Chapter 18 Wren
WREN
Saint’s anger is intense. Scary. I freeze up when he takes my arm, towers over me, then leans in to whisper in my ear. “They were here for you.”
My stomach drops. Tears well, threatening to fall, but he pulls me toward the stairs and down to our room.
I don’t fight him. Fear is more than an ember in my chest. Men had come here to find me.
Even after the sheriff, after my father, were both told I married Saint.
Does that mean I’m not as safe as I thought I’d be?
When we’re closed in my room, Saint releases me, and I can feel him hovering at my back, but I need to get my tears in check first.
What if they’d gotten to me? Would someone have gotten hurt trying to free me? Would they have succeeded in taking me back to Grant?
The possibilities swarm, and I’m overwhelmed.
I take a few deep breaths. In through my nose, out through my mouth, until my heart beat becomes more manageable.
Then, I face him and his anger. Steady. Working myself toward numbness so that I can take it and not crumple before he’s done with me.
I nearly do when I look into his eyes. His anger is visceral, like a living thing he might lose control of. Still, I don’t believe he’ll hurt me.
“You were told to stay put.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No. You will listen.” He takes a step closer, and I’m shaking. I can’t stop. “Do you understand what could have happened to you if you came out before it was safe?”
I don’t like the disappointment in his tone as he dresses me down. It hurts more than simple anger. I’m used to anger.
“But it was—”
Saint’s hand comes around the back of my neck, pulling me closer, making me look up at him. His eyes are alight with so much that I can’t keep up with the rolling emotions. “That is not the point.”
He takes a breath as if to steady himself, to keep an explosion at bay.
“You don’t get to decide when you’re safe. I do.” His voice is gruff, and I wish it didn’t ping off the memory of my mouth around his cock, creating that gravel for a very different reason. “If you won’t let me protect you, then tell me why I’m doing any of this at all.”
I suck in a slow breath, trying to keep myself from falling apart. He’s not being mean to me. I understand that. But I can’t help the way my body is responding to him.
It gives me whiplash. I know I should be thinking of a way out of this. Out of his grip. Out of this room. Out of this messed up situation I’ve found myself in.
“You need to remember what happens when you disobey me.” His grip on the back of my neck tightens, and I swear my knees wobble. “You’ll be punished.”
We hover like that for a handful of heartbeats before his voice dips even lower.
“Vest off.”
After a short hesitation, my limbs are jerky as I peel out of his vest and hand it to him. Saint tosses it to the dresser.
“Shorts, too.”
I blink at him, and his hand squeezes at the base of my skull—a firm reminder that he’s in charge. The soft pop of the top button is louder than it should be, and the room seems to shrink around us.
Today, I have on the lacy thong I came here in.
I drop the shorts to my ankles and kick them to the side, too afraid of breaking eye contact with him. Will my obedience now prove anything?
Abruptly, he turns me and shoves my shoulders down on the bed, ass in the air. It’s not rough, but it pummels my guts with fear. Saint uses his foot to spread mine apart. His hand at the back of my neck keeps my cheek pressed into the mattress.
“Stay put.” The order is a clear echo of the one I disobeyed earlier.
Then, his hands are at my waist, running down my hips and infusing me with heat. When his palm comes down on my ass, I yelp and jerk upright, hands flying back to cover my cheeks.
Not the appropriate response.
Saint grabs me by the wrists and pulls them over my head. The long swish of fabric and leather is a precursor to him wrapping his belt around my wrists. His hand at my lower back keeps me in place.
Shit. Being bound like this is both terrifying and yet…not.
Another hard smack comes down on my bare flesh. My entire body jerks, but I can’t move to protect myself. The sting leaves my body hot, and I’m squirming under him. I can’t help it.
His palm meets my ass again, and I whimper, trying to hide it in the comforter.
Saint doesn’t keep to a cadence, so each swat is a surprise, building from shocking, enticing, to pain—not the kind that I’ll never recover from, but enough to leave a light bruise.
Tears finally escape, but my body has gone limp. One more swat, and I’m left waiting.
Turning my head, I get a glimpse of his face, the stern line of his mouth and tight jaw. And he’s…shaking. From restraint? From his anger?
When his eyes flash up to my face, I get a whole different answer than I was expecting.
Fear.
He was afraid for me.
“This is so you remember,” he says quietly. “Not so I feel better.”
I hiccup on a sob, the only one I’ll let loose. He’s not hurting me because he wants to. My husband wants to be sure I stay safe. And I’m the one who put myself in danger this time.
It was my fault.
Saint smooths a hand over my heated cheeks. It sparks a little residual pain, but it calms me more than it hurts.
His jeans press into my ass as he leans over me and unties my hands. Gathering me in his arms, he tucks my back against his chest with a soft, “Come here.”
We lay in bed, him curled around me as I tremble, his breath heavy on the back of my neck. I don’t know how I feel almost cherished in this moment, but it’s the closest I think I’ve ever gotten.
After a moment, when my limbs settle and the comfort of him around me shifts, he plants a soft kiss against the sensitive skin under my hairline. “Look at me.”
I roll, slowly, in the circle of his arms and peer up into his eyes. The way he caresses my cheek with his thumb.
“You’re safe now.”
Nodding, I believe him. He’s studying me, checking on me. How can this big brute of a man be so sensitive? So soft with me?
“Tell me you understand.”
Breath involuntarily hitches in my throat before I squeeze out the words. “I understand.”
