall and rolling my head to the side. The noises that escaped my lips were so crude, unable to swallow them down.
"You hate me so much, yet you are making such a wet mess."
I groaned.
Then Walsh Solis did something I never thought I’d ever see him do again. He dropped to his knees, grabbed onto both of my thighs, and looked up to me. His dark-brown eyes locked with mine, and in that moment, we saw each other in both of our raw vulnerability. He bared himself to me, his eyes seeking answers.
Fuck, I hated how quickly I could fold in his presence.
"Let me taste you, wife."
I swallowed. The words were caught again inside my chest, unable to have answers, and my core was flexing, desperate for his tongue to touch me.
"Please," he begged.
Oh no.
He was begging. For the first time. I felt like somehow he’d spliced his power and let me have a taste. My hands became clammy because, while I was feral for him, I knew what this moment meant between us.
"Okay," I whispered. He groaned, grasping my thighs and spreading me wide open, his tongue lapping my folds. I could have come right then. I could have melted on the feel of his mouth against my warmth. The tip of his tongue flicked over my clit. I grabbed onto the wall as much as I could, silently wishing he’d put in handles or something for me to hold onto.
The faster his tongue moved against me, the more I saw stars. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to hold myself upright. Suddenly, being next to the roaring fireplace seemed like such a bad idea because my body was on fire. It had to be because of the warmth emanating from the fire and not because of the masterpiece Walsh’s tongue was painting on my clit.
"Oh my—" I cried, desperately trying to balance myself.
"Stand over me." That meant having to take a few steps forward, which I wasn’t sure I was able to do, but I tried, steadying myself with the wall behind me. I hovered over him as he lifted my thighs around his face so I was straddling his shoulders. He’d given me the support I needed so I wouldn't topple over and angled his face in a perfect position to continue his assault on my cunt.
"You taste like the sweetest fruit, Muse," he groaned.
Now I remembered why I’d moaned his name every time I came the last three years. The memories of how good he could make my body feel came rushing back, and if anything, I was happy to be stuck here to experience this for the rest of my life.
I may have hated this man, with every fiber of my being wanting to constantly be at war with him, but I melted to a puddle when he tasted me. His tongue darted in and out, alternating between circling my pussy with a fevered frenzy and then taking care of my clit with languid strokes to get me to the point I would explode right on his face.
I fell into a stillness, my orgasm right there as he pulled away from me, standing me in front of him. He stood, his lips covered in my juices.
"Why did you stop?" I panted.
A slow twist tilted the corners of his lips. "Because I need you to come on my cock, wife."
He wiped away my wetness with the back of his hand. I was suddenly washed with embarrassment at how soaked I was for him.
He grabbed me by my waist, then lifted his thumb to my lips.
"Open up."
I nodded, parting my lips as he shoved his thumb into my mouth. "You taste so good, don't you?"
My doe eyes locked with his ravenous ones. "Please fuck me," I croaked out around his thumb.
He was edging me. I wanted so badly to come, but I knew he had a plan, because Walsh Solis was always coming up with something. I hated that I was a pawn even in his sexual desires.
"Ah, so now you want to consummate our marriage?"
Ugh. Stop talking. I wanted him to shut up and let me fuck him without ruining the moment. I wanted to forget how mad I was at him and not be constantly reminded of it.
"Shut up," I huffed, trying to push him off, but his hand snaked tighter around me, pulling me in so our lips were a hair's breadth away.
"Tell me you hate me," he whispered. His other hand reached between my thighs, pushing them apart.
"Tell me you hate me," he said, and his hand stayed on my pussy.
"I hate you," I said, mustering up all the confidence I could find.
Another smirk formed on his face, then a sharp slap stung my cunt.
Holy shit. He smacked my pussy. "Ouch," I said, trying to look down, but his hand came up. Walsh Solis slapped me, and I strangely found it sexy.
"Lay down." He dropped me onto the oversized couch. It was one of those pieces of furniture you see at the store that is so oversized that your body kind of just melts into it.
"I hate you so much, Walsh," I cried, a tear threatening to spill. His eyes stayed on me with that unabridged hunger, but there was a softness to them.
"Take me, Muse." I nodded, unable to form words. "Stretch your cunt around my length."
"Please…more," I cried.
"Focus on me." My eyes focused on his body as he stood over me, pulling off his clothes. "Eyes up here," he demanded.
"Good girl," he praised, and I scooted up so I was in a sitting position. His hands grasped the hem of his shirt, then he lifted it off his head. The swirls of ink came to life on his ripped chest.
