Chapter 3
I was utterly exhausted by the time we boarded Colson’s private plane. The wedding had been a blur of forced smiles and carefully curated moments, but it had been what followed that drained me the most.
During the ceremony, while I was pledging vows I didn't mean, the staff had packed all my belongings and moved them into Colson’s room.
That night, my new husband made sure that once was not enough for him, leaving me sore and shaken.
His size was something I would need time to get used to, both physically and emotionally.
I sank into the plush leather seat, trying to ignore the lingering ache between my legs. The plane’s interior was breathtaking—elegant, luxurious, a world far removed from anything I’d ever known.
Two attendants stood by, ready to cater to our every whim. I could feel their eyes on us, on me, as if they were assessing how well I fit into this world. I closed my eyes, hoping to snatch a few moments of sleep, desperate to escape the reality of my situation, even if only in my dreams.
Colson’s voice cut through my thoughts. “If you’re tired, you can use the bedroom. In fact, I’d prefer it,” he said, his tone laced with something that made my skin crawl. His eyes roved over me, and he licked his lips in a way that was anything but subtle.
“I’m comfortable here,” I murmured, trying to keep my voice steady, soft enough that it didn’t provoke him but firm enough to express my reluctance.
His grip tightened around my hand as the plane taxied down the runway. The pressure of his touch was both possessive and invasive, reminding me that I was no longer my own person. Once we were in the air, he unbuckled my seatbelt with a swift, decisive motion and scooped me into his arms.
“Colson, the bedroom is not necessary,” I protested, my voice trembling slightly despite my efforts to keep calm.
He pressed a kiss to my cheek, his lips lingering in a way that felt more like a claim than an act of affection. “I want you there,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Of course you do, I thought bitterly. The better to fuck me.
He carried me down the narrow aisle, the attendants’ eyes discreetly following our every move.
I felt like a prize he was parading around, a possession he had every intention of enjoying to the fullest. When we reached the bedroom, he laid me gently on the bed, as if the softness of his actions could somehow erase the underlying intent.
Colson removed his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a nearby chair.
His fingers moved to loosen his tie, and he began to undress me as well, starting with my heels.
I watched him through half-lidded eyes, too exhausted to resist but too tense to relax.
He took off his shoes and stretched out next to me, his body warm and solid against mine.
He wasted no time, his mouth finding mine in a searing kiss that left me breathless. His hands roamed over my body with a hunger that both frightened and thrilled me. I could feel the power he held in his touch, the dominance that made it clear this was not a partnership—it was ownership.
I kissed him back, my movements automatic, driven more by the need to survive this moment than by any real desire.
My mind raced, searching for ways to keep myself detached, to protect whatever was left of me that Colson hadn’t yet claimed.
But with each kiss, each caress, I felt those walls crumbling, leaving me vulnerable to the man who now had the power to destroy me completely.
As his hands continued their exploration, I braced myself for what was to come. This was the choice I had made, the price I had agreed to pay. But that didn’t make it any easier to bear.
“Relax,” he whispered against my lips, as if he could sense my fear. His voice was soothing, but it only served to heighten my anxiety.
But how could I relax when I knew exactly what he wanted, what he expected? The bed beneath me felt like a trap, and I was the prey caught in its snare. There was no escape, no turning back. All I could do was endure and hope that, somehow, I would survive with a piece of myself still intact.
“Colson, I’m sore,” I whispered, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice as his hand slipped into my panties.
He paused, but only for a moment. “I can soothe it for you,” he murmured, his tone dripping with the kind of confidence that left no room for doubt.
Last night’s memories flashed through my mind—blood smeared across his cock and trimmed pubic hair, the sharp sting of pain each time he entered me, and the way I bit my lips raw to keep from crying out.
He hadn’t stopped after the first time, nor the second.
By the third, my body was a battlefield of bruised tenderness.
I didn’t want him down there again. I needed time to heal, to process, to breathe.
