15. Rowan
15
ROWAN
F or a moment, I think maybe I’ve heard her wrong. I frown, my jacket held in one hand as I look at my gorgeous bride, apprehension written all over her beautiful face.
“Say that again, lass?” I murmur finally. “I could have sworn you just told me that you weren’t going to go to bed with me on our wedding night.”
Genevieve bites her lip. “Well, according to you, I have no choice but to ‘go to bed’ with you, if I want to sleep in a bed. But to be perfectly clear, we aren’t going to have sex tonight.”
Well, there’s no chance I misunderstood her now.
My cock, already half-hard from the moment I picked her up downstairs—hell, it’s been half-hard since the moment she walked through those church doors, if I’m being honest—throbs in protest. I’ve been fantasizing about this night since I asked her to marry me…been fantasizing about fucking her since well before that, and I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that I’m going to pass another cold night without exactly that.
“It’s our wedding night, lass,” I say slowly, doing my level best to not sound patronizing. “The marriage has to be consummated.”
Genevieve looks at me narrowly. “And if it’s not? How are they going to know, exactly? It’s not as if you can hang bloody sheets up to proclaim you’ve fucked me,” she says caustically. “I’m not a virgin, in case you hadn’t realized.”
I let out a sharp breath. She’s right, and I tighten my jaw, doing my best not to snap back at her. Fighting with my new bride won’t get me into bed with her.
Although , I think grimly as I run a hand over my mouth, fighting has always felt a bit like foreplay with her.
“It’s…” I can’t think of anything to say. There isn’t any way to prove that we haven’t slept together tonight, not unless one of us tells, and it’s not in either of our best interests to do so. “Are you trying to get an annulment, lass? You won’t get anything out of this if you do.”
“Of course not,” Genevieve snaps. “But you remember our agreement, don’t you?” Her hands tighten on the edge of the bed, as if she’s bracing herself for a fight. “We only sleep together on the days when it could get me pregnant.” She licks her lips, and my cock goes from half-hard to ragingly erect in an instant. “This isn’t one of those days. Nights.”
“Are you sure?” I know I sound like an idiot, but I don’t fucking care. My entire body feels wound tight, my cock straining against the front of my suit trousers, my entire being focused on her. I want her desperately, need her to the point of pain. I’ve all but rubbed my cock raw stroking myself to the thought of her every fucking morning and night since I first met her, and I can’t quite wrap my head around the idea that I have to keep waiting .
But I won’t force her. I’ve never been the sort of man to do that, and I’m not about to begin now.
Genevieve looks at me with a flash of irritation in her eyes. “Yes. I went to the doctor. I’m tracking my cycle. It’s going to be another few days before I’m fertile.”
Something in the primal part of my brain clicks off at hearing her say fertile , and my cock throbs painfully again. I clear my throat. “Well, if it’s a few days, maybe we should try tonight anyway. You know, I hear that a man’s semen can stay viable in the?—”
“Rowan.” Genevieve cuts me off, but her eyes don’t quite meet mine. “I’m not doing this tonight.”
I swallow hard, trying to think past the fog of lust that clouds every part of my mind. My gaze sweeps over her, as if to intentionally torture myself with how beautiful she looks tonight. Her hair is thick and loose in those soft curls, spilling down her shoulders and back. Her lips are a soft rose, the same shade as the first night we met, full and plush. And that fucking dress—she looks like a goddess in it, and since those church doors opened, I’ve been fucking dreaming of the moment when I’d peel it away from her body and get to see every inch of her for the first time.
Something tightens in my chest, an emotion that I hadn’t expected, gripping me. I’ve never been sentimental about sex, never viewed it as anything but a means to achieve pleasure for both myself and my partner. But I can’t help feeling, in this moment, that I’m losing something. That by not getting to take Genevieve to bed tonight, I’m missing out on something I’ll never get the chance for again. At least not with her.
“It’s our wedding night, lass,” I say softly. “Do you want to miss out on that?”
She looks up at me sharply, a hint of surprise on her face. I want to tell her I’m as shocked as she is at the sentiment, but I can’t seem to speak for a moment. All I can do is look at her. All I can do is ache for her.
“I said no,” Genevieve says softly. Her eyes meet mine. “Are you going to respect that?”
Something snaps in the air between us, and I narrow my eyes at her. “I’d never hurt you, Genevieve. You should know that.”