That thumb of his dip to trace along my lower lip. “We can stop here if you want.”
Stop? No. I don’t want that. Not with the intimacy coiling around us. I snuggle closer, hands sliding along his chest.
“I don’t want to stop.”
His grumble isn’t one of displeasure, and I’m ready when his mouth covers mine, opening me up to the long, languid strokes of his tongue.
All of the fire and dread and fear, they evaporate into a heady need. For him. For my husband.
Big hands squeeze down my body, stopping at my ribs, my waist, my hips, and my sensitive ass. But it doesn’t hurt. Not anymore. It just makes me want him more.
He pulls my leg over his hip as he tips into me. His cock is hard as he grinds his hips into mine, hand at my knee to keep me where he wants me.
Part of me is still astonished that a man like this could want me at all.
Saint lifts himself over me, taking my flimsy tank top in hand and stripping it from me. When my back meets the comforter again, all I can see is the hunger in his eyes. It arches my back with a wanton lust.
I tug at the hem of his t-shirt, and I’m delighted when he strips it off at my silent request.
There’s a buffet of skin on display, and I’m starving. My hands move before I can think, spreading my touch over every piece of him I can reach. He’s all muscles and dark hair. Nails scrape down his sides as he bends forward to encase me in his arms.
His kiss is short, traveling down my throat, across my collarbones, and off-course to surround one breast with his hot mouth even though I still have my lacy bralette on.
My back bows, following the sucking pressure and pleasure that lances through me. Those hazel eyes flash up to mine, molten and sparking with dark desires. It’s like he’s feeding on my pleasure.
I’ve never wanted to be a meal more than this moment.
Saint releases my breast and takes his time traveling down my soft stomach. The way his hands grip my hips makes me feel beautiful. My bottom heavy insecurities melt away at his reverent touch.
My lacy undies are tugged off me, and I’m squirming under his soft touches, waiting, waiting, waiting for his next move. When his mouth descends, I’m so sensitive that a cry escapes me before I can tamp it back.
He laughs softly and nips my inner thigh before feasting. God, the way he eats me has me rocking against his mouth. I’m surprised by how soft his beard is, how much it adds to the sensations he’s building in my core.
His groan vibrates through me, leaving me gasping. I’m on the brink of an orgasm, struggling to breathe when he sinks a finger into me.
“Oh, fuck.” Thighs shaking, I clamp down around his pumping digit, my body rolling on its own before settling back into the mattress.
I suck in a deep breath, my laughter feathering out of my lungs as he lifts himself over me.
God, all of that skin on display—it makes me greedy. Hungry. I want to taste every inch of his skin. I reach out for him, hands smoothing over his shoulders and chest.
Saint takes one and lifts my palm for a kiss.
I’m a goner.
“This still okay?” His voice is so soft that my heart swells.
I nod.
“Yes.” My hand trails down the center of his torso. “More.”
Holy shit, Saint smiles at me, and I’m ready to explode all over again. “As my wife commands.”
I tug open his jeans and whimper when he rears back to strip his jeans free. And I’m exposed to all his glory. Seeing him in pieces didn’t do him justice.
My husband is beautiful, rough around the edges, but lean with thick muscle, hair, and an array of scars that I can’t even begin to catalogue. It all adds up to Saint. The more I discover about him, the more I like.
Then…he crawls up the bed, hovering over me, and I’ve lost my breath. My knees spread for him automatically, and I’m trembling when he leans down to his forearms and brushes hair from my face.
I draw my knees up, wrapping my legs around his waist. His hardness nestles in my folds, and his hazel eyes darken, and I want this more than I thought.
“Ready for this?”
“Yes. Yes, please.”
A smaller smile this time, but it comes with a shift of his weight, him reaching between us, and the blunt head of his cock presses against my entrance. One small push has me taking a mere inch of him, my body stiffening.
I’m so wet, but he’s so big.
“Relax, Wren. I won’t hurt you.”
Nodding, I try, willing my muscle to relax as he pushes in another inch.
Saint’s hand settles between us, rubbing my clit and tightening me as he whispers encouragement, hushing me and working me up in one fell swoop.
My hips move on their own accord, and Saint matches me.
A sharp pain hits but it’s quickly soothed away with the pleasure of his touch, and then he’s inside me.
And it’s better than I ever imagined, him moving slowly, the pleasure building with the steady, solid rhythm. A spot deep inside of me has me arching, seeking.
I can’t breathe as it consumes me. Ecstasy hitting like a tidal wave. It’s a complete out of body experience, but I’ve never been so aware of it at the same time.
When I’m back in reality, Saint has this tortured look on his face.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He laughs. “You’re gorgeous when you come. Even better when I get to see it up close.”
My smile is delirious and happy. “Now, I want to watch you.”
Hips moving, the pangs of pleasure reverberate through me, but when we grind and thrust together, it starts building again.
It’s slower though, sweltering, and the eye contact…it’s so much.
I open up this time, cataloging every inch of his skin I can reach, palms and nails and the slow scratching of his beard that has him laughing as we both lose our breath.
Suddenly, we’re both right there. Everything dialing up until I’m running on instinct. My orgasm is powerful, but more than that I feel the moment he comes in me. It’s more erotic than I imagined.
Settling behind me, he pulls me tight to his chest, like he’s cherishing me, and presses his nose against my ear, voice soft against my skin. “I can’t lose you now.”