Chapter 10
LENNOX
My hands fist in his shirt as his arms come around me, one hand in my hair, the other gripping my ass. He backs me toward the stone wall beside the massive fireplace, each step making my heart pound harder.
“I hate you,” I gasp when he breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down my neck. “Hate that you make me…” I don’t finish the thought; I won’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing he can make me come almost on command.
“Make you what?” His teeth graze the bite mark he left last night, making me moan. “Make you wet? Make you need my cock? Make you come so hard you forget your own name?”
“Yes.” The admission burns, but it is the truth. Every time he touches me, I respond. Every time he commands, I obey. I can’t help myself. I want him.
“Say it.” His hand works the zipper at the side of the dress. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want—” My breath catches as his hand slips inside my pussy, fingers finding that one spot he’s so adept at hitting. “Fuck,” I moan.
“Tell me,” he demands, his fingers circling my clit with maddening pressure. “Or I’ll stop right now, and we’ll go to cocktails with you aching and empty.”
“I want you to fuck me.” The words come out strangled, desperate. “Now.”
“Say please.”
“Now, please.”
“Please, what?”
“Please fuck me against this wall.” I grab his belt, yanking him closer, past caring about pride or resistance. My body is on fire; it has been since the entryway when he almost made me come before the sheriff interrupted. “Now, Sebastian, before I lose my mind.”
His smile is dark, triumphant, like he’s been waiting for me to beg.
He spins me around, pressing me against the cold stone wall.
I gasp at the shock of it through the thin fabric of my dress.
He doesn’t wait for me to step out of it.
He rips the seam open and pushes it off my body in one rough motion, exposing me fully to him.
My bra also ends up with a similar fate.
The rip of the lace, the light sound as it’s tossed to the floor, is almost too much.
“Hands on the wall,” he orders, and I comply immediately, palms flat against stone.
Behind me, I hear his belt buckle, the rasp of his zipper. Then his hands are on my hips, and I am already arching back against him, wanting him inside me, unable to stop.
“Look at you,” he growls. “So fucking eager. So wet for me, you’re dripping down your thighs.”
“Stop talking and fuck me already.”
“You’re awfully demanding today.” He crashes into me, and I cry out at the perfect brutal intrusion of his cock splitting me open. Yes. This. This is what I need.
“Fuck yes,” I gasp, bracing my hands on the wall, pushing back to take him deeper. “God, yes.”
“Still sore?” His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back as he starts moving, deep, punishing strokes that make me slam forward with each thrust.
“I don’t care any more.” And I don’t. The burn just makes it more intense, more raw, more real. “Harder. More, Sebastian,” I beg.
He obliges, fucking me with brutal efficiency against the wall, one hand in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to add new bruises to yesterday’s collection. The rough stone scrapes against my cheek, my hands, my breasts, and it all just feeds the fire burning through me.
“This what you want?” he pants. “My cock buried deep inside you? Using you against this wall?”
“Yes.” It is the truth, even though I hate it. “Yes, fuck, yes.”
His hand snakes around to find my clit, and the second his fingers make contact, I nearly come apart. I am so close, I have been since the entryway, since this morning, since last night when he made me come too many times to count before finally letting me sleep.
“Come on, I need…” I whimper, not sure in this moment what I actually need.
“I know what you need.” His fingers work my clit in tight circles, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside me with every thrust. “Come for me, Lennox. Show me how much you need this. How much you need me.”
The orgasm slams into me, ripping a scream from my throat as my pussy clenches around him in spasms I can’t control. My entire body shakes with pleasure so intense it borders on pain, and I can hear myself babbling his name, begging, thanking him.
“That’s it,” he groans. “That’s my fucking girl. So perfect when you let go.”
He fucks me through it, prolonging it, making it endless until I’m sobbing with overstimulation. Then his rhythm falters, his grip on my hip tightens, and I feel him come deep inside me, claiming me, again.
We stand there for a long moment, both breathing hard, his body pressing against my back, his cock still inside me. I can feel his cum starting to leak out, can feel the evidence of what we did.
When he finally pulls out, my legs nearly give out. His hand on my waist is the only thing keeping me upright.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my forehead pressing against the cold stone.
“Yeah.” His voice is rough with satisfaction. He turns me to face him. “You okay?”
His question catches me off guard.
“Um…” I don’t know how to answer that. I’m sore, overwhelmed—confused about why I want him so desperately when I should hate him. “I’m fine.”
He studies my face for a moment, then kisses me softly. So different from the brutal way he’d claimed me seconds ago that it makes my chest ache.
“Go shower,” he says. “Get ready for dinner. We have a bit of time before we need to leave.”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and head toward the bathroom on unsteady legs. Behind me, I hear him moving around, probably changing his clothes, making himself presentable like he didn’t just fuck his wife into oblivion against a stone wall.
The bathroom is a sanctuary, a blend of stone and modern luxury. I don’t have any clothes left to take off, and I wince at the tenderness between my legs, the ache in my hips. But underneath the discomfort is satisfaction. My body is sated in a way I didn’t know was possible.
I hate that he could do that to me and that I want it. Even more, I hate that as I stand in his shower with his cum still inside me, I’m already anticipating the next time.
The shower is scalding, and I let it wash away the evidence even as the memory is burned into my skin.
When I finally emerge, wrapped in a plush towel, I find my things have been unpacked.
My clothes in the closet, my toiletries on the counter, my life arranged and organized without my input.
He did all this while I was in the shower.
I pick a navy dress, elegant but understated, with a high neckline to hide the bite mark and long sleeves to cover my wrists.
Heels that add height without being impractical.
I look like money, sophistication and confidence.
All three are lies. I might have grown up in a well-known ranching family, but we don’t pretend to be anything other than ranchers.
I dry my hair, put on makeup with steady hands, and slip the diamond studs into my ears. When I look in the mirror, I see Mrs. Sebastian Drake staring back at me. Polished. Perfect. Exactly what his family expects. Will I ever just be Lennox Briggs again?
When I emerge from the bathroom, Sebastian is waiting in the bedroom, sitting in a winged-back chair, watching the pasture, already dressed and looking expensive and casual and entirely in control. He turns to me, his eyes traveling over me slowly, appreciatively.
“Perfect,” he says. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” The words come automatically.
He crosses to me and reaches out to fix the collar of the dress that I missed pulling up, his fingers brushing the bite mark beneath it. The touch sends heat through me even though we’d just been together. My body is insatiable for him, apparently.
“Remember,” he says quietly, his hands settling on my waist. “They know, but they’ll never say anything about it, so neither do you.”
“That last part isn’t going to be hard. You really think I want to talk about standing on a stage in my underwear having a room full of men gawk at me deciding how much to buy me for?” I quip, then immediately regret the honesty.
He smiles and appears pleased, and possessive. “No, I doubt you do.” He kisses me. “Ready?”
I look at him, this man who bought me, claimed me, makes me want to betray every principle I thought I had. This man I am legally bound to for two years.
“Ready,” I reply with a nod.
He offers his arm, and I take it. We leave the house and step into the Texas evening, golden light painting everything in warmth and shadow. A ranch truck waits to drive us to the “palace” where his family is waiting, circling like vultures.
Where I will need to smile and perform and convince them I want to be there.
The strange thing is, after what just happened against that wall, part of me wonders if I am still angry about it.
Or if I’m actually starting to enjoy being his wife.