Chapter Eight #2
I don’t think I’ve ever felt half so powerful in my life as I do right then.
Which is so strange, because I’m at a disadvantage.
He has taken me upstairs, closed me in his room.
He’s the one with knowledge and experience that far outstrip mine.
He’s older than me. He’s lived many lifetimes, been married before.
Twice before.
I’m the one who until last night had never been touched intimately by another person.
But he wants me.
Even if it’s only the biological reaction a male has to seeing a female, I am powerful as a woman, even if I am not singular.
Even if it’s only because of my gender.
That is power, real all the same.
I shift, not quite sure what to do, moving as if maybe I should take my dress off.
He shakes his head. “I will remove your clothes. You will not do anything, do you understand me? My sweet, virgin sparrow, this is about you. I’m going to teach you.
Everything you need to know about pleasure.
Everything you need to know to want to stay with me. ”
I nod, my heart pounding hard, my ears buzzing.
He moves toward me, his gaze intent on mine, and then he grips my waist, turning me sharply on the bed so that my back is to him.
He leans in and kisses my shoulder, and I shiver.
He unzips the back of my dress and lets it fall away.
He strips it away from me as if it weighs nothing, as if it isn’t a massive, complicated ball gown.
And I feel a hollow ache at the center of my chest.
I’m the third bride that he’s undressed.
For some reason, that makes me feel sad. For some reason, it steals some of my life. Some of my power.
“What is it?” His lips are close to my ear. He isn’t even looking at my face. I don’t know how he knows that I’ve upset myself.
“Nothing,” I whisper, anticipation and fear warring with my emotions. Part of me just wants to get this over with. So that it isn’t something I don’t know anymore. So that it isn’t something I have to fear.
“Don’t lie to me. It’s very important that we have trust. I’m naked, sparrow.
You are about to be. If I ask you something I need to know that you’re telling me the truth.
I need to know I can trust you to tell me if something doesn’t feel good for you.
If you don’t want something. I’m a man,” he says, letting his knuckles drift down my bare back, the sensation pleasurable.
“And I want you. Viciously. I need to know that it’s safe for me to give in to that desire.
I have to be able to trust you to be honest.”
“You’ve done this before,” I say. I don’t bother to clarify that I mean the wedding and not sex.
“Yes,” he says. His voice softens. “Does that bother you?”
“I was just thinking of all the other wedding dresses you’ve removed.”
He nods. I can feel it. “The first one was twenty years ago.”
“Yes. I know.”
“I have lived more life than you. That means I have a past. But you will be my future.”
We don’t talk about the second wife. We don’t talk about the third one he tried to have. He might not have had a third wife, but he had a third whole wedding.
His words, though, do something to soothe the ache inside of me.
I am surprised by the revelations of the past two days.
I want to feel special more than I realized.
I blink back tears, and he kisses my neck.
The feel of him touching me helps banish my sadness.
And then, I find myself getting lost. His mouth moves over my tender skin.
His hands begin to skim over my curves, going to cup my breasts.
He pulls my bra down, exposing my breasts, those rough hands now against my skin.
Then he lifts his hand and turns my face, capturing my mouth again.
This kiss is slow, unhurried but no less deep than the one that we shared during the ceremony.
He makes quick work of stripping the rest of my garments away, leaving me naked on the bed.
He moves away from me, and I find that without him touching me I begin to feel panicked again.
But he is in no hurry. He looks at me, taking almost methodical stock of my body.
He makes a low, growling sound, wrapping his hand around his arousal and pumping himself twice, my throat drying at the sight.
“You should give thanks for my experience,” he says.
“Because I know you need me to be slow. And I have the patience. A boy in his twenties would have claimed you by now, and spent his seed. He would’ve given you no pleasure, and a lot of pain. I promise I won’t.”
Then he joins me on the bed, cupping my face and kissing me again.
Kissing me and kissing me, his tongue sliding against mine.
He moves his hand between my legs, and begins to stroke me.
Pleasure building low in my stomach. He pushes a finger inside of me, and begins to stroke me there.
Adding a second finger as I grow wetter and wetter.
The pleasure within me is now bigger than my discomfort.
His body is large and hot, and I have that strong desire to melt into him again, even as his fingers sink inside me, over and over.
Building need within me that matches and even exceeds what I felt last night in the garden.
And then, I reach my peak, shaking and trembling, while he looks into my eyes, while he seems to stare into my soul.
He kisses my mouth again, then down my neck, his lips skimming over my nipple as he kisses down my body and finds my center again just like he did last night.
