41. Chloe
I step out of the fancy bathroom into the lavish honeymoon suite wearing a white lace number that’s the epitome of bridal lingerie while also being overtly sexual. The white lace nightie falls to my ankles with a deep slit up the front of one leg as well as a plunging neckline and delicate, scalloped straps criss-crossing over my breasts and down my back.
My nipples show, but my bikini area is somewhat subdued by the underwear that came with it.
I’ve taken my hair out of the updo and it’s down around my shoulders in soft waves. Grace Steele’s hair girl did my hair with intention in this way so that it would look good both up and later down with minimal primping from me. Not that I feel the need to primp. What I do feel the need to do is carefully follow my new husband’s directions after today’s terrifying realizations. Anger and fear take up equal space in my mind right now.
No, Derek’s threats aren’t empty.
Yes, he’s even more dangerous, more unhinged than I thought. And I already thought it was bad.
Twice, he’s had guns pointed at Adam.
And now, Alannah and Craig, too.
Thank God Alannah sounded okay when I talked to her. Her voice was shaky, I know she’s affected, but in true Alannah fashion she’s more worried about me than herself. Though she’d probably say the same thing about me.
I know I’m about to get dicked down because while I’m not conceited, even I can say I look pretty sexy in this getup. Then again, Derek looks at me like he would lick caked mud off my body just to prove he wants me.
He’s sitting on the bed, back to the headboard, legs crossed while casually talking on his phone when I come out.
His eyes hit me and his expression changes. His face looks like stone all of a sudden, so fear wins out over anger.
“That’s it. Gotta go,” he says, then ends his call and puts the phone down.
He rises.
“Get the fuck over here.”
My heart skips a beat; my bare feet are frozen to the plush carpet.
He doesn’t wait.
His long strides eat up the space between us and I back up, but hit the bathroom door with my behind as Derek takes my face into both hands.
“Do you have a clue how happy I am right now?” He demands in a low, rumbling near-growl. “These straps… like that night we met.”
And then he lets out an actual growl as he fuses his mouth with mine.
I go weak in the knees, lightheaded, and just as fast, he’s released my mouth.
“You’re fucking breathtaking. Beautiful. And you’re mine, Chloe. Mine, baby.” His expression softens. “I wanna devour you.”
I swallow. Yes, I believe he does.
He rubs his nose along mine as his palm skates down my face, over my shoulder, and then down my arm until he clasps my hand in his and brings it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to it.
“My rings on your finger, my name attached to you now. Fuck yeah. The way you looked at me as you walked down that aisle to me was everything, wife. Everything. You looked in my eyes and you saw it, didn’t you? You saw I’d do anything to have you. You know that, right? That I’ll do anything for you? The look on your face as you walked to me made me think you’ve finally clued in. And I know you’re scared, but I’m gonna prove to you that you’ve got nothing to be afraid of as long as you let me do my job of being your husband.”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid it’s going to run out of steam.
“Being your husband is the first job I’ve really, really wanted, Chloe. I like goals. I like hitting them. And my goal on a daily basis for the rest of my life is providing for you, protecting you, and making you happy. Fuck, I like that. A daily checklist. Is my wife safe, happy, and have I fucked her yet today? We’ve got the dream, you know? Being together, being everything to one another.”
He waits as if I’m going to have a response to this.
When it becomes obvious that I don’t have a reply, he presses his lips to my hand again and then presses my palm to his face and leans into it. “I know you’re afraid, but you don’t need to be. I’ve talked the talk, now I’ll walk the walk, little bunny. I hope you clued in on that walk to me today, that you have a man who will worship you until the day I die. Who will ravish you every fucking day until I’m too old to do it. Who will go to any and all extremes to have you, to keep you. To let you know that I take my job very seriously. I’m the luckiest man on the planet. I get to give you everything you dreamt about having when you felt all that aching, all that loneliness, the rejection. I’m so glad I get to make you happy.”
“Stop,” I plead, brokenly, unable to take much more of this.
“Okay. I’ll stop. Instead of continuing to talk about making you happy, how about I get down to doing it?”
“Oh, you’re gonna go get an annulment and stop bothering me?” I ask, but my voice is shaky.
He shakes his head like he finds me funny.
“Best get this consummated now then so annulments are off the table, huh?” He walks me to the bed, and we fall down onto it, him on his back, me on top of him. He quickly rolls me to my back and shoves the lace nightie up, growling his approval when he exposes the tiny white thong underneath. He moves down my body while gathering the skirt of the nightie up until it’s fully above my waist.
“Yeah,” he whispers as his mouth touches down gently between my legs, kissing over the thong. His hot breath makes goosebumps rise. He hooks into the thong at both hips with his thumbs and hauls it down before moving up my body.
“Undo my pants, wife,” he whispers against my mouth.
He looks and sounds so sexy. That thick wedding band on his hand is going to attract even more attention, because women who see it are going to wonder what kind of husband he is, wonder what sort of woman could snag a man this hot.