"Watch me," he commanded. Then he stripped down to nothing, baring himself in front of me. He was trying to distract me. Pull me away from the thoughts of hatred and self-loathing I was about to spiral into.
He was literally distracting me with sex.
"It’s our first time," I whispered as he got on his hands and knees on the couch and crawled over me.
"It is."
His hand tilted my chin so our eyes connected. It was a silent way of asking permission, and I knew when our gazes locked, everything was going to change.
In an instant, he lifted me by my hips so my legs were spread as wide as they could between his thick thighs.
My right hand braced his chest for support as I used the other to trace the intricate swirls of his tattoos. His cock twitched against my stomach.
"Get on top." His eyes were hooded and hungry as I hovered over his throbbing dick.
As I followed his command, he caressed my cheek. "My wife."
I threw my hair over my shoulders, looking at the ceiling as I braced myself for the way he would stretch me. His tip beading with precum allowed me to glide onto his cock. As I thrust my hips, I cried out at the fullness. He was stretching me in every single way, and at the same time, giving me the power, letting me control how much I took of him.
"I’ve never allowed a woman to ride me," he said through carnal groans as I took him deeper. "But you, Muse? I could watch the way your hips grind into me all day."
I closed my eyes, enveloped in his presence and the surge of emotions surrounding me. Overwhelmed by his touch, the perfection of him within me, and the realization that I was dismantling emotional barriers between us, everything became too much for me to handle. Yet I needed more of him. My body demanded more of him, so I finished my descension, allowing him to fill me all the way up.
"I’ve dreamed of this for years," I screamed, then bounced atop him, and he rolled my nipples between his fingers.
In this position, I had all the power and could understand why he enjoyed being in control. Being here, like this, made me feel like I could climb the tallest mountain. Watching him gain pleasure because I was giving it to him was indescribable.
I gyrated on him, switching between bouncing and pulsing, using my thighs and knees to help stabilize my movements. I loved the sound our skin made as my pussy slapped his balls.
His fingers held onto my hips, helping me when my movements became more languid. Exhaustion set in as stars appeared in my vision. Everything and nothing seemed to overwhelm me simultaneously. That alone was enough to send me over the edge.
I exploded into my orgasm, and his shaft tightened and pulsed inside of me. A symphony of murmurs echoed throughout the room before I went slack in his arms.
Rolling off him, I dropped onto the fluffy blanket that reminded me of a cloud.
A profound silence lingered between us, and my chest felt like it might burst out of my body. The intensity of the orgasm was unlike anything I had experienced before. However, amidst the euphoria, a sense of depletion washed over me. I felt exposed, raw, and vulnerable—emotions I detested.
Overwhelmed, I fought back tears. I remembered reading about this in my sexual psychology course last year. Over ninety-two percent of people had some sort of emotional release after they orgasmed, including intense feelings of sadness. It happened in times of great connection when people felt so exposed that it was almost terrifying. I could officially say I understood what that meant and was part of that statistic.
Walsh remained silent, and I dared not meet his gaze. The connection between us felt both healing and terrifying. Despite my urge to despise him, an inexplicable bond tied us together. When we fucked, it was like the sky shattered and we were the ones trying to piece it back together.
He coughed, snapping me out of my stupor, and got up. "I, er, I-I’m going to get us a towel." He must have felt it, too.
His voice quieted. "Let me take care of you."
Then I lost it. Whatever was happening was terrifying to me. I needed to be far away from him, from here. I needed to process this emotional turmoil with myself before I had another panic attack.
Was it wrong to leave? Absolutely, but I needed to put myself first.
I grabbed the blanket, wrapping it around me, and tiptoed to the sliding door and slowly opened it so it didn’t make a sound. Once I got to the big doors in the front of the barn, I stopped to look back at the main house. I could have sworn Walsh was leaning up against the window, but I shook that away and opened the door, going toward the little apartment at the top of the stairs.
After getting into the apartment, I decided to take a bath. As I soaked in the warm water, I stared at the main house in the distance and let my emotions spill over. The feeling of being trapped hung over me like a dark cloud.
Our recent physical intimacy had teased me with the idea of freedom, but the reality hit hard—I had no way out. The thought of the upcoming dinner with strangers and not being able to hide behind my usual self scared me.
I stayed in the bath for hours, my tears mixing with the water. Hugging my knees, I let my emotions pour out, filling my heart with a deep, relentless sadness.
It wasn’t until it was dark again that I got out of the bath, put on an oversized sweatshirt, and lay in bed. I looked at my phone to see if he’d texted me and there was nothing there. He felt it, too. The divide between us had grown so wide. There was no turning back, and it was terrifying.