15. Tristan #2
"I told him I needed time to think about it." She looks at me defiantly, as if daring me to punish her, to hurt her, to react to what she’s saying.
The admission hits me harder than it should have, stabbing into my chest like a knife.
She didn't say no. She didn't defend me, didn't tell him to go to hell, didn't walk out in righteous indignation.
She told him she'd think about it . Anger boils in my veins—anger at him, anger at her, anger at this entire fucking situation… that I’ve somehow fumbled this all so badly that my wife wants me dead.
"You told him you'd think about murdering your husband." My voice comes out deadly quiet, but inside I'm screaming.
"Yes." She lifts her chin higher, and my hand tightens on the back of her neck. "I told him I'd think about being free of a man who treats me like property, who locks me in rooms when I displease him, who punishes me like he’s my master when I don't submit to his every whim."
I feel a stab of pain at her words. I’ve thought them too, as recently as in my hotel room in Vegas.
Because there's truth in them, isn't there? I have been treating her like property, have been using my physical dominance to force her compliance. I’ve been treating her as I’ve been taught to, as my father has encouraged, trying to balance the need to bring her in line with the obsessive desire for her that feels as if it’s eating its way through me like a cancer, like an addiction.
An obsession that, it seems, might lead to my downfall if I don’t get this all under control now .
"So that's what this is about? You're so unhappy being my wife that you'd rather see me dead?" I stare down at my gorgeous, defiant wife. “Seriously?”
"I didn't say that." Her eyes spark fire. “You said that.”
"You didn't have to. The fact that you didn't immediately refuse tells me everything I need to know."
“Can you blame me?” she spits out. “After how our marriage started? How you burst into my life and claimed everything that was never supposed to be yours? After the way you’ve treated me?—”
"You considered betraying me." The words come out harsh, accusatory. "Your husband. The man you made vows to."
"Vows that were forced on me!" She's shouting now, all pretense of composure gone, the words yelled into my face from an inch away as she glares at me with unmuted hatred.
"I never had a choice, Tristan. Not in the marriage, not in the consummation, not in any of it.
You took everything from me—my freedom, my body, my life —and now you're angry that I wanted it back? "
"I never took anything you didn't give me."
"Didn't I? When exactly did I give you permission to spank me? When did I consent to being locked in my room like a prisoner? When did I agree to be treated like your personal plaything?"
Her words are like acid, burning away every justification I've built up in my mind. Because she's right. I have been taking what I wanted, using my physical strength and position of power to force her compliance.
"You responded to it," I growl. "You want it, Simone. Your body can’t lie.”
"My body is a traitor," she spits. "My body wants things my mind knows are wrong. But that doesn't give you the right to use it against me."
"So what now?" I snap, speaking through my teeth as I stare down at my wife, held in my grip. I press my fingers into her neck, the furious, primal part of me wanting to see her fear, her acquiescence that she’s done wrong.
"Are you going to go through with it? Going to let him kill me so you can have your safe, predictable marriage? "
Simone sneers up at me, still unbroken, and god , something about that makes me want her a thousand times more than I do already.
My cock is aching, rock-hard and straining against my zipper, and the heated argument has done nothing but arouse me from the moment I laid my hands on her.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she hisses, and my body strains with the desire to throw her onto the bed and remind her who she belongs to.
To sink into her and fuck her until my cock is fucking imprinted on the inside of her body.
To make sure she’s so constantly filled with my cum that any other man who tries to touch her would find her already marked by me.
But I promised her what would happen if she didn’t learn obedience. And more than I want to fuck Simone O’Malley until she screams my name… I want to see my defiant, gorgeous wife on her knees.
Hunger burns in my chest. A hunger to claim her, to remind her who she belongs to. To see her pretty lips stretched around my cock as she learns her place in this world.
I tried to give her space. To go on the business trip and give us both a minute to adjust to our new circumstances, to this marriage. And the first thing she did was run to another man and plot my downfall.
I let go of her neck with a sharp movement of my hand and take a step back, giving her room to see if she’ll comply with my next demand. "Get on your knees."
