Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Richard
Tonight, I showed up at the charity gala with Olivia.
It wasn't really what I wanted.
Thirty minutes earlier, I'd wrapped up a cocktail party. Getting back to Blackwood Manor would take an hour, and there was no way I'd make it in time to pick up Natalie. But two minutes after my driver hit the road, Olivia called.
She said her car broke down and asked if I could help.
What, was I a mechanic? How could she even ask something that dumb?
Her spot was just a traffic light away, so I swung by and picked her up.
At the gala, the Bryant Group heir cornered us about business. I hated talking at these things, but Olivia handled it.
"Mr. Winston and Miss Carter make quite the pair," Bryant said, swirling his glass, eyes bouncing between us.
I forced a smile. I'd heard that crap too many times—never bothered responding.
I didn't get it. Natalie was my wife now, legally. So why did everyone still joke about me and Olivia? Hell, Olivia and I had never even had a real date.
I shifted away from her, putting half a step between us.
"Excuse me," I said, setting down my glass, pretending I had to greet someone, and walked off.
At the crowd's edge, I pulled out my phone. No new messages. Natalie hadn't replied again.
I stared at the blank chat, thumb rubbing the screen's edge. This out-of-control feeling pissed me off like nothing else. What the hell was up with her? Why ignore me?
Whispers hit my ears then, and I caught Natalie's name.
I looked toward the entrance.
There she stood, champagne in hand. The champagne-colored gown hugged her body, one-shoulder style exposing her collarbone, and above that, her tempting neckline.
My eyes lingered for two seconds, then I spotted the problem.
The dress I'd sent her was different—one I'd picked myself from last month's Paris Fashion Week, nude pink, sharp cut. Not this thing that looked like a reject.
My brows furrowed, jaw tightening.
Tomorrow, whoever mixed up that dress was getting fired.
I started toward her.
Then I saw Olivia heading her way.
Natalie didn't like Olivia much. I knew their vibes clashed, but I'd never asked why. Women's drama—I didn't care, didn't need to get involved. But tonight, with everyone around, maybe they'd talk, get used to each other. Make future run-ins less awkward.
I paused, thinking that.
I hung back at the edge, twenty feet away, watching them face off.
Olivia smiled—that standard socialite grin. Natalie had her back to me, so I couldn't see her face, just her shoulders, rigid as stone.
People nearby stopped talking, eyes drifting over.
Some smirked, hands covering mouths.
Then Natalie moved.
She flung her champagne right in Olivia's face.
The whole hall went silent, like someone hit mute.
Olivia froze, hair dripping, her embroidered gown soaked in a messy stain.
Everyone's faces locked up—glasses mid-air, smiles stuck.
My brain buzzed.
What the fuck was Natalie doing? She was my wife—did she even think how this hit the Winston name? I bet tomorrow's headlines would scream, "Mrs. Winston throws fit at Olivia."
"Natalie!"
My voice cut through the crowd, laced with rage.
She heard me. Her body jerked, but she spun and pushed through the people, heading up to the second-floor dressing room.
I shoved past everyone, ignoring Olivia's hurt look, and chased after her.
The dressing room door was shut. I stood there, chest heaving.
The hallway was quiet, just the wall lamp casting a dim yellow glow. I stared at the closed door, tried the handle—locked from inside.
"Natalie." My tone warned.
No sound.
"Open it." I knocked hard.
Still nothing.
I waited three seconds.
Then my patience snapped.
No more bullshit. I kicked the door open. It slammed into the wall with a thud.
The second it swung wide, Natalie faced away from me. She'd stripped off the gown, down to just panties, skin exposed everywhere. Light poured down from above, lighting up her bare back, smooth skin, slim waist...
I stopped dead.
The breath in my throat shifted gears, and my cock stirred.
She jumped at the kick, whipping around, arms crossing her chest instinctively.
That cute, dumb reaction made me throb hard.
After all, facing me like this just let me see her body better.
My gaze dropped to her belly.
It was a little rounder than before.
I stared longer.
Eyes stuck, couldn't pull away.
Hadn't noticed before. But damn... it looked better.
I wanted to fuck her right here, but my brain screamed about what she'd just done.
I sucked in a deep breath, stepped in, and shut the door. The lock clicked, sealing out the hallway light and noise. In this tight space, it was just her breathing and mine.
She stared at me, chest rising under her arms. Lashes wet, lips pressed tight...
"You were rude as hell today," I said, voice low but each word hitting hard. "Splashing wine in front of everyone and walking off."
She didn't speak. Just stared, chin up a bit. Like, so what?
"Tomorrow," I closed in, commanding, "you apologize to Olivia."
Her eyes lit up like fire, ready to burn me and the whole place down.
"No."
Again with the "no."
I hated that word from her right now, especially when she was clearly wrong.
I moved closer. She backed up, hitting the wall, nowhere left.
My hand gripped her jaw, forcing her head up. Her skin burned under my palm, jawbone trembling faintly in my fingers, but her eyes didn't soften—they slammed into mine, daring me to look away first.
Her arms still covered her chest.
I didn't touch them. I knew what they hid—my hands remembered the weight and heat of her tits.
"Natalie, you don't get to say 'no'," I growled low, leaning in, breath hot on her cheek. "I'm your husband. I tell you what to do, you do it. Got it?"
Her pupils shrank, lips white from pressing, but she didn't back down.
