24. Dove
twenty-four
Dove
I ’m getting married tomorrow, and I can’t wrap my head around the fact.
Last week I was coughing up blood, thinking I was going to die. And before that, I was living in a basement cell with chains wrapped around my limbs like an animal. Everything happened so fast, and though the weight of it all still presses down on me every day, I’ve never felt more alive. I’m more than ready to take down those bastards and spend the rest of my life with the man I love, right here in this house.
Oddly enough, I feel stronger than yesterday. I can breathe a little easier, and I’ve eaten my breakfast without throwing it up.
But I see the way they all look at me—Sterling, and Cole, and even Saint. They expect me to curl up into a ball and spend my time crying in my room like the victim they think I am. I don’t blame them for that.
The truth is, I’ve never given them a reason to consider me strong. That I could rise above anything if I wanted to, if I had a good enough reason to fight for. I have plenty of reasons now. The woman they remember is dead. She died in those tunnels below Salister’s town, and now… now I’m reborn from the ashes of my wrath. Of Rowan’s wrath.
The brush stops in my hair and I close my eyes, trying to block out the sight of blood, of darkness, of Magnus’s dead body against the wall… But a loud squeal sounds from downstairs, getting my attention. The laughter flies to the first floor, up the stairs, then stifles when it reaches the door of the main bedroom.
Sterling’s muffled voice asks from the hallway, “Can we come in?” I can hear Cam giggling by her side.
“Yes, of course.” I smile and leave my hairbrush on the counter in the en-suite bathroom, accidentally catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I haven’t looked since I got back, and I almost asked Rowan if we could cover them up with sheets so this exact situation wouldn’t happen. But I didn’t do it, and now I get to stare into the eyes of the coward who left that man to die. I don’t get to dwell on what I see because my friends burst through the door, and I know I have to come out.
I put on my smile, shaking it off, and say, “What on earth are you doing here so early in the morning?” I ask this of Sterling, knowing full well she’s more of a night owl than an early riser. I then shift my eyes to Cam. “And you, don’t you have a country to dazzle with your…” I gesture aimlessly around her. “Awesomeness?”
“ Please ,” Cam scoffs. “If I give one more interview this week, I swear I’m going to say something really crazy. You know, like, let all my intrusive thoughts win.”
Sterling quirks a brow. “So this is you acting normally ?”
I cross my arms in front of me and sigh. Cam places her hand on her chest, a sign of false betrayal.
I’m so glad the two of them met. They hit it off really quickly, as I knew they would. Unfortunately for me, the First Lady and my notorious best friend have a lot of things in common. Letting their intrusive thoughts win, for one. And being really, and I mean really, extroverted. An introvert’s dream. Yay .
Cam claps her hands. “You’re getting married!”
“I know that,” I drawl, sensing that there is more.
“So then you know what time it is…” They both grin at each other like two Cheshire cats.
I’m officially scared.
Cam walks behind me and places her hands on my shoulders as she sings, “Dress picking time! Yolanda, bring them in, honey!”
I mouth to Sterling, “Who the hell is Yolanda?” but she doesn’t see it—or she pretends not to see it. I’m sure she’s friends with Yolanda, too, by now. A clothing rack is rolled into the room. It overflows with an array of white fabric that shimmers and reflects the morning light filtering through the window. And it holds everything—from flowing lace trains to satin bodices and everything in between. At the other end of the rack is a short woman in her sixties with the softest eyes I’ve ever seen.
I gape, and the gaping turns into a breathy laugh as I say, “Cam… you didn’t have to.”
“I know it would’ve been more fun to hit the shops, but under the circumstances, Sterling and I figured it would be cool to raid Yolanda’s collection instead. She’s an artistic genius.”
I place my hand on the one she still has on my shoulder and look at Sterling, whom I find smiling at me.
“This is perfect. I… thank you, both of you.”
Like a bunch of teenage girls trying on makeup for the first time, all three of us start shifting through the hangers and picking dresses we place against our bodies in the mirror. Yolanda—who I found out is Cam’s stylist at the White House—helps me find the style that matches my body type, which makes choosing what dresses to try on a lot easier. They’re all so pretty. Only the soft knock against the door rame stops everything like a freeze frame.