And he devours me. I think that I cried his name out.
Or maybe it’s only an inarticulate noise.
I grab his shoulders, trying to hang onto him.
I’m dimly aware that I’m digging my nails into him.
That I’ve scratched him. While he licks into me like I’m an ice cream.
I’m already raw, sensitive from my recent climax, and he’s pushing me toward the edge again.
He isn’t asking me to climax again. He’s demanding it.
His tongue is merciless, and I hold onto him so hard I’m quite certain that I’ve drawn blood as I cried out his name.
I look at his skin, his shoulders. Drops of red. I’m the one that’s drawn blood. Before the dragon had a chance.
Perhaps it’s his blood that speaks to the satisfaction of the maiden. Though then I looked down at the most masculine part of him, and I’m reminded that I have yet to bleed.
If this were medieval times, he would be hanging the sheet out the window of the turret, announcing his conquest of my virginity.
And I’m sure there will be ample evidence of it.
He keeps his eyes on me, and pushes his fingers into his own mouth, licking them clean as he watches for my reaction.
I shiver, and he holds me against him. Kissing me slowly and softly. And he lays me down on the bed, positioning his body just so, the head of his arousal against the entrance to my body. “This will hurt,” he says roughly. “But I promise you, I will make it worth it all the nights after.”
He presses into me, slowly, stretching me.
I find my body giving to accommodate him.
But as he goes deeper and deeper, his length stretching me, I find myself whimpering.
He kisses me, swallows my cry of pain as he thrusts deep.
And then he just holds me, like that. Buried deep within me.
This man who was a stranger a week ago. I’m bewildered by the thought.
Overcome by it. Because how can that be?
How is it that I didn’t know Lucian even seven days ago?
And now he’s inside of me. Blood that I’ve drawn on his shoulders, the flavor of my pleasure on his tongue.
There is something so deeply uncivilized about this.
And I’ve surrendered to it. More than that, I participated in it.
Then he kisses me, and all of my thoughts vanish.
He begins to move inside of me and the discomfort begins to fade, transforming into something beautiful.
I can feel each stroke, every inch, and it’s glorious.
More than that, there is a deep, possessive certainty within me.
I might be his. But he’s mine. And perhaps that’s the real change.
Not so much that he’s taken my virginity, but that he’s given me this understanding.
That it isn’t simply my body that belongs to him. His belongs to me. Yes, he’s taken other women out of their wedding dresses. He’s probably deflowered other virgins. Part of his lore is how he’s rough and brilliant in bed—a monster, true, but a sensual talent.
I don’t care now, though. Because there is no room for any of that in this moment.
We are as close as two people can be.
How extraordinary, yet again, that this enigma of a man now knows me in ways no one else ever has.
And I know him.
I watch his face as his movements begin to pick up pace, as those measured thrusts become fractured.
As the control leaves him. He’s mine. My captive in that moment.
Everything that I felt when he kissed me, touched me, licked me, he feels now.
I try to hang onto my control. I try not to give in to the rising tide of pleasure within me.
Because I want him to be undone when I am in control.
I want to feel the same satisfaction he must’ve felt.
But I can’t fight the desire he’s creating inside of me. That sweet friction deep within me.
“Please,” he grits out. “Come for me, beautiful girl.”
And I do. Because he asked. Because he said please. And I am undone by such an arrogant man begging.
I arch my back against his and cry out, and his own roar follows mine, as he spills himself deep inside of me.
I’ve given my freedom away. It wasn’t the vows that did it. It was this.
I let him come inside of me.
I’ve surrendered my freedom for a taste of pleasure.
I didn’t worry about protection at all, and I could get pregnant.
But it wasn’t a concern, not when I was so desperate for me.
And as he lingers over me, looking at me, I want to regret it.
But I can’t. I have always felt like maybe I was smarter than other people, and it was my compensation for the poverty I was born into.
I have a brain that can think me out of so many situations.
One that was going to take me straight to university, out of this country.
But in this, I am just like everyone else.
I’ve given everything away for a taste of sexual desire.
I am no better than anyone.
I thought I was more sensible than my sister because I’m not a romantic, but isn’t it worse to have surrendered to need without even a promise of romance?
But then he wraps me in his arms, and I feel something like romance. My heart begins to expand inside of my chest, and I want to believe that this expression of tenderness is care, and not just manipulation.
But then, I find myself getting so sleepy. And I don’t want to think anymore. Thinking isn’t a comfort. I just want sleep. And for Lucian to hold me.
I surrender to my feelings. And I let my thoughts drift away.