Chapter Eight
SHE WENT INTO her room and closed the door firmly behind her. He went into his own, pacing, reaching. He wanted to tear the place apart, brick by brick. He wanted…
He wanted.
Tomorrow she would marry another man. Tomorrow, she would give her body to that prick. Without thinking, he jerked the door open that separated the rooms, the first time it had been opened since they had come here. She gasped, turning around, her hand on her heart.
“If I am to go, then I will leave you with a parting gift,” he growled.
He crossed the space and pulled her into his arms, kissing her savagely.
There was nothing tender about it, it was none of the expression of tender feelings that had happened that night on the yacht.
Where they had lived out so many fantasies in a short space of time, where he had devoted himself to the worship of her.
No. This was about him claiming one more night.
About him branding her one more time, so that she had to go to Lucian’s bed with bruises from his hands on her hips.
It was cruel of him, and he knew it, but he would not allow it.
He would not allow her to go so easily. He would not let her be rid of him so easily.
He turned her away from him, so that she was facing the mirror, her back to him, and he began to lower the zipper on her dress slowly. Her breath hitched, her eyes closing. “Your body belongs to me,” he said. “Don’t you forget that.”
Her dress fell away from her curves, and he leaned in and kissed her neck before putting his hand around her throat, tilting her face upward so that she had to look at them full in the mirror. “You belong to me.”
She couldn’t breathe. This was wrong. But then, all of it was wrong.
Nothing was right, and it never could be, but surrendering to Andrei like this the night before her wedding was…
It was a mistake. But she couldn’t stop herself, any more than she could stop him.
She looked in the mirror, at the two of them, at her face, which was like a stranger’s.
Her eyes were round, dark with need, fear, desire. She looked hungry, starving for him.
Such pointless honestly in a moment where it was too late. It made her want to rage. But all she could do was stand there, staring, looking at the picture they made in the mirror.
“Watch what I do to you,” he said, commanding in her ear. “And you can think about it later when he touches you. You can watch yourself in the mirror as his hands move over your body. Watch and see if the pleasure is there, the need. It won’t be. You will never want him the way that you want me.”
“You’re cursing us both,” she whispered.
He was. Cursing her to a life that would never feel quite right. Cursing her to an existence that would always feel like half of what they had experienced together that night on the yacht.
She welcomed it, in a perverse way.
Wanted to sacrifice her sexual desire on the altar of Andrei and let it go up in flames. Wanted to punish herself for doing this to the both of them. For choosing to marry Lucian in the first place.
This was nothing like the first time they’d come together. There had been a joy mixed in with the bitterness. A sweetness.
There was none of that here. He was angry, and she couldn’t blame him.
She could do nothing but take it. Because she deserved it.
She had done this. He tilted her head to the side, and bit her on the neck, then he released the strapless bra she was wearing, exposing her breasts, his dark hands cupping the pale globes before skimming down her stomach, beneath the fabric of her panties, as he roughly pushed his hands between her slick folds.
She gasped, moaned as he began to tease her, torment her.
She could feel the hard pressure of his arousal against her rear, the insistence of his desire.
“Watch,” he commanded.
He pushed her panties down her hips, just above her knees, placed his fingers between her legs, spreading her lips open so that she could see her own slickness, the pink flesh there.
Then he began to circle his finger around her clit before thrusting it deep inside her.
Watching it felt obscene. And she was powerless to do anything but stare.
Was powerless to do anything but watch as he pushed a second finger inside her before dragging his fingers up toward her lips, and demanding that she open. “Taste yourself,” he said.
She parted her lips and let him have entry, licking her own desire from him.
“Good girl,” he said. “Would you ever do that for him?” She shook her head. “I hope you do. I hope it doesn’t taste nearly as sweet.”
Erotic confusion assaulted her, and she leaned back against him as he pushed his hand back between her legs, teasing her, toying with her.
He had been a generous, wonderful lover their first time together, and there was certainly a physical generosity to the way he pleasured her now, but the emotional connection was gone. This was rage.
And it still felt so good.
He pressed his hands to the back of her neck and pushed her forward, then she could hear him undoing his belt buckle. He positioned himself at the entrance of her body, thrust inside her, and she watched the pleasure build on his face, watched it build on her own. The anguish.
And there was no small amount of anguish as he drove them both to the peak of pleasure. They made a profane work of art, there in the mirror, one hand on the back of her neck, the other on her hip as he thrust deep within her, driving them both to the limit.
Then he threw his head back and growled, pouring himself inside her, and she gasped out her own release, the waves of need rippling inside her endlessly.
When it was finished, she was covered in shame.
She’d given in to him, to his punishment because even that felt good. Even that felt better than not touching him. She’d been willing to accept his disdain, his hatred, on the eve of her wedding to another man, just as joyfully as she’d accepted their goodbye on the yacht.