“Get. Out !” Cam shouts, throwing a bunch of random fabric in Rowan’s direction. He pretends to dodge it with his hands out. “Don’t you know you can’t see the bride until she walks down the aisle?”
Pressing a dress against my body, I lift my gaze from the floor to see him. Butterflies come to life in my stomach almost instantly, my body tingling all the way to my fingertips. He’s wearing his official uniform today. He said he had some meetings at the White House. And right now… he’s leaning against the doorframe watching me. Only watching me.
“You do realize I’m going to see her in this bed tonight, before the wedding,” he tells her.
Cam sighs. “Kids these days consummate things before they even say ‘I love you.’”
Sterling shifts uncomfortably from her seat on the bed and stands up. She might be cool with everything, but I remember the first time I was in the same room with Cam, the president, and Rowan. It was overwhelming—I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a bit much for her, too. I give her a smile just to let her know she has nothing to worry about.
“Just came by to say I’m off. Text me if you need anything,” he says. And he says it so… naturally. Like this is the way it’s supposed to be. Like we’re going to be doing this… a lot. Working for something we both care about, fucking in the middle of the night, and kissing each other goodbye in the morning before our day starts. I nod, my face lighting up with love and emotion. And I think… I think I’d like to live through all of that.
He mouths silently, “I love you” just for me to see it. A private moment we both get to share in a room full of people. My mouth forms the shape of the words, much like a mirror reflecting them back to him.
“Begone now, Commander,” Cam says, rolling her eyes. “Go do your shady business, or whatever it is you’re doing today.”
Rowan quirks a brow. “Is that what you think I’m doing? At the White House? Really?”
“Last time you came over you asked me to prepare your poison, so who knows what you’re planning to do these days.” She gives him a knowing side look, as if she knows exactly what those plans are. Rowan holds her stare, and for a moment my heart stops, thinking he might suspect Cam and I have been in contact without him knowing. But he snorts, tapping his fingers against the door before exiting the room as quickly as he appeared. The girls and I continue our dress-picking frenzy, though my mind keeps going back to him, to whatever he’s doing out there today.
A few hours later, when I’m prepared to collapse on the couch with my laptop again, Saint comes in and tells me I have a visitor. Who could it be at this time in the evening? I straighten up and fix my hair with my hands as best I can before a soft voice sounds from the foyer.
“Rowan still hasn’t relieved you from your duties? Oh, Saint,” the voice says. “I hope you have at least learned your lesson?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answers.
They both come into the living room, and I meet them halfway. A woman walks in front of Saint with green eyes and lush lips, reminding me of my soon-to-be husband. She stands tall, back straight like she’s bracing against a wind that never stops blowing. Her silver hair is pulled back into a neat bun, and the lines on her face don’t make her look old—they make her look like someone who’s lived an intense life. Someone who’s fought and clawed and bled her way through whatever life threw at her and still came out standing.
“Hello, dear,” she says, her endearing tone instantly putting me at ease. “I’m Anne, Rowan’s mother. Look at you, you’re so beautiful. Just like he said you were.”
Her hands extend forward, and I give her mine. They’re warm and slightly battered as she gives me a gentle squeeze, her eyes gleaming with something soft but deliberate. Anne King doesn’t seem to be the type of woman who’s too kind for her own good. I think her kindness is a choice. And I think that makes her even more powerful.
“I’m so happy to finally meet you,” I say, a bit stunned. “Rowan didn’t mention you were coming. I thought he’d be here too, so we could have dinner and—”
“Ah, yes, yes, we’re all so used to Rowan’s antics. Don’t worry about it. In fact, I am glad it’s just the two of us.”
Rowan’s antics, indeed.
I nod, inviting her to sit.
“Can I fix you a drink? What would you like?”
Saint brings out some snacks that Rowan’s chef made for us from the kitchen. Anne seems lost in thought as she follows him with her eyes.