“Please, let me rest,” I pleaded, my voice barely above a whisper, each word laced with exhaustion.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he removed his tie with deliberate slowness, followed by his shirt, as if he hadn’t heard a word I said.
My heart sank as he peeled my panties off, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.
He discarded the small scrap of lace onto the growing pile of clothing on the chair, a casual gesture that felt like the final stripping away of my defenses.
He nudged my legs open, and I obeyed, knowing resistance would only lead to more pain, more arguments. His tongue began its work, a gentle, methodical cleansing that made me shiver. The soreness began to fade under his skilled ministrations, but the emotional wounds remained, raw and gaping.
As he sucked my clit, I arched my back involuntarily, my body betraying the turmoil inside me.
I had shared an orgasm with him the night before, but it had been more about survival than pleasure.
The experience could have been gentler, more tender, but Colson wasn’t interested in tenderness.
He spread me wider, his hands firm on my thighs, and I prayed silently that he wouldn’t push a finger inside me. I couldn’t bear that right now.
“I love how good you taste, Joey,” he said, his voice dark and possessive, his breath hot against my skin.
What was I supposed to say to that? I bit my lip, remaining silent as his tongue continued its relentless journey from my opening to my clit. His hands found my breasts, kneading them as he worked, his dark head still buried between my legs.
“Colson,” I cried out as the tension within me snapped, sending me spiraling into an orgasm that left me breathless and trembling. My body betrayed me again, succumbing to the pleasure even as my mind recoiled.
He licked me through the waves of my orgasm, his tongue never slowing until I lay there, boneless and sated, a marionette with its strings cut. When he finally sat up, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
“I love when you say my name,” he said, his voice thick with satisfaction.
I stared up at the ceiling, my heart heavy. He might love hearing his name on my lips, but he had no idea what it cost me each time. This was the bed I had made, and now I had to lie in it, no matter how much it hurt.
Colson let me sleep, pulling the covers over me with surprising tenderness. When I woke, I found him sitting next to me, clad only in boxers. His hand was wrapped around his erection, and a laptop rested on his thighs, the soft moans from the screen filling the otherwise quiet cabin.
I watched, my curiosity piqued despite myself. My body core tightened, the soreness from last night a dull reminder rather than a deterrent.
He glanced over at me, catching my gaze. “I see you’re up. Have you been watching?”
I hesitated, my eyes flitting between him and the screen. “Why are you watching porn?” I asked, confusion lacing my words. He had me now—what need did he have for this?
Colson licked his lips, his gaze dark and intense. “What do you think I did while I was waiting for you? Three long months, Josephine.”
He pushed the laptop to the side, his eyes never leaving mine as he slid his boxers down, exposing his hips and his erection, glistening with precum.
He stroked himself a few more times, the sight sending a pulse of need through me despite the lingering soreness.
I squeezed my thighs together, desperate for relief.
My hand began to slide down my belly, but Colson was faster. He ripped the covers back and lifted me onto his lap. My body tensed, the memory of last night’s pain still fresh.
He cupped my cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I know I was rough with you last night, but you can control this, Joey. I want you to ride me.”
I frowned, unsure. I wasn’t familiar with sex positions beyond what we’d done, and the idea of taking control was both frightening and intriguing. Colson turned my head to the screen, where the woman was straddling the man, moving her hips with a rhythm that seemed both powerful and sensual.
“Colson?” My voice wavered with uncertainty.
“Up on your knees, sweetheart,” he instructed, his tone coaxing but firm.
I obeyed, lifting myself slightly as he guided his tip inside me. He let go once he breached my opening, leaving the rest to me. The power shift was subtle but unmistakable. I could control how we did this.
I placed my hands on his shoulders, looking down at the screen to mimic the woman’s movements.
Slowly, I lowered myself onto his shaft, and he sucked in a breath, his eyes fluttering closed as I took him in.
The discomfort from last night was absent, replaced by a slow-building pleasure that I hadn’t expected.
“That’s it, my bride. You’re doing so good,” he groaned, his voice thick with arousal.
