Chapter Eleven
He had seen the challenge in her eyes. But worse was the moment that he had first seen her coming up the aisle in her wedding dress.
Like a dream. All white satin and glimmering jewels.
The shape of her body tempting him. Calling to him.
He had never seen such a beautiful woman.
Never.
It had been that way from the beginning.
Yes, she had been young when she first arrived. And his feelings hadn’t been like that. But once she had begun to develop into a woman, he had been…captivated.
When she had come toward him in that dress, he had been reminded of the day by the pool when they had both been in high school. When he had been unable to keep his eyes off of the glory of her curves. When he had been unable to do anything but stare at how beautiful she was. So beautiful.
But it wasn’t only that; it was the feeling of possessiveness. She was his. His wife.
And the challenge as she leaned in to kiss him…
Now they were back in that hotel in Vienna, where they had stayed last time, and it was heavy with memories. Memories of the last time they had stayed here, and what they had done in the beds. On the floor. Against the wall.
They had done it. It should be over. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this sharp, awful feeling riding him all the time. He wanted what they’d had when she was a continent away. But they couldn’t be separated by a continent, because they had to raise a child together.
He needed a Scotch.
But his suit was choking him.
He went into his bedroom, and it would be his bedroom—they had discussed this ahead of time, because they had an agreement—and closed the door behind him.
Then he went to the sideboard where there was a decanter of Scotch, and stood there staring at it as he undid the cuffs on his shirt, undid his tie.
He unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off along with his jacket, letting them fall to the floor.
And then he took the top off the decanter of Scotch, very aware that if this was how he was going to cope with his feelings for her, he was going to be drinking a lot more than he should.
And how would that make him an exemplary father?
He had no idea. He didn’t have a plan. This was entirely fucked.
He was aware of that. He also had no answer to it.
He lifted up his glass, and brought it to his lips, just as he heard the sound of the door opening behind him. He froze. He didn’t turn around.
He heard her footsteps, and then she was just behind him.
She reached around and took hold of the glass, setting it in front of him on the sideboard before wrapping her arms around his midsection.
Her palms flat against his stomach. Then she began to let her fingers drift, one moving up over his nipple, the other moving down to cup his raging hard-on.
“Heather,” he said, his voice a warning.
“I know,” she said. “If we do this, then this is how it is. If we do this, then we have to contend with all of it, don’t we?” While she spoke she was stroking him, and it felt so good he couldn’t bring himself to stop her.
He didn’t want to stop her.
He was a fool.
“We could be friends, Romeo. We can have peace, but there’s always going to be this.
Always. And I’ve decided that I can’t accept that.
I cannot let you inside of another woman.
” She wrapped her fingers around his cock through the fabric of his pants.
And squeezed. “It’s mine,” she said. “You are mine.”
He turned around on a growl, gripping her face, holding it steady in his palm.
“Is this what you want? Because let me warn you. If this is how you want to play it, it isn’t going to be soft or nice.
If this belongs to you,” he said, putting her palm flat against him again, “you belong to me. All of you.” He traced the line of her jaw, down the side of her neck, and palmed her breast. Squeezing.
“Mine.” Then he moved his hand between her legs, stroking her through the thin fabric of her gown, feeling her heat, feeling that she was damp. “And this is mine.”
“Yes,” she said, her throat tight. “That’s the agreement that we have. And that’s what I want. That’s what I want.”
“You’re asking for everything we agreed to?”
“Everything,” she said.
She took a step away from him, her hand behind her back as she unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor in a shimmering puddle at her feet.
He growled when he saw what she had on beneath.
A white lace undergarment that held her breasts up on display, showed the shadow of her nipples beneath the lace.
A pair of panties so small they covered nothing. Rather they only served as a tease.
“I bought this for you in New York. Before you told me that you wanted to be friends. At the very least, I thought you should have the chance to see it.”
“You’re playing with fire.”
“I know. I have been. For all these years, and that became so very clear to me today. I want everything. I want you.”
“Then you get everything.”
His hands were shaking. “But don’t think you won’t pay a price for it. You have been begging me to be punished.”
Arousal clouded her eyes. “I have been.”
“Because you’ve been a brat from the moment I met you. And you know what happens to brats.”
“They get what they deserve. You were going to let me off far too easily.”
Those words ignited something in his veins.
With one hand he undid his belt and pulled it through the loops. Then he moved to her, wrapping his belt around her wrists and putting the end of it through the buckle, pulling tight, binding her, as he had promised her he would do in their contract. And what she had explicitly added back in.
“My bratty stepsister’s finally ready for the punishment she deserves?”
“Yes,” she said.
He grabbed the end of the belt and pulled her toward the bed, where he sat on the edge and laid her across his knee.