My voice is reproving, tense, and she nods, looking away. I stand there for a moment, as if hoping she might change her mind, and then I shake my head, taking a step back. “I’ll just go and change in the bathroom, then,” I say awkwardly, clearing my throat. “While you get ready for bed.”
Genevieve nods, not looking at me. The tension between us has turned to an awkward heaviness, and I turn away just as I hear her speak again.
“Rowan?”
The sound of my name on her lips somehow makes me even harder. I hadn’t known it was possible. My cock feels like it’s about to fucking snap in two.
“Yes?” I manage, turning back toward her, and she gives me a helpless, frustrated look.
“I can’t get my dress off by myself.”
I swallow hard. Fuck . I’d wanted to take it off of her as badly as I want to breathe, but this feels like just another form of torture. I walk toward her all the same, because I’m beginning to believe that there’s not a fucking thing on earth I could deny this woman.
Genevieve turns away from me, reaching with one hand to sweep her hair over her shoulder. Her upper back is suddenly bare, the smooth pale skin entirely revealed above the severe line of her wedding dress.
The back of it is a row of small buttons leading down to the base of her spine, looped over a zipper. I reach up for the first one, my heart suddenly beating harder in the hollow of my throat as I undo it.
My cock pulses. I undo another one. And another. It feels like there’s no blood left in my upper body. It’s all in the eight inches between my thighs, pulsing like a second heartbeat as I flick open button after button and resist the urge to touch her anywhere else. She’s so close that I can feel the warmth radiating off of her skin. I can smell that herbal, salty scent of her perfume, smell her skin beneath it, the vanilla of her shampoo. I want to run my lips over the nape of her neck, drag them down her spine. I want to kiss every inch of flesh that I’m about to reveal as I finish undoing the buttons and reach up to start to drag the zipper down.
I’m so hungry for her that it feels like I’m starving.
Swallowing hard, I start to tug the zipper down. Inch after inch of her creamy flesh is revealed as it slides open, and my pulse pounds in my temples, my cock cramped and throbbing in the tight space of my trousers. I want her so fucking badly it hurts.
I drag it all the way down to the bottom, and Genevieve presses her other hand to her chest, holding the dress up. I see the necklace I gave her sparkle in the low light of the room.
“Thank you,” she says softly, and I know I’m dismissed.
Blindly, I shove myself up from the bed, pivoting on my heel and striding quickly to the bathroom. I catch a brief glimpse of the shock on Genevieve’s face at my abrupt departure, but I couldn’t stay there a second longer. Not unless I wanted to fall on her like a starving animal.
I shut the bathroom door behind me, hard, flipping the lock as one hand goes to my belt. I drag it open, yanking my zipper down as I palm my aching cock free, wrapping my fist around it with a hiss as the relief of skin-to-skin contact washes over me.
Stumbling forward, my hand already moving on my aching length, I grip the edge of the counter as I start to feverishly stroke myself. There’s nothing slow about it—no buildup, no taking my time. I need to fucking come, and that’s the only thing on my mind as I slide my palm over the weeping tip, precum soaking my hand as I white-knuckle the counter and look down at my throbbing length.
I can’t recall ever being this fucking hard. All I can think about is Genevieve in the next room, stripping that dress off, and what she looks like naked. I imagine her small breasts, what her nipples must look like, whether or not she’s bare between her thighs. I think of her long legs wrapped around me, of how fucking good she would feel when I sank into her, and I groan aloud as I grip my cock and stroke faster, desperate for release.
I know she can probably hear me, but I don’t fucking care. Let her hear me, I think violently, moaning again as I pump my hips into my fist, hissing out a sound of pleasure between my teeth. Let her hear what she does to me. Let her fucking listen to her husband jerking off on her wedding night.
“A few days,” I mutter, thrusting hard against my hand. “A few days—and then I’m going to show you what you’re missing.” I close my eyes, gritting my teeth as I feel my balls tighten. “I’m going to fill you up with my fucking cum— god! Fuck!”
A ragged groan spills from my lips as I angle my cock just in time, cum spraying against the sink as it spurts from my tip in hot jets that I’d give fucking anything to be spilling inside of Genevieve right now instead. I moan, thrusting into my hand again as another shiver of pleasure ripples down my spine, and then I sag forward, my hand loosening on my cock as I let out a breath.
I’ve only just tucked myself in and undone my tie, in the middle of unbuttoning my shirt, when a knock comes at the door.
“Are you done?” Genevieve’s voice comes through the door. “I need to get ready for bed.”