"You don't know anything! She started—"
"I don't care," I cut her off, voice colder. "I care about the fallout. You made Winston a joke. Fix it."
"I won't!" She raised her voice, trying to twist free.
I stared at her face, so close—red-rimmed eyes, damp lashes, and those lips, still tempting even in defiance.
Rage gave way to pure want. She looked so fucking beautiful.
My cock was rock-hard, ready to burst.
Nothing else mattered. I needed to fuck Natalie. Now.
I crushed my mouth against hers, hard and demanding.
She gasped into the kiss, but I didn't let up, my tongue invading, claiming every inch.
One hand stayed on her jaw, tilting her head back for better access, while the other yanked her arms away from her chest. Her tits spilled free, full and perfect, nipples already hardening in the cool air.
I broke the kiss just enough to growl against her mouth, "You think you can defy me?
" Then I grabbed her breasts, rough and possessive, kneading them with force.
My thumbs circled her nipples, pinching hard enough to make her arch.
She moaned, low and throaty, the sound vibrating straight to my dick.
Fuck, she was sensitive—her body betraying her even as her eyes flashed with that stubborn fire.
Her moans grew louder as I squeezed harder, rolling her nipples between my fingers, tugging until she whimpered. "Richard..." she breathed, but it wasn't a protest—it was need. I could feel her thighs pressing together, her body heating up under my touch.
I slid one hand down her side, tracing the curve of her hip, then lower, hooking into the edge of her panties.
She was soaked already—I could smell her arousal, feel the damp fabric.
My fingers peeled the lace aside, exposing her slick folds.
I teased her entrance, circling with my thumb, and she bucked against me, another moan escaping.
But as I pressed a finger in, she grabbed my wrist. "Richard, we can't do this, I..."
"See? You're dripping for me," I murmured, breaking the kiss to watch her face twist in pleasure. I added a third finger, stretching her, fucking her harder with my hand while my thumb worked her clit in rough circles. She cried out, head falling back against the wall, body trembling.
I couldn't wait anymore. I yanked her panties down her legs, letting them pool at her ankles.
She stepped out of them instinctively, and I scooped her up, her legs wrapping around my waist as I pinned her against the wall.
My pants were off in seconds—belt clinking, zipper down, cock springing free, throbbing and ready.
I positioned myself at her entrance and drove in with one brutal thrust, burying myself to the hilt.
She gasped, nails digging into my shoulders, her walls gripping me like a vice. "Fuck, Natalie," I groaned, starting to move, slamming into her with deep, punishing strokes. Her legs locked around my waist, holding on as I fucked her hard against the wall, each thrust making her tits bounce.
But I wanted more. I pulled her away from the wall, still buried inside her, and carried her to the full-length mirror across the room.
I turned her so she faced it, her back to my chest now, and bent her forward slightly.
"Look," I ordered, gripping her hips and thrusting again.
In the reflection, she could see everything—my cock disappearing into her, her flushed face, swollen lips parted in ecstasy.
"You said no earlier," I taunted, pounding harder, watching her expression shatter. "But look at you now, getting fucked senseless. You're loving it, aren't you? Soaking my cock."
"Stop... Richard, we can't..." Another "can't," and I slammed into her so hard the mirror rattled, her moan turning into a scream of pleasure.
Her constant refusals grated on me, hot but infuriating.
I needed silence from that mouth except for moans.
I yanked off my tie with one hand, still buried deep, and wrapped it around her head, gagging her mouth tight.
"There," I growled, tying it off. "Now shut the fuck up and take it like the good little wife you are.
Look how wet you are, clenching on my cock.
You want this, don't you? Begging for it with your body while your mouth lies. "
She mumbled against the gag, eyes wide, but her hips pushed back into me, urging me on. I fucked her relentlessly, the gag muffling her cries into desperate, throaty sounds that only made me harder.
I carried her toward the door, still thrusting, positioning us so the mirror caught every angle—her bound mouth, her tits swaying, my hands gripping her ass as I drove in. The reflection made it pornographic, total exposure.
Footsteps echoed outside—someone passing.
More voices drifted in, closer now. And then Olivia's—sharp and searching. "Have you seen Richard? He's not with Natalie? How's that possible?"
Natalie's eyes flew wide at the sound, her pussy clamping down like a vise, milking me so tight I nearly came right there.
"Fuck, yeah," I hissed in her ear, thrusting savagely.
"Hear that? People right outside while I fuck you senseless.
Clench like that again, you little slut—feels so good. You're gonna make me explode."
She writhed, muffled protests vibrating against the tie, but her body betrayed her, hips grinding back as I hammered into her. Olivia's voice lingered, footsteps pausing. I didn't stop—kept fucking her through it, hard and deep.
Finally, I reached up and untied the gag, pulling it free. Natalie gasped, and immediately a loud, uncontrolled moan tore from her throat, echoing in the room.
Outside, Olivia huffed. "Seriously? Doing it here? Ridiculous." Her heels clicked away, fading.
Natalie shattered seconds later, her orgasm hitting like a wave. She cried out my name, body convulsing, pussy pulsing around me in tight, rhythmic squeezes. Her nails raked my arms, legs trembling as she rode it out, soaking us both.
But I wasn't done. Not even close. I kept thrusting through her high, drawing it out, my own release building but held back. I wanted more—wanted to break her completely.