15. Declan
15
DECLAN
G et it over with? I glanced at her, frowning as we walked down the hallway.
Fuck that. I wasn’t going to get it over with . Not like a chore. Fucking her wasn’t a job anymore. It couldn’t be after she showed me last time how much she thrived on my rough ways.
Seeing her offering herself up to me should have excited me. Thrilled me. But unlike the first time when I practically raped her, I wanted more of her slow surrender that she gifted me last time. When she was an unwilling but active participant, when her body betrayed her with desire she couldn’t deny.
“Let me get this straight,” she bit out before we reached the stairs. “You don’t want to fuck me?”
“No.” I clamped my teeth down on my lower lip to hide my smile. She was humiliated. Stung. I was amused with how bristled she was about my telling her no.
“Not right now,” I added.
And not like that. I’d be damned if she tried to suffer through it like a lifeless, emotionless doll, uninterested and unattached. Now that I knew how damn gorgeous and passionate she was when she gave in and showed me the depth of her arousal for me, I wanted it all. I planned to take everything from her, and getting it over with would no longer apply.
She’d scream for me again. I’d test her and tease her. I would make her dance along the line bordering between pain and pleasure once more. Many times more.
“I don’t want to get it over with .”
She whipped her head toward me, glaring as we walked down the steps. “That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? To be your fuck toy?”
I hauled her into my arms and spun her until her back smacked against the wall on the first floor. “You’re here to be my wife.” Lowering my head, I wondered what she might do if I kissed her. At our wedding, she was so shy. Now?
Her lids fluttered as I leaned in more. “You said…” She swallowed then licked her lips. “You said you didn’t care who your wife was. You don’t care about me, so why shouldn’t we just get it out of the way? Then you can leave again.”
I took in her stubborn expression, not a pout but more like a smirk. I fought the need to kiss it off her face.
“Do you like it when I’m gone?”
“What does it matter?” She fidgeted, trying to dodge me and how I had her caged to the wall. “You’ll do with me as you please, no matter what.”
“Do you?” I asked, moving my head closer to rub along hers. My lips brushed over her cheek, up toward her ear as I wedged my leg between hers. Pushing my thigh up to her core, grinding lightly, I sucked on her earlobe. “Or do you miss me?”
She grunted a rude laugh. “What’s there to miss?”
I pushed my thigh harder between her legs, giving more friction to her clit. “You tell me.”
“You want to know what I miss?” she challenged hotly, shoving me back.
I grinned at her breathing hard, already so turned on from just that slight tease.
“Not being a prisoner. Being outside. Staying busy and not idle like this.” Her eyes glittered with anger, and I swore she was the sexiest, feistiest woman on earth.
“So when you say you want to get it over with, what are you in a hurry to do instead?” I smirked. “Stare out the windows and be moody?”
“It’s better than looking at you . Especially when you think it’s cute and funny to play games with me and reject me for the one thing you do want from me.”
I shook my head. “I’m not rejecting you.” I stepped closer, cupping her and pressing my palm to her mound. “I will fuck you.” I lightly slapped her there before breaking away. “But on my terms, Wife.”
She snarled. “Whatever you say, Husband .”
I chuckled, taking her hand again. “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”
I wouldn’t tell her why I wanted her to want it with me, not act bored. Nor would I tell her that I was struck with this stupid, nagging need to know more about her.
Like what could have happened to harden her into this exquisite and strong woman who’d just take her lot, roll over, and suffer through sex just to get it over with. So boldly, without backing down.
I wanted to admire her strength. I sought more insight for how she could be able to accept her fate, no matter what.
But deep down, seeing that indifference in her eyes and knowing she saw me as nothing but a source of obligation, I was aware of how badly I wanted her to desire me back.
She did. She was capable of getting over herself to want me. Last time, she showed me how, and it was glorious.
She had given me a taste, and I wanted to feast on her submission every single time now.
“Did Frank or Tom show you around?” I asked.
A gruff snort was her reply. “A little late to playact as a host, isn’t it?”
“I’m not your host. I’m your husband. And we—you—live here.”
“This is living?” Her sass hit a different note now. I heard the pain, the sadness and frustration she was probably trying so hard to hide from me. I had much to learn about her, but I knew she’d hate to seem vulnerable around me.
“I saw you in the dining room and the library.” I thought back to when I wondered what she was up to here. Most of my fantasies were of her on a bed or bent over, ready and eager for me to plunge my dick in deep.
“And my ‘wing’.”
“You don’t like it?” God, spare me another materialistic bitch like Caitlin.
“It’s got a bed. I don’t care.”
I sighed. “What do you care about?”
“How about the chance to feel the sun on my face? A breath of fucking fresh air?”
I stopped her, treating myself to the full effect of her glower. She was radiant when she fought. In a fleeting, barely-there way, she reminded me of my mother. Annie Sullivan. A rare woman and the best mother, gone too soon. She was never a second to my father, but an equal. I recalled her coming to fights, cleaning up cuts and scrapes, hands-on in the kitchen and ruling the household.
Cara didn’t want to commit and take ownership here. I didn’t encourage her to, but she’d made her wishes clear in trying to strike a deal to get away in six months.
“They gave me a tour. A limited one,” she replied with snark. “Why bother with anything else? I’m just a prisoner.”
“Shut up.” I took her hand and opened the back door.
She inhaled deeply as she walked outside with me. I glanced back, mesmerized by the sight of her. Peaceful. Calm and happy. Contented to feel the weak sunlight streaming down as she closed her eyes without a grimace.
Beautiful. Absolutely fucking beautiful. Her fingers loosened within my hand, but it didn’t make me suspicious. She wasn’t fighting to break out of my grip as I led her across the patio. Relaxed and caught off guard, she lost that tension that pulled at her muscles. Another deep breath in seemed to charge her, to renew her soul, and I couldn’t stop the wide smile that broke across my lips.
Disarmed by her beauty at the mere opportunity to be outside, I realized how I’d erred.
She was used to the outdoors. Fresh air mattered to her. I’d noticed how uncultured she was—mistaking her utensil use, peering around at the décor like it was some foreign experience. It wasn’t hard to imagine that Cara and Nora lived a simpler life, without much money, but how simple was it?
Before she could catch me grinning at her and taking advantage of her happy moment, I faced forward.
“Better?” I asked, amused.
“I will be after you show me what’s that way.” She pointed in the direction of the stables out back.
I bit my lip. She didn’t ask me permission to check out the building where the horses were. She didn’t demand, either.
It was impossible to miss the excitement in her voice, though. If the idea of seeing the animals out there could infuse that much pep into her, it would be a crime to miss out.
My wife came alive under my touch, and it was interesting to consider how else she could perk up and lose some of her jaded guardedness around me.