Simone’s expression hardens. “Fuck you, Tristan.”
“You will. With your mouth.” I gesture to the rug in front of me. “On your knees, Simone. Now."
"Tristan, I?—"
"You want to know what my expectations are? This is one of them. Your mouth on my cock, taking me deep until you’ve pleased your husband.
" I hold her gaze evenly. “You’ll learn to suck my cock exactly the way I like it, célie . Keep testing me, and I’ll make sure I claim all three of your perfect holes before this day is completely over. ”
Simone’s eyes widen. “You—I won’t?—”
"You will." I step toward her, closing in on her. "You'll kneel for me, and you'll use that smart mouth for something other than defying me."
“I—”
“You will get on your knees now, Simone, or I’ll fuck your ass before I leave this room.
We can go all night. I can go all night.
I’ve spent two days in a Vegas hotel room fucking my fist instead of my wife, and now I want to come down your pretty throat.
I want to remind my wife of what her place is. So get on your fucking knees, Simone.”
For a moment, I think she's going to refuse. She stands there, chest rising quickly with her every breath, looking at me with that violent stubbornness that I know might be my end. But god , even if she manages to fucking kill me, I’m going to find out what her mouth feels like before this is over.
She throws me one last, furious look, and then sinks to her knees in front of me.
“I hate you,” she whispers, looking up at me.
My cock throbs painfully at the sight. It’s everything I imagined and more, Simone, my wife, on her knees with her face upturned to me, her lips inches from my cock, her hair trailing around her face.
In a few moments, I’ll be in that warm, perfect mouth, and the ache that sweeps through me sinks down to my bones.
"I know." Her admission of hate doesn’t amuse me like it usually does. I don’t smirk down at her, don’t tease or bait her.
My wife wants me dead. That realization thrums in my head as my hands go to my belt, and her eyes follow the movement.
I can see her throat work as she swallows, can see the way her hands tremble as she rests them on her thighs.
I reach out with one hand, trailing my fingers down the side of her throat in a gesture too gentle for what’s happening, as I drag my zipper down with the other. “Are you ready to suck your first cock, célie ?”
She stares at me mutely, fire burning in her eyes.
Need sears through my veins as I look at her perfect mouth, as I relish the knowledge that my cock will be the first one to ever touch her lips.
I’m the only man she’s ever touched, ever kissed, ever had in any intimate way.
The thought of it makes me throb, my balls tightening as I open the front of my pants and ease my aching length free.
The possessiveness that thought triggers is almost overwhelming.
Simone makes a small sound in the back of her throat as she looks at my thick cock just in front of her face.
Whether it's fear or arousal, I can't tell.
I wrap my hand around the base, angling my shaft downward so the tip is nearly touching her lips.
Pre-cum pearls at the tip, and I can feel the thick vein along the top throbbing against my palm as I nudge my swollen cockhead against her stubbornly closed mouth.
Even just the soft heat of her lips brushing against it feels like fucking heaven.
"Open your mouth."
Simone glares at me. I meet her gaze, a warning in mine. A promise of how long we can draw this out if she doesn’t submit to her punishment.
She hesitates for a moment, then parts her lips. I push my cockhead between them, sliding the first inch into her mouth as her lips stretch around me, letting her feel the weight of me against her tongue.
"That's it," I murmur, threading the fingers of my other hand through her dark hair. "Take me in, célie . Let me feel that beautiful mouth."
Her full lips pout around my cock as she struggles to adapt to my size.
I feel her teeth catch against the crown—not intentionally, but because she doesn’t know what she’s doing.
With any other woman, it would be off-putting, but there's something incredibly erotic about her inexperience. About the fact that I know, beyond a doubt, that this is the first time Simone is ever experiencing a man’s cock in her mouth.
I slide out until only the tip is between her lips.
“Use your tongue,” I instruct, my voice rough with need.
“Slide it around the tip, célie . I want to feel you taste what I have for you. Tease me. Learn me—” I groan as she hesitates, then obeys, her tongue laving over the sensitive head of my cock, licking away the pre-cum before she flicks it against the soft skin just beneath.