I want to knee him in the balls. I want to scream out a primal war cry while kneeing him in the balls and raking my freshly manicured nails across his perfect face. I feel ready to wage a war against him. He’d gone too far from day one and now he’s gone far beyond that.
But now we’re married. He’s ripped me out of my life and inserted me into his.
I was terrified for Alannah, Adam, and Craig. And now I’m absolutely furious.
I had no hope in hell of changing his mind, not when I tried to be bitchy, not when I tried to be cold and freeze him out. He was resolute in his determination to have me and now it’s done. I’ve signed the contract – the marriage paperwork – I’ve said the vows and worn the dress, which now hangs in the bathroom.
It’s over. I’m married to Derek Steele.
But what’s next?
“Are you not feeling like my good girl right now? Are you, my beautiful wife, feeling naughty? Because your eyes are full of fire. And I gotta say, I kinda fucking like it. Look how hard you’re making me.” He presses his erection between my legs to show me. “I’m gonna spend the next few hours kissing you all over, fucking you hard. Fucking you gentle. Making you cry out over and over. You’re gonna suck your husband’s cock, you’re gonna take it in that sweet pussy and milk it dry, then when it’s hard again, I’ll ram through that tight ring of your ass again while I whisper into your skin that you’re mine.”
How did my life so drastically change in the past few weeks? Well, it drastically changed earlier this year and now again. And I’ve been powerless over all of it. I want some power back.
I whimper out some frustration and try to fight him off as he kisses me, slapping his face, but he pins my wrists and his eyes prod deep into my soul as he shakes his head, his cheek pink from my slap.
“Please, Chloe, don’t make our first time as husband and wife be me forcing you.”
Incensed, I snarl, “No! No, you don’t get this.” I shake my head with disgust, “You do not get my submission right now, Derek. No! Not after what you’ve done today. If you’re determined to have me right now, it’s only gonna be with a fight.”
He shrugs. “If you say so.” His eyes light up with something wild before he grabs the bodice of the beautiful, expensive lace nightgown that I know from the tag came from France and cost over two grand, and he rips it down, breaking a strap and exposing one of my breasts.
I shouldn’t have expected any less, but somehow I did.
I gasp, but that’s all I get out as his tongue is suddenly in my mouth. He fiddles with his tux pants and then he’s breaching me between the legs, ramming in hard.
I yelp in pain and try to fight, try to struggle, but his weight is pressing me to the bed and there’s no escape.
“Shh,” he whispers, palm covering my mouth. “Shh.” He pulls out and thrusts back in slowly, fingers from his free hand sliding between us and pressing against my clit as I shove him, clawing at his shoulders, trying to push him off.
I’ve drawn blood with a scratch on his arm, which makes me stop. He doesn’t stop though. He rubs little circles between my legs while I’m still full of him, while he continues to flex his hips, adding a rotation motion and increasing pace on both his finger circles and with his hips. His eyes bore into mine while his hand continues to cover my mouth.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight in order to hide from his penetrating gaze, but I can’t hide from sensation because in addition to the penetration and the clit stimulation, his mouth closes around my exposed nipple and he pulls, making my body react against my will.
At my reaction, Derek moves his hand away from my mouth and he licks a path up to my lips before his lips tenderly touch mine as his hand takes over on my breast.
“Baby,” he whispers sweetly before he pulls out of me, then tenderly strokes my cheek, wiping away the tears I didn’t even realize had fallen. “Shh, don’t cry, Chloe. It’s okay. I’m gonna make you so, so happy. Give me a chance.”
I want to scream that why should I give him a chance when he hasn’t given me a choice. But there’s no point.
He turns me over to my stomach and then he’s back inside again, getting in without resistance with the now-present lubrication, which I can’t fathom, but there is, so it’s not hurting anymore. Now it’s feeling good. And that’s confusing to me as I bite the pillow, fist the sheets, and let the wave of sensation take me away. He’s now holding both hips as he repeatedly, slowly strokes the inside of me over and over.
His mouth touches my ear. “I’m gonna make you so happy. I know you’re upset right now, Chloe, but the ends are going to justify the means. You’re mine. You’re mine and you’re safe, and you matter to me. I see you.”
I’m turned to my back again. I stare to the side, not wanting to give him any more eye contact, but he tilts my chin so that our eyes are locked, then lets go of my face and puts his fingers between us again, stroking me down there.
“Guess what?” he whispers.
“I refuse to play a guessing game with you.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you. I love you,” he says, pulling three quarters of the way out before driving back in to the root. “Ah! That’s good. You feel so goddamn good.”
“You don’t love me,” I whisper. “You have no idea what love is.”
“I didn’t. But now I do. Please don’t be afraid to love me back. I can’t wait for you to love me back. I know it’ll happen and I’m sure you’re going to try to stop yourself when you start falling, but fall, Chloe. Fall into love with me. Don’t be afraid. It’ll be so worth it. I promise.”
As he’s spoken, he’s increased the friction on my clit and his words have thrown me off so much that I’ve forgotten to guard myself and I spontaneously come. I come hard, sensation rocketing through me. He comes with me, burying his face in my hair, groaning into my neck.
