5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Elsa
H e gawked at me as if I had asked him to model frilly pink aprons during high tea at La Galerie.
I held out my hand to him, my heart hammering in my chest.
I was that girl, the one who got with child after having sex for the first time. I'd made out before Duncan but never had sex, which wasn't unusual for nice Catholic girls like me. But that wasn't why I'd been a virgin. Mamman had drilled it into me that I should give myself to someone who'd respect me—and treat me like a queen. My mother was no prude. I knew she had men in her life after she and my father split up, not that I ever saw her with anyone, but I knew she wasn't sitting celibate.
When I decided to cold-bloodedly give up my virginity, I'd never thought I'd end up marrying that man. Even pregnant, I did not want to get married.
" This isn't the nineteenth century, Papa. I can be a single mother," I protested when he informed me that he knew who the father of my child was and that I was expected to marry him.
"My daughter is not going to have a bastard," Papa screamed.
"Don't you dare call my child that!" I crossed my arms angrily. "I'm not marrying a stranger."
"Then you shouldn't have had sex with one," Papa retorted. "Duncan Archer has agreed to marry you."
"Well, good for Duncan Archer. I'm not marrying him."
"Then I'll have to kill him."
"What? You're unhinged, Papa."
"Elsa, I can't have my daughter have a child out of wedlock. What will people say? What does it say about me if some asshole can knock my daughter up without any consequence?"
We'd gone round and round, and I had every intention of not marrying Duncan until I met him again. He was there under duress; that much was obvious.
" Why would you want to marry me?" I asked him.
"Because you're pregnant with my child," he said simply.
"We can co-parent without being married."
"You're pregnant with my child, and we're getting married. Also, your father is going to kill me if we don't get married. I think it might fuck our kid up before it's born to have his or her grandfather murder his or her father. Don't you think?"
Did I believe my father could kill Duncan? Yes!
Papa was a very bad man; which was why I didn't use his last name in my real life. I used Mamman's. I didn't need people to find out I was Jean-Luc Moreau's daughter.
Duncan seemed unhappy as hell about getting married, but now I wondered as he let me walk us into his bedroom. Once there, I cleared my throat. "This is as far as I dare to do this."
I raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"
"I mean, after this, you need to make the moves."
He grinned broadly. "You want me to take the lead in bed?"
"Yes." This wasn't right! This wasn't romantic, was it? Shouldn't it be a little less clinical? Shouldn't we be talking about making love instead of fucking? God! Was this going to be my wedding night?
Duncan must've seen the turmoil on my face, and he put his palm against my cheek. "Hey, we don't have to do anything you don't want to do."
"I know," I squeaked. "This is our wedding night and…."
I didn't know how to say that I wanted it to be a little more special than rutting in bed. Already, my first time was him thinking I was a prostitute and leaving me a tip and, apparently, a baby. This time, it needed to be more than just me saying, sure, let's fuck because he wasn't (neither was I) able to think straight because of all the sexual tension and longing.
He kissed my forehead gently. "Why don't I run a bath to relax you?"
"What?"
"Why don't you take a bath with a glass of wine and then we see how the evening unfolds. We're in no rush, ma douce ."
He'd called me that, my sweet when we'd had sex that first time. And a thrill ran through me.
"I'm pregnant so no wine. I'll take a shower. Is that okay? I don't think a bath will work for me. I need to take a shower." I knew I was babbling. I didn't have the patience to sit in a bath, not when I was feeling so antsy.
"Okay," Duncan said softly. "Once you're done, we can reassess. Alright?"
I nodded uncertainly. "Do you really find me attractive?"
Without warning, he took my hand and put it on his crotch. "What do you think?"
I think my hand is on fire .
He was hard, and I squeezed. He groaned, his eyes fixed on mine. "I'm so hard for you, baby."
There was something about the way in which Americans said baby that always sounded cheesy to me. But not Duncan. When he said it like he just did, aroused, it made me feel like the sexiest woman alive.
Me, sexy? To a man like Duncan?
"Or maybe because you haven't had sex in a long time?" I suggested. I couldn't believe I could turn a man on, a man like Duncan. He was built like an athlete and looked like something out of a movie. I knew I looked alright, but I was petite and curvy. My hair was unruly, and I had my mother's big ass.
"Elsa," he moved his hips into my hand, "this is all you, ma douce . Now, take a shower."
He left me in the bedroom. I stared at the doorway where he left and wondered what this meant. Was he coming back? Was I sleeping alone?
Merdé! Why was this so hard? Why couldn't we just talk like normal adults? I knew a big part of it was that we didn't know each other very well. We didn't know how to talk to one another and didn't know each other's cues. We were strangers who were married, forced into an intimacy that was beyond physical and sexual. We were going to have a child together. That was a bond that could never be severed.
I put my hand on my stomach. I was having what my doctor called an awesome pregnancy that most women would kill for. I had no nausea, and I seemed to function most of the time, forgetting that I was indeed pregnant. But my body was more insistent when I was hungry, demanding food now . For some reason, I'd fallen in love with eating sliced apples tossed with chili powder and black salt.
