Chapter eighteen #2
On my hands and knees, dressed only in barely-there lingerie, Hunter tugs at my leg, pulling me backward. When I don’t submit, he pulls harder. My knee gives way, and I fall face first onto the mattress in a fit of giggles.
“A wife shouldn’t run from her husband,” he says darkly. He grabs my second ankle and pulls again. My body slides over the sheets. As my ass reaches the edge, he flips me over so I’m left looking up at him with my legs open. “Don’t run from me, Bella. I am on my knees for you.”
“You told me to run!” I shriek, tickled by his idiocy.
“And will you always do as I tell you?” He raises his eyebrow and we both laugh. “Thought not. You are pure fire, Bella. And I fucking love it.”
Hungry eyes roam over my body as I lie below him, his pupils dilating in excitement like they would when presented with their favorite meal. Goosebumps scatter over my skin, each inch screaming to be touched by him. Calling for him to take hold.
“If at any time, Bella, you want me to stop.” I wave his words away, but he fixes me with a look. “I mean it. If we need to stop, you tell me.”
“You won’t hurt me, Hunter,” I repeat. “But I do have a question before we…”
My sentence fades away, a heat coating my cheeks as I form the words I want to ask in my mouth.
It perhaps isn’t the right time, but I want to know before I sleep with the man I promised myself I wouldn’t.
The man I was betrothed to, but never truly had.
“Anything, I’ll tell you anything.” The words hold so much truth, it's breathtaking. He looks at me with clear, honest eyes. “I will do anything you say, Bella. Just ask.”
“You said there was no other women.” A wariness flits over his face. The topic was obviously not what he expected. “That can’t be true.”
“That isn’t a question. That’s a statement,” he chides. “But indeed, it is.”
“You expect me to believe you haven’t had sex since our wedding night?” He laughs out loud, and my heart sinks that I misunderstood. All his unspoken promises of me being the only one he ever wanted from that day vanishing in an instant. How could I be that stupid?
“I’ve had plenty of sex, Bella,” he says, and my mood plummets. There is an exaggerated pause, then his eyes narrow dangerously. “But that sex has only been with my own hand, and dreams of you.”
Caught in the pain of imagining him with someone else, I miss his explanation the first time. He watches me, unspeaking, waiting for my response.
“What did you say?”
“I said…” He speaks slowly, deliberately, so each word is clear. “The only sex I have had since our wedding has been solo and dreaming of you. Now, please close those pretty lips and let me fuck my wife. As you said, we can talk over breakfast.”
He drops to his knees between my legs, and I lie back, staring at the ceiling.
His confirmation, that I refused to believe before, swirls in my mind.
There has been no one else. All the tabloids and sham relationships were only that, a smokescreen hiding his broken heart.
They disguised the fact that one of the city’s most powerful men was alone by choice.
The thong I’m wearing is dragged down my legs. It catches on my ankle, and I kick it to the side. Hunter’s hands slide under my thighs. He lifts my legs onto his shoulders before nuzzling at my bare crotch. He breathes deep, and a sound that can only be described as animalistic comes from him.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this, Bella? Waited to taste my wife.” I swallow as my pussy clenches with each word. “You are the exotic dish I’ve craved but never truly tasted. Tonight, that devastation will be rectified.”
He grabs my ass, pulling me closer to him, angling my body upward. His face disappears between my thighs, and his tongue begins to explore my pussy. Gently at first but as his confidence increases, so do the strokes. His tongue finds my clit, flicking the spot relentlessly.
There is no mistaking my body preparing itself for him as his tongue works.
My wetness is audible. He grabs a pillow from one side, encouraging me to lift my hips and sliding it beneath me.
He pushes my knees wide to allow himself better access, teasing and sucking continuously.
When he looks up, a shimmer on his lips glints in the low light.
He grins at me like a schoolboy caught with ice cream but enjoying it immensely.
My own hands move lower, my pussy screaming to be touched. Hunter bats my fingers away as they explore, sliding inside for a moment then retracting.
“Is my wife impatient?” he asks with a chuckle.
“Always,” I mutter. “I want to…”
He rises to his feet, and I reopen my eyes.
“What do you want?”
“You inside me,” I gasp out, my fingers returning to my clit, massaging the sweet spot as my body buzzes with excitement of what’s to come. “Now, we can do the other stuff later, but now, I want…”
He wraps his fingers around mine, pulling them away from my pussy then replacing them with his own.
One thick finger slides inside followed by a second.
He pumps slowly, my body opening for him more with each stroke.
The distinctive sound of flesh on flesh amplifies as he works, molding my pussy ready for his cock.
Our focus never leaves each other, me half-dressed and him still in his tuxedo preparing his wife to take him—for what is for both of us our real first time.
“Does my wife want her husband’s cock deep inside her?” he rasps as he removes his shirt. I stare up him as each item of clothing is discarded on the floor.
“Yes.”
“Does my wife want to lie back and have the man who has dreamed of her for decades finally take what’s his?”
“Yes.”
He unfastens his belt and drops it to the floor.
My stomach flips as the moment I want so badly comes closer.
He steps out of his shoes, then unbuttons his fly but doesn’t remove his suit pants.
His cock strains against the containment, impatient.
It takes all my willpower not to reach up and lower the zipper.
He leans down, then reappears holding a knife that must have been concealed somewhere.
He offers me his free hand and pulls me up to sit.
We stare at one another again, unspeaking.
In one hand he holds my own, in the other the knife.
For a moment, I remember the exact man I am in bed with.
A dangerous man, the deadliest in London if some were to be believed.
“Before I do,” he says. “I want you to know I’m yours.” He passes me the knife, then sits down beside me. “Whatever happens from this day on Bella, I’m yours. I always have been. But I want to wear the honor for all to see.”
“What do you mean?” I stammer, unsettled to be holding a blade. He taps his chest over his heart.
“Brand me with your initials, Wife. Claim me as yours, then I will make you one hundred percent mine.”