She could just be referring to me changing, but there’s a note in her voice that makes me think she’s ribbing me for being in here, jerking off. My jaw tightens, and I let my shirt fall open, striding to the door as I flip the lock and yank it open. “By all means,” I say tightly. “Come in. Don’t let me stop you. We’re married, after all. I think I can watch you brush your teeth.”
The reaction that I get from her is exactly the one I wanted. She opens her mouth to retort, and freezes, her eyes dropping to my bare chest and sliding downwards.
She’s never seen me shirtless before. I see her take in my defined chest, the ridges of my abdomen, the deep cut of muscle on either side leading down into my suit trousers in a defined ‘v’. I see her swallow, watch her throat move as she drags her eyes back up, her cheeks suddenly stained a pretty shade of pink.
“Like the view?” I smirk. “I’d have been happy to show it to you earlier, if?—”
“Oh, fuck off!” She spins on her good heel, limping away toward the bed, and I chuckle under my breath. My amusement is short-lived, because watching her walk away?—
She’s wearing a pair of white silk shorts and a matching camisole top, and I swear I can see a glimpse of the small curve of her ass under the edge of the shorts. “For someone who doesn’t want to be a wife tonight, you’ve sure picked some lovely bridal wear,” I call after her, feeling my cock already starting to rise to the occasion for the second time tonight. “Should I find a pair of white satin boxers, then?”
“Wear whatever the fuck you want,” she snaps, still not looking back at me.
“So nothing at all, then. You’ll like that in the morning, I’m sure.”
“I plan to sleep in, so I’m sure I won’t notice.”
The air crackles in the broad space between us, and I watch her from across the room, aching to cross over to her, run my hands through her hair, and kiss her until she’s moaning for me instead of spitting insults. Instead, I turn reluctantly back toward the sink to finish getting ready for bed, doing my best to ignore the ache between my thighs.
It’s going to be a long fucking night.
—
A few days feels like a fucking eternity.
I wake up the next morning with Genevieve on the other side of the king-sized bed. She didn’t gravitate toward me in the middle of the night, and I didn’t make my way in my sleep toward her. I tell myself to take it as a sign that there’s nothing more between us than the arrangement that we agreed to, but instead, I find myself watching her from my side of the bed instead of getting up.
She’s just as beautiful when she sleeps, her dark lashes against her cheek, her hair spilling around her face. I swallow hard, resisting the urge to touch her, and instead swing my legs out of bed and head for the shower—and another fifteen or so minutes alone with my morning erection and fantasies of my wife.
My morning and afternoon consist of telling Rory to get a couple of guys together to start moving Genevieve’s stuff over, and then sitting through meetings with my father. He informs me that now that the wedding is done, I’ll need to meet formally with the other heads of the families in order to prepare for when I’ll be taking over. I listen with half an ear, nodding along, thinking of going home to Genevieve tonight—of what I’ll say to her, of what we’ll do with the hours that we’ll be in the penthouse together, living together now. I’ve never lived with anyone before, and I don’t know exactly how to go about it.
It’s easier than I expected. We order takeout and make idle small talk over dinner, until Genevieve drifts off to read a book while I go over some files that my father sent home with me. By the time I come up to bed, she’s already asleep, and I lie awake for some time next to her, wondering if ‘a few days’ really means exactly three. If so, I have forty-eight hours left to endure before I can finally touch my wife.
Those forty-eight hours seem to last a lifetime. When I come home on the third day after our wedding, Genevieve doesn’t act any differently. She doesn’t throw me any flirtatious looks or make any offhand comments to suggest what we might be doing tonight. We eat, and talk a little, and sip a glass of wine while looking out over the city view from my penthouse, and I see Genevieve glance at the pool contemplatively.
“I can’t wait to be out of this cast so I can use it,” she says, and then hands me her plate as I get up to take the dishes into the kitchen.
I tell myself not to get my hopes up. Not to imagine anything that she might not follow through on. But the truth is that I’ve been half-hard all fucking day, imagining what might happen tonight.
When I walk upstairs, I can hear my pulse beating in my ears. I swallow hard as I reach for the doorknob, and when I step into the bedroom, I see Genevieve sitting atop the bed, wearing that silky shorts and tank top combination that she had on for our wedding night.
I pause in the doorway, feeling all of the blood in my body go south, my cock stiffening instantly against my zipper. Genevieve sets her book down, her expression perfectly blank as she looks at me.
“Well,” she says slowly, “I think it’s time to keep up my end of the deal.”