This is it. I’m married. To a man who swears we’ll never divorce. I burst into sobs. My entire body is wracked with it.
He kisses my neck over and over, playing with my hair, trying to soothe me.
How can he think this is love?
No longer filled with him, I’m still full, but filled with hopelessness as he collapses beside me, kissing my shoulder while I lie here with his wedding rings on my finger, his cum inside me, in the honeymoon suite of a nice hotel wearing expensive, ripped French lace.
He’s been holding me for half an hour, my cheek is on his bare chest, my body draped over his with my naked legs tangled up with this tuxedo pant-clad ones as he traces the straps of my nightie with his fingertip, seeming deep in thought as I stare up at his face.
“What ‘cha thinkin’ about?” he asks, eyes meeting mine.
I say nothing.
“Wanna know what I’m thinking about?” he asks.
“No,” I grumble.
He smiles a dazzling smile and laughs.
I frown.
“I’m thinking we should have a baby as soon as possible. I’m thinking you should stop taking those birth control pills every day. You have, what, three left? We have a lot of bedrooms to fill in our new house.”
The look I give him must speak volumes because he has the decency to look a little contrite as he shrugs. “The sooner the better in my opinion. Have a bunch of kids now and we’ll still look semi-youthful when they’re all off to college and we wanna spend that next ten years traveling and enjoying the empty nest while we wait for grandbabies.”
My heart twinges painfully because in a normal world, a normal marriage, it would be the perfect plan.
“Are you plotting my demise, my bride?” he asks. “Is that what you’re doing?” He pokes my nose playfully. “Because no pre-nup, so… not a bad idea since it’s the only way you’ll get rid of me.”
“How rich are you?” I ask with my best evil eye gleam.
“Very,” he whispers, looking gleeful with amusement.
Feeling dejected that my bitchy little snipe failed, I roll away and go to the bathroom. I lock it behind myself and run a bath in a huge, deep tub.
I turn the jets on and lean back against the bath pillow, closing my eyes.
When it’s deep enough, I sink down, going under, tuning out the rest of the world, holding my breath and just… being. Not thinking. Not feeling. It’s like I’m in my very own sensory deprivation chamber.
I used to do this in the bath when I was a teenager, when Bryan got really sick, then later when he was … no more. Turn off all the noise, tune out all the bad shit. Just, float. Float like I floated before consciousness, when I was a fetus in my birth mother’s stomach. Maybe she wanted me then. Maybe she loved the idea of me. Maybe she glamorized motherhood in her mind before the reality of a crying, hungry baby overwhelmed her teenaged brain.
Derek is rich enough to buy me a sensory deprivation chamber. Maybe I should ask for one – get something out of this marriage.
I’m suddenly yanked from the water, hauled out of my warm, bubbled cocoon of stresslessness and facing the wild eyes of my new husband. Derek’s expression is stark. Fear? He’s standing in the tub, in his (still undone from when he fucked me) tuxedo pants, holding me. He steps out of the tub and sets me on the countertop as if I’m breakable, dragging towels off the towel bar as he examines my face, cussing under his breath, “Fuck, fuck, holy fuck, baby, fuck.”
He’s winded. Panicked. His hands are trembling as he grips me.
“Stop. I was just trying to take a bath. Let go of me.” I push him as he touches my face, my arms, looking wild with worry.
“You… you…” He flinches and looks back at the tub and then at me again, seeming like he’s traumatized, shaking it off. “You were underwater. I thought…” He looks back at the tub and blinks a couple times.
“I was holding my breath,” I defend, covering myself with a towel and climbing off the vanity onto the soaking wet tiles. “Did you think I was drowning myself? That I’d rather be dead than be your wife?”
He flinches again almost like I’ve landed a blow on his face. He rakes his hand through his hair, then grabs a towel and dabs at his torso as he leaves the bathroom.
I pull the plug and dig through the bag he brought for us until I find my toothbrush and toothpaste.
I don’t know if he packed this for us today or if he had someone do it but nothing important seems to have been forgotten, which is good if I don’t have access to my stuff for a few days.
A honeymoon. Five days alone with him somewhere after a trip on the Steele private jet? I stare at myself in the mirror as I wipe away what’s left of my eye makeup and again can’t fathom how I wound up here. I’m not entirely uncultured, but married to a wealthy, powerful guy like him? I guess he’s not the typical, wealthy powerful guy type, is he?
I’m not the trophy wife type. What on earth must my boss Frank think of me after getting a call from our largest client who informed him that he’s marrying me and that when I get back from my honeymoon, I’ll be his boss?
Do I even want to be a boss?
No. Not really.
Not really able to wrap my mind around any of that, I step out of the bathroom and see Derek in the sitting area on the couch, staring out the window with a drink in his hand. A large one. He takes a big swallow and stares out the window with a bitter expression.
I dig into the wardrobe where our clothes have been hung and all that’s here is one outfit and sneakers for each of us. I pull down a new soft, gray pair of yoga pants for me with a long, drapey matching cardigan, and tank top. I find underthings in the drawer folded neatly beside Derek’s socks and underwear and take all this back to the bathroom.