He looked at the back of the bustier she was wearing, an intricate series of hooks and eyes keeping her body wrapped in all that lace.
Nearly all of her gorgeous ass was exposed by her thong, and it made his mouth water.
He squeezed her cheek, and then slapped it hard. She squeaked, and jumped.
“If you say stop, I’ll stop.”
“You don’t think I can handle you?”
“I know you can, but I also know that your stubbornness gets you into trouble,” he said, smacking her on her ass again.
“I want trouble.”
And he wanted to do this for her, because she wanted it.
And he relished that. That she trusted him like this.
That she was happy to have her hands bound, happy to surrender not just her pleasure, but the perfect amount of pain.
It made him feel powerful. But at the same time it made him feel like begging.
To have her like this always.
He left her skin gloriously red, and she was whimpering on his lap, trying to ride his thigh to get some satisfaction. He pushed his fingers through her folds and found her slick and wet. “You enjoyed that.”
“So did you,” she said, her hand moving to his cock.
“You are such a brat.”
“And you want me,” she said.
He lifted her from his lap, and pushed her up to the edge of the bed, propped up on her knees, as he tugged her panties down to her mid-thigh. He looked at her, glistening and glorious, and leaned in, thrusting his tongue deep inside of her, tasting her desire.
She came instantly, trembling and shivering, and crying out his name.
His. All his.
Oh God, he might be sending them both to hell right now. But she was his. In a way that no one had ever been. In a way that nothing had ever been.
This was triumph like he had never known.
And he would give her whatever she wanted in order to keep it.
He stripped himself naked, and he pulled her into a sitting position so he could undo all the hooks and eyes on that bustier, letting it fall away, letting him see those gorgeous curves.
Pale and pink, more generous now than they ever had been.
The evidence of her pregnancy aroused him much more than he would’ve ever imagined. The evidence that he had claimed her. That she was his.
He freed her hands. Set her loose.
“Lay down,” she said.
It was his turn to obey. Because he had agreed to it.
He did not take orders from women. Not generally.
But there was enough power between them to exchange it. At least for now.
He lay on his back, and she moved over the top of him, biting down on his neck. “You will always belong to me.”
He gripped her hair, pulling her down to him and kissing her deep, reveling in the feeling of her nipples brushing against his chest.
Then he released her, and let her kiss her way down his body. She teased him. Bringing him to the edge with her mouth again then again.
Taking him to the edge of himself. Places he had never been before.
He didn’t give women control of anything. He didn’t give anyone in his life control of anything. Because he always had to be the one.
Always.
But not here. Not with her.
She had him on the edge of exploding. And yet she wouldn’t give him relief.
She could feel his mounting desire, and knew exactly when to pull back.
It was pleasure and pain unlike any he had ever known before. He pushed two fingers inside of her as she continued to lick him, and she moaned against his shaft, the vibrations sending sparks of desire through him.
“Let me have you,” he growled. “Let me have this,” he said, pushing his fingers deeper.
“Not yet,” she said.
“I can’t give you any more.”
“I think you can.”
She sucked the head of him into her mouth hard, and he almost lost control then and there. Almost came into her gorgeous mouth.
But the promise of taking her like he wanted to kept him from doing it.
She moved away from him, and lay down like a queen, her head propped up on the pillows, her back arched, her elbows resting on the mattress. “You can have me now. But only if you tell me exactly what I am.”
He knew. He knew what he had to say, and he would say anything to get inside of her.
He moved to her, gripped the back of her head and took her mouth in a searing kiss. Then he thrust deep into her wet heat, the relief of being inside of her making him curse. “My wife,” he said, the words dragged straight from the center of his chest.
“Yes,” she said.
And then finally he was fucking her. Taking her.
It was everything he needed. Everything. And he cried out her name as desire overtook him. She said his in return as she dug her nails into his shoulders, as she gave herself over to her orgasm, her internal muscles milking every last drop out of him.
He had done it. He had surrendered. He had consigned them both to hell.
But they had both gone in together.
So they would have to figure out what this looked like. He had tried to make rules. They had broken them.
They were married, and they’d consummated. There was no going back. So now they would have to move forward with all of these broken shards.
There was only one answer. At least as far as he could see it. They had to exhaust this. Until it didn’t have teeth. Until it didn’t own or control them.
Until they could find a way to wear it into something comfortable. And perhaps at that point they would have fucked so much they would have the appetite for someone else.
You will never want anyone but her. You were cursed that day at the pool. And behold the aftereffects of that curse.
And yet, she was in his bed. So perhaps it was only a curse in part.
She snuggled up against him, her hand on his chest. “Mine,” she said.
He felt like he couldn’t breathe again, but this time he couldn’t blame the tightness of his tie.
He had made his bed. And he would use it thoroughly.