“Poor boy,” she says, ignoring my question. “I wonder when he’s going to stop punishing him.”
My curiosity perks up. “Punishing him? For what?”
She laughs softly, and it’s a laugh that pulls you in, just like Rowan’s.
“He didn’t tell you? Ah, he stole his father’s baseball card collection and sold it on the Internet for tens of thousands of dollars. This happened about two years ago, when he started training in the military. When his father found out, he gave Rowan a call and asked him to discipline the boy by whatever means necessary.”
I let out an amused breath of air. “Why Rowan?”
“Well…” She presses her lips into a thin line. “He was the toughest general around. Every young man coming in for training respected him and was afraid of him. Even Saint. So Rowan took him in and made him his butler while his friends continued their military training the way they had set out to do.”
“Oh my God.” I shake my head. “Isn’t that a bit… extreme?”
She nods. “Better than prison, surely. But maybe you can talk to him. Saint looks rather disciplined to me now.” She gives him one last look as he places two cups of tea in front of us. What a strange thing, indeed—a tough-looking guy like Saint, working as a butler to be disciplined.
“Thank you, dear,” Anne tells him, then shifts all her attention to me. “Now tell me all about yourself, Dove. I hear you work as a lawyer? That is so special. Serving justice is no easy feat.”
I take it she doesn’t know about what happened to me. Thank God . I hoped that wouldn’t be the first thing she and I discussed. In truth, I haven’t really talked about what happened much since telling Sterling. If it’s healthy or not for my mind, I don’t really know, but… I know I hate re-visiting that place even through my memories. I tell her about my internship without mentioning it’s now gone, then the conversation becomes more personal.
Fidgeting with the hair tie wrapped around my wrist, I say, “Can I ask you something, Mrs. King?”
“Only if you call me Anne.” She places her hand on top of mine, then takes a sip of her tea.
I smile. “Rowan’s father… How come he didn’t…”
“Oh, Barrett doesn’t know I’m here. I don’t know how much you know about our family, but… his relationship with Rowan is still strained.”
“I’m sorry. Yes, Rowan mentioned that.”
“He would’ve brought me here if I’d asked him. Over the years, our relationship has changed. He likes to pay attention to me now.” She shakes her head. “But I didn’t want to do that to Rowan. I didn’t think he’d want him in this house, much less when he isn’t here.”
Makes sense. I wouldn’t want my father here either after everything he did. And I know Rowan wouldn’t be okay with not being next to me when his father and I meet.
“You stayed,” I say, possibly pushing boundaries. “After all the things Mr. King has done, you stayed.”
She huffs out a laugh, watching me with a sidelong glance. “A statement, not a question. You spend too much time with my son.” I flinch slightly, but then she clarifies, “Oh, I’m just teasing you. He never asks for the things he wants. He takes them like they belong to him already.”
“Is that… Do you think he’s wrong to do that?”
“No. I think it’s smart.” She places her half-empty cup of tea on the table. “I stayed because I was afraid. Afraid I couldn’t raise Rowan alone back in the countryside where I was born. I didn’t want him to grow up without a fatherly figure… and hoped that Barrett would one day change.”
“But… he didn’t,” I add.
“No. Not until Rowan grew up, anyway. I made a mistake... And maybe I was a bit na?ve, too. I loved Barrett—we had the kind of love you see in movies.” She smiles reverently, as if she can see flashes of their life before her eyes. “But it ended when Rowan was born. We weren’t right together and had huge differences about the way we wanted to raise him. We crashed and burned, and now we’re holding onto each other’s ashes.”
I only smile faintly and flatten my hands in my lap. I made mistakes, too, and I was— am —afraid. For losing Rowan, for facing the horrible things I’ve done. But there comes a day when you’re put to the test again, and history repeats itself until you learn whatever you were supposed to learn the first time.
By listening to Anne’s story, I know I never want to give in to the weaker parts of me again—to the cowardly, meek, insecure girl from the suburbs I’ve always been. And I can tell just from the way she looks at me that she’s hoping I can find that strength. The one she lacked back then, when her story started.