Her going forward with this wedding had turned his feelings for her, she could see it. It had poisoned his love.
He hated her as much as he’d ever cared.
“Get out,” she said.
“As you wish, Princess.”
Out of her room. Out of her life.
Then he was gone. She wondered if he would even go to the wedding tomorrow.
Do you even want him there? What kind of sick person are you? There is nothing left for the two of you. Nothing.
She tried to sleep, but it was fitful. It was the night before her wedding, and it felt like a death march. But even more so when early in the morning she realized that for the first time in her life, she was late. And by the time the sun came up she had answered the question about why.
Thanks to the help of a sympathetic nursemaid, she acquired a test, and got her answer. She was pregnant, and it was not with her future husband’s baby.
She knew what she had to do. Because King Lucian had said that he hated liars. And if she walked down that aisle carrying Andrei’s baby then…
Maybe he’ll set you free.
No. He wouldn’t. He would kill her. And the baby. At least, if his reputation was to be believed.
Her heart was hammering hard when she entered the throne room. “I need to speak to the king in private.”
“It is bad luck for the groom to see the bride on the wedding day,” Lucian said. “And you should believe that, because my brides have had very bad luck.”
“I will risk it.”
He waved his hand and the guards melted away.
“And where is your ominous shadow?”
“I assure you, I don’t know.”
“I see. And what is it you have to tell me?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“I have been told my virility is powerful, but I believe this is pushing the limits even for me,” he said.
“Obviously it isn’t yours.”
He shrugged. “That is of no matter to me. It speeds along the production of an heir, but don’t think that it will spare you the wedding night.”
“You don’t… You don’t care?”
“No. I’ve lost two wives without the benefit of an heir. This is a boon for me.”
“But most men—”
“Blood means nothing to me,” he said. “You mean nothing to me. I don’t care if you fuck your brother’s entire guard, or just the one. Am I clear?”
She clenched her teeth together. “You have no interest in calling the wedding off?”
“None. And in fact if you were to do so, the consequences would be disastrous. For you. I would find them enjoyable.”
“Then I will see you in a few hours.”
The reality of the situation was about to crush her. Her wedding gown was beautiful, but it was for a woman with an entirely different sense of style. Lucian had chosen it, because this was his play, and she was merely one of the players. She was a pawn. Just like her baby was.
Hers and Andrei’s baby.
But Andrei was gone, and she had no choice.
She was on the verge of panic. She couldn’t think clearly.
She felt like she was halfway down death’s road, her whole body strung tightly with anxiety and fear.
Going forward with the marriage felt impossible.
Leaving felt fatal. So all she could do was go through the motions.
Go along with the plan already in place.
Before she knew it, it was time for her to walk down the aisle. Onyx took her arm and looked at her, a strange sort of sadness on his face.
“What?”
“I don’t know. Something about it doesn’t feel right.”
“It’s too late. I’ve signed the agreement.”
“I support you, Emerald, and whatever it is you need.”
She nodded, and she and her brother began to walk down the aisle. At the head of the aisle was Lucian, and behind him a priest, kneeling in prayer, his back turned.
He was wearing blue robes, with a large cross on the back. A symbol of torture and salvation, depending on the context. Right now, it felt like torture.
Stop this.
Stop this.
Stop this.
But she didn’t. She couldn’t. For the safety of the country. For the safety of her baby.
Her legacy didn’t feel like it mattered much anymore.
When she arrived at the head of the aisle, Onyx released his hold on her, and Lucian extended his hand. She took it, and found herself standing across from him at the altar.
The priest rose slowly, and then he turned.
And her heart dropped into her feet. “Andrei?”
“Oh. The guard,” Lucian said, looking at him and then out at the crowd. “This is a bit dramatic.”
“It is,” Andrei said. “Because I wanted you to know. I wanted everyone here to know, who it is who took your woman. Surprise. She’s mine now.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist, lifted her up and brought her up against his chest. “I’m taking her somewhere you won’t find her.”
“Guards,” Lucian shouted.
But Andrei was too quick. He had a plan.
There was a clear route, diagonally and through the back door, and then they disappeared suddenly into a side passage that spit them out outside. And somehow, no one followed them that way. “What are you doing?”
“You didn’t think that I was going to let you marry him? I’m only shocked that you let yourself get that far.”
She looked at his face, and she saw that something was irrevocably broken between them.
Whatever feelings he had for her before, they weren’t there now. He was being driven by fury. Possessiveness.
Rage.
He must’ve found out about the baby.
But she didn’t have time to ask him, because suddenly, she was being gathered more tightly against him, and he jumped off the edge of a cliff, taking them both down into the churning sea.