I leaned in, pressing a tentative kiss to the corner of his mouth. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate as his hands found my ass, guiding me as we moved together. For the first time, I felt a strange sense of power, even as I lost myself in the rhythm we created.
As we rocked together, our bodies moving in sync, I realized that maybe this was the key.
Maybe this was how I would survive—by finding small victories, like this one, where I could.
We found our release together and I panted into his mouth before I tore it away. The devil made me feel so damn good.
Colson’s breathing slowed, and I collapsed against him, feeling both exhilarated and drained.
He held me close, his hands warm against my back as our heartbeats synchronized.
I was still straddling him, our bodies slick with sweat.
For a moment, I let myself relax, resting my head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath me.
It was a moment of peace, but it was fleeting.
“We’ll be landing soon,” Colson murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along my spine. There was a softness to his tone that made me uneasy.
“Will we be staying in France?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as I lifted my head to meet his gaze.
“Yes, in Nice,” he replied, his eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. “We’ll spend the night there, and tomorrow we’ll board the yacht.”
The thought of being confined on a yacht with him for weeks filled me with dread.
The Mediterranean might be beautiful, but the idea of being trapped on a boat, far from anyone who could help me, was suffocating.
I needed to keep him satisfied, to avoid provoking him, but I also needed to find a way to protect myself.
Colson brushed a lock of hair away from my face, his touch almost tender. “You’ll love it, Joey. The sea, the sun… it’s paradise.”
Paradise. The word felt like a cruel joke. I forced a smile, nodding as if the idea thrilled me. “It sounds perfect.”
He kissed my forehead, his lips lingering longer than I liked. “I’ll make sure you enjoy every minute of it.”
I pulled back slightly, slipping off his lap, my legs shaky from exertion and the soreness that had returned. “I should get dressed,” I said, reaching for the sheet to cover myself.
He caught my wrist, his grip firm but not painful. “Don’t be in such a rush. We still have time.” His eyes darkened with desire again, and I knew that the rest I had hoped for wouldn’t come easily.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay calm. “I just need a moment, Colson,” I said softly, hoping he would grant me this small mercy.
He studied me for a moment, then released my wrist. “Fine. But don’t be too long. I want you ready when we land.”
I nodded, wrapping the sheet around myself as I slid off the bed. My movements were slow, deliberate, as I tried to ignore the way his gaze followed me. I could feel the heat of his eyes on my skin, the possessiveness that seemed to radiate from him. It wasn’t love; plain and simple.
In the small bathroom, I shut the door and leaned against it, closing my eyes. The reality of my situation was sinking in deeper with each passing minute. I was married to Colson Ashworth, bound to a man who saw me as his toy, not his partner.
The water was cold when I splashed it on my face, but it helped clear my mind. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, taking in the woman who looked back at me. I hardly recognized her. The girl I used to be, full of dreams and hopes, was buried under the weight of this marriage, this new life.
But I wasn’t going to let it crush me. I wouldn’t let Colson or anyone else break me. I had to find a way to survive, to find small victories where I could. I would play the part of the obedient wife, but I would never truly belong to him.
Taking a deep breath, I straightened my posture, letting the sheet fall away as I reached for the clothes Colson left hanging on the hook of the door—a delicate silk robe, the kind that clung to my curves in all the ways he liked. I tied it tightly around my waist, the fabric cool against my skin.
When I returned to the bedroom, Colson was still on the bed, his laptop open again, though his attention was fully on me. His eyes roved over my body with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, holding out a hand to me. I took it, letting him pull me back onto the bed, my resolve hardening even as I pretended to melt into his embrace.
“I’m yours, Colson,” I whispered against his ear, and I could feel his body respond to the words, his grip tightening around me. It was a lie, but one I needed to tell for now.
I could play this role. I would play it until I found a way to turn the tables, to reclaim some part of my life. The road ahead was dark and uncertain, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I would find my way, no matter what it took.