“You know, being a military wife won’t be easy…” She trails off. “And I don’t want you to feel alone. Other women might not understand what it’s like, but I do. The limited privacy you’ll have in the public eye, the long, dreadful periods of separation when he’s deployed to God knows where… I had to go through it twice. First with my husband, then with my only son. It’s really difficult. Especially if you love hard.”
And fuck, do I love hard.
“Thank you… Anne,” I say, a sheer layer of tears forming in my eyes. Not from sadness, but from gratitude. I didn’t realize just how much I needed to hear that. She leans forward, throwing her arms out to give me the warmest hug.
That night, Rowan comes home and strips me naked, leaving me only in my knee-high socks. The hearth glows from a well-stoked fire, glazing the bedroom in a soft, flickering light. Goosebumps pebble my skin as he rakes his eyes over me with a hunger so raw it makes my pussy throb.
“This is how I want my wife to wait for me every night,” he murmurs, his naked body hard against mine.
“I’m not your wife yet.” I breathe out a smile. “And we’re not supposed to do this until our wedding night.”
He hums as if he understands, but once I’m naked, there’s no turning back with Rowan. And I don’t want there to be. I shiver when he runs his knuckles along my bare arm.
“Lie down, angel. I want to eat your pussy.”
My walls clench at his words, begging me to do what he says. But I swallow the thought for just a bit longer because I want to feel him too tonight. Looking into his eyes, I lower myself to my knees and grip his hard erection with my small, ringed hand.
“Angel…” he groans, his cock twitching in my grasp.
“A little self-control, Commander. Surely you can do that, can you not?”
Another groan, louder this time. He huffs like a bull penned in too long, ready to charge at the slightest touch, and this is when I realize that I’m quite enjoying having him under my command. I push out my tongue and wrap it around the head of his cock, licking it lightly. Teasing him. His cock hardens more, filling my mouth to the brim. I love it when I struggle to take him and my body finds a way to adjust.
His fingers stretch into my hair, on the top of my head, burying themselves between my strands. It hurts a bit, and he smells like a god, and we’re back in our dynamic that I love so much.
“ Such a good girl.” He pets me as I take him deeper into my throat.
I gag, but I breathe through my nose like he’s taught me. My body relaxes around his cock, and he moans, making my hand reach for my pulsing pussy. I push a finger inside and keep it there, unmoving, the same way he does sometimes when he’s busy working but still wants to feel me.
I slide my slippery mouth back and forth, my lips pressed tightly around his cock, my drool and his pre-cum coating more and more of my tongue. I lick him up and swallow, making a sloppy mess on my face that makes me feel proud. Proud for being his breaking point. Proud for making him lose control. Proud for claiming him as mine in a way I’ve never had the courage to do before.
“ Fuuuuck ,” he groans, his head dipping back. “Angel, stop . Stop, I want to fuck your pussy before I come. Please, let me have it.”
Please.
Two small figurative horns poke through the top of my head as he says that. I increase my pace, gagging and sucking, until I feel him shake in my grasp. He fists my hair, pulling me hard against his shaft. And then his seed spills into my mouth and down my throat.
I swallow as best I can, listening to his raw voice above me as he laughs.
“Poor little bird,” he says and pulls me by my hair until his cock is out in front of my face, stiff and veiny and coated in a sheer layer of cum. “You’ve just earned yourself a chastity belt and a horny, licked-up pussy you won’t be able to touch.”
“Rowan…” I plead.
But he shakes his head, amused, as he saunters over to his side of the bed, where he often keeps the sex toys he buys in the spur of a moment without my knowledge. The drawer of his nightstand slides open, and I gasp softly when I see him pull out an actual chastity belt with a leather strap and small metallic band which I assume is there to cover the pussy. The belt includes a clasp with a lock and keys dangling from it—keys that Rowan takes into his other hand as he saunters over to me.
“Lie down,” he commands me.
“Come on.” I laugh gingerly. “There’s no need for this. I only wanted to… p-play around.”
