4. Cian
Cian
E very inch I pump into my wife’s tight pussy is agonizing ecstasy.
Her cunt strangles my cock, the sensation borders on painful, but I’m determined to see this through and soak up every drop of pleasure along the way.
I can hardly believe it when I reach her barrier.
She’s such a good fucking girl that she’s never even played with a dildo.
My cock is the only thing that’s ever been inside her sweet pussy.
That realization consumes me, manifesting a raw possessiveness like I’ve never experienced before.
I push through and she whimpers. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.
Relax. You’re doing so well. Just hold onto me, that’s right, just like that.
” Sweat coats my skin. The effort to hold back, to inch into her, taking its toll.
But I won’t rush this, not her very first time.
I’m not a fucking monster. Not in that way, at least.
I’m still amazed at how quickly everything has twisted and turned in the past hour. When she wouldn’t obey me, and I had to cut off her dress, I had every intention of punishing her with a quick, impersonal fuck. Who cares if I hurt my enemy’s daughter— ex -enemy, I have to remind myself.
But then I touched her, and her body lit up, so responsive to my caresses. It made me crave more. Made me realize that above all else, she’s my wife. She deserves the respect that goes with that title.
The way she touched my dick, and the fear in her eyes that followed, delivered another blow to my icy resolve. So innocent, so na?ve. A ripe, tempting fruit just waiting to be plucked and devoured.
I’m not a good enough man to resist such temptation.
The final straw came when she begged not to be sent back home. I wanted to ask her why she was so afraid of her father, but why the fuck would she confide in me? Though I know something isn’t right in that family. Lorenzo is… off . But that’s not her fault.
I finally had to admit to myself that I don’t hate her.
She never did anything to me or my people.
If anything, she’s a casualty of war, if not a victim.
Taking out my anger and hatred of all Italians on her is unfair.
I was being a dick. Which usually serves me well, but perhaps my wife deserves a different approach. Maybe.
Hating her for being a beautiful woman is also unfair.
Elena isn’t my ex-fiancée. Yes, they both have dark red hair, and that ethereal kind of beauty that’s like a siren’s call.
But Elena isn’t her . Elena isn’t a liar, or a devious, manipulative bitch.
She’s sweet, sassy, and every kind of temptation I don’t need in my life right now.
But I want it. For tonight, I will give into it. Tomorrow, I’ll be in control again.
I groan as I finally bury myself balls deep in my soft, gorgeous wife. Staying still, I give her a moment to catch her breath, for her body to adjust to my invasion. She’s panting, clinging to me like I’m her life line, and goddamn does she feel good beneath me, and around my cock.
For the first time since my ex betrayed me, I want to turn on the lights and actually see the woman in my bed.
I yearn to watch her face as I fuck her, the tension in her features when she’s close, and how she looks when she falls apart.
That right there tells me how dangerous this woman is to me.
I’ve known her less than twelve hours and she’s already tempting me to deviate from my patterns. To break my own rules.
“Are you okay, mo stoirín? ” Why the fuck do I keep calling her that? She’s not my little darling . I need to stop.
“Yes,” she pants. “I need you to start moving.”
Fuck yes . Her wish is my command.
I pull almost all the way out before slowly, oh so slowly, pushing back inside her hot pussy. She rocks her hips, just enough to drive me fucking wild.
This time, I move a little faster, fuck her a bit harder and deeper. Her moans are music to my ears, a salve to my brutalized soul.
Honestly, a lot of women can’t take me, not all of me. I’m too big—it’s a fucking curse. But Elena’s moaning . I’m able to bury my cock all the way in her sweet pussy. It’s a miracle. It’s like she was made for me. Perfect.
I revel in the feel of her, her amber scent, the small noises that escape her perfect lips.
Lips I want to kiss, but that’s too intimate.
I won’t allow myself to fall down that abyss ever again.
I’ll fuck her, I’ll eat her cunt, but I won’t kiss her on the mouth.
That’s where I draw the line. She needs to know about that boundary, and she will soon enough.
All too soon, my spine tingles and my balls tighten. How long as it been since I’ve had sex? I don’t know. Far too long. I usually last longer, but she’s so fucking tight and wet.
I’m not going to last much longer, even with all of these thoughts swirling through my head. Sliding my hand between us, I stroke her clit until she’s a shuddering, writhing mess.
When she comes, I’m right there with her, emptying my cum deep inside this beautiful woman.
I never do this bareback, but she’s my wife and I want her pregnant as soon as possible.
The sooner we produce a child of our mixed Irish-Italian lines, the more secure the peace treaty will be between our people. We’ll be bound by marriage and blood.
She trembles beneath me, clinging to my shoulders, her legs wrapped around my hips. Easing out of her fluttering cunt, I roll to the side and give myself a moment to catch my breath before heading to the bathroom.
After cleaning myself up, I grab a washcloth and run it under hot water. Cloth in hand, I return to the main room and approach the bed. She must be sore. The warmth will help?—
A click sounds, followed by a blinding light. I shield my eyes against the glare.
Fuck . Frozen, I stand there, naked, and she has no doubt seen everything I’ve been trying to keep hidden. My disfigurement.
With a roar, I lunge for the bedside lamp. I grab it, and smash it to the floor, engulfing the room in darkness once again.
“I told you no lights ,” I snarl in Elena’s direction. “Didn’t you fucking hear me?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. Her timid tone infuriates me even more.
“Here. Clean yourself up.” I toss the warm washcloth at her, then turn away to find my trousers and shirt. Quickly dressing, I leave the bungalow in search of some fresh air. On my way out, I slam the door shut, hoping my actions clearly communicate that I don’t want to be followed.
Not that she would follow me after what she just saw.
I’d intended to keep my body hidden from my wife for as long as possible, but that’s now fucked. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Or maybe I should have stripped in front of her so she could see the kind of monster she was getting into bed with from the start. Too late now. We’ve consummated this marriage.
Horrified or not, she’s my wife, and she’s not going anywhere.