I found my night clothes and sighed when I looked at my sleep shorts and ratty tank. These were not wedding night clothes. I rummaged through my side of the large closet. I found a satin slip that Thierry had given me for a birthday, along with a dildo, suggesting that I get laid one way or the other.
The lacy slip was cream-colored and would barely cover my ass. It was going to take all my courage and then some to wear it in front of Duncan especially since I didn't know if my new husband was even going to show up.
I went into the bathroom and leaned my forehead against the closed door. What was I doing? I wished Mamman was with me. I wondered what she'd have said after she threatened to cut Papa's dick off. Would she have wanted me to marry Duncan Archer? I think so. I'd checked him out once I got pregnant. I'd heard of Archer Art after all, I was only twelve weeks pregnant. I marveled at the fact that there was a baby in here— his baby.
Merdé ! How had my life become an American soap opera?
I came out of the bathroom, feeling like a fool in my cream-colored fuck-me satin slip. What if he was sleeping? Wow! And what would that say about my lure? Nothing good.
I stepped into Duncan's bedroom and speech left me.
The sight that greeted me was nothing short of magical and so unlike anything I'd expected from Duncan. Soft candlelight flickered gently, casting a warm, golden glow around the room. The air was filled with the delicate scent of roses. I noticed the bed was covered in a generous scattering of rose petals, their deep red hue standing out vividly against the crisp, white linens.
Where the hell did he get roses this time of night?
My lips curved when I remembered the long-stemmed rose bouquet in the foyer of the apartment. My husband had gotten creative.
I chuckled when I saw that on the bedside table was a bottle of sparkling water chilling in an elegant ice bucket, a thoughtful touch given my pregnancy.
It was as if the room had been transformed into a scene from a romantic movie.
I glanced over at Duncan, who was leaning against a wall on the other side of the room, watching me, gauging my reaction.
"Was it a good shower?" he asked softly, his voice sexy as hell, reminding me of the first time we made love when he asked me if I was sure about giving him my virginity to start my career as an escort. Had that happened just a few months ago? It seemed like forever and yesterday all at the same time.
"Yes," I whispered, feeling grateful for his thoughtfulness and attention to detail because he'd seen me flustered about this being our wedding night. I knew he hadn't been keen on getting married, and yet he was being kind and sweet. It seemed out of character for the man I thought I had come to know, the man who had been distant and detached, not even speaking to me during our wedding.
I obviously needed to get to know my husband better.
I felt a lump in my throat and blinked back tears, touched by his gesture.
"Duncan, this is... it's beautiful," I managed to say, my voice trembling slightly. "Thank you."
He seemed to relax a little at my words, and until then hadn't realized that he had been as tense as me. This man I had married seemed to have a tight rein on his emotions, and yet he'd let his temper ride at dinner when he demanded to fuck me.
"It's our wedding night, ma douce . I wanted to make you feel… welcome ." He smiled broadly now. "So, you'll let me fuck you now?"
I giggled, grateful he was making a joke, lightening the mood because sensation was swamping me. I tried to dampen the hope flickering inside me because it was dangerous to do so with a man I didn't know. I desperately wanted to believe that this meant that we could make this unexpected marriage work.
He walked over to me, closing the distance between us, and put his hands on my cheeks. He leaned down and brushed his lips over mine. Soft, gentle, just like when the officiant said he could kiss his bride, but unlike that time, now he licked gently with his tongue, coaxing me to open my mouth and let him in.
He slid his tongue inside my mouth and tasted me languidly like this was truly a wedding night. Oh, technically, it was , but we were not an ordinary couple. We'd gotten married because I was pregnant, and Papa was a psychopath who wanted to kill my child's father.
"You're so fucking sweet, Elsa," he murmured, his mouth tracing my jawline, nipping, kissing as his hands moved to tangle in my hair so he could hold my head in the way he wanted in order to give himself the access he desired.
This was all-consuming, as I had suspected it would be. That first night was like this, even though it was all new to me. He'd made it amazing, making me come with his hands, his mouth, his cock. He'd been patient and gentle. He'd been kind and sweet. He'd taken care of me.
Had I fallen in love with him that night, or just now, when I saw he'd taken Madame Lefèvre's roses and scattered them on his bedspread?
I had to admit as I let him back into my mouth, into me, that it happened that first night, and that was the reason why I'd let my father blackmail me into marrying Duncan Archer.
" Mon chéri ," I whispered on a moan when one of his hands cupped a breast and squeezed.
"You want me?" There was heat in his voice and a certain hardness that made me open my eyes to focus on him.
His eyes were ablaze with excitement and there was a harsh twist to his mouth. He was aroused. I felt pride surge through me. This was my husband. My man and I was the reason he looked like this.
" Oui ," I said honestly. "And do you, husband, want me?"
He smiled and kissed the tip of my nose. "Let's find out, yeah?"