He throws me a serious look and I gulp, knowing he won’t be swayed.
I think I fucked up. I fucked up bad.
My breath hitches as I back into the bed, my naked skin making contact with the soft sheets behind me. I haul myself up slowly, never leaving Rowan’s stare.
“Don’t make me repeat myself, Dove. Spread those pretty legs and do what I asked.”
Fuck.
I part my knees and show him my pussy, the warm air in the room caressing me from my clit to my entrance. My back lowers to the bed, and I just lie there, waiting for whatever he wants to do to me at this hour of the night. I follow him with my eyes, but he’s no longer meeting my gaze. He’s all focused on the heat between my legs, his fingers clutching the items tightly, as if he’s trying to reel in his impatience. The next thing I know he kneels in front of the bed, his now-empty hands digging into my thighs, pulling them farther apart.
A groan rumbles from his direction, then his face presses against my sensitive spot. First his nose, then his mouth, then his flat tongue. I shiver, goosebumps spreading on my shoulders and down my arms, making the little hairs there stand up.
My lips part and a high-pitched moan comes out. After giving my pussy a slow lick, his tongue curls, making itself smaller to fit inside my channel. I rock myself into it, feeling the soft tissue entering me as deep as it can go. He starts fucking me with it, and I clench around him as my arousal drips on the bedsheets beneath me.
“Christ. You’re drenched,” he murmurs. “Did the little power outburst turn my wife on?”
I nod, knowing he can’t see it. My chest heaves, and my pussy begs for that tongue to go back inside. My thighs are shaking. I bring my hands into his hair, gently tugging him closer. To my surprise he obliges, and takes my entire pussy between his lips, letting his tongue caress in the middle, then up and down.
“Rowan. Please , oh my God.”
More and more tendrils of pleasure creep in as he resumes fucking me inside my channel. His fingers join in, long and rough, twitching above my clit. I writhe and arch, moaning uncontrollably, the scent of my arousal floating over to me through the heat of the hearth.
“That’s my girl,” he coos, lifting his head from between my legs. He stares at my wet pussy, smiling, right before giving it a smack. I jolt from the feeling, the little pain he caused quickly turning into pleasure. I whimper. He does it again. Slap after slap, my pussy takes everything, rubbing itself on his skin every time his palm makes contact with my clit.
More. Give me more.
My release builds up, and I know that all I need is a longer touch, just two more seconds of his skin on mine before I shatter in front of him. But that touch never comes. Instead, the feel of a leather strap slides up from my shins to my thighs until it reaches my pussy.
“Lift your hips for me, beautiful,” he says.
“Rowan…” I mumble his name, but my body follows his command like a loyal slave.
Vicious, traitorous thing.
The chastity belt moves up, covering my slippery and overly aroused pussy. The cold metal does nothing to soothe my throbbing clit. I try rubbing myself against it, but there’s no friction, nothing. I curse under my breath right as Rowan clasps the lock in place and twists the key inside.
“Rowan,” I say again. “Please. I’m too horny for this. What are you doing?”
“I apologize if I gave you the impression this was a reward. You know I love tasting you—it wasn’t for you, and you don’t get to come after what you’ve done.”
“After I’ve made you come,” I pout.
He shakes his head, hiding the key to the chastity belt in his chest pocket.
“After you deprived me of this cunt that I now have locked up.”
I bring my hands around the belt, trying to take it off, but I know there’s no way to do it without the damned key. He watches me struggle, amusement lining his eyes.
“You will wear it until our wedding night. And you will not touch yourself, angel. If you need to wash, you will call out for me, and I’ll watch you do it. But anything more than that…” He smiles. “Your pussy is mine, and you’ll never make yourself come until I allow it. Is that understood?”
I feel around for the small holes in the metal band, my cheeks flushing as I understand what they’re for—so I can use the bathroom without taking it off. It’s degrading, and possessive, and humiliating, and it makes me hornier than I’ve ever been in my life.
“Is. That. Understood?”
I gulp. “Y-Yes. Yes, sir.”