9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
His rough fingers trace intricate patterns up and down my sides. “Fuck, baby. You’re so unexpected. Where have you been all my life?” he kisses the tops of my breasts.
“Waiting for you to claim me.”
“You’re so perfect for me.”
“You didn’t think I’d be into this with you?”
“Not right away. No.”
“It’s okay to be wrong,” I tell him, and he laughs against my skin. “Please don’t take my virginity,” I feign. “If my husband catches you…”
“He’ll what?” he slides back into character.
“Cut off your hands and poke out your eyes.”
“Not before I make him watch me fuck you first.” He yanks my pants down my legs, kissing his way down my body as he does.
His fingers pause, hovering at the edge of what I have and haven’t experienced. What I haven’t dared to do before with anyone. My heart stutters. I’m torn. Unsure if I should stop him or beg him never to let me go.
I get lost in his touch. Consumed by desire.
“Please,” I whimper, begging.
“Please what?”
Fuck me. “Don’t fuck me.”
He presses his palm to the center of my chest where my heart beats wildly, flapping like the wings of a hummingbird trapped in a cage.
He breathes in heavily. And lies on top of me. I wish I could hug him right now.
“Nico. This is what you wanted?”
“Yes,” he whispers, his hot breath fanning across my skin. His reply ignites me.
I buck against him, using my knees against him. “Get off me,” I yell. “Don’t touch me.” I wiggle, but all it does is create a delicious friction of his body rubbing against mine.
My husband kisses me, and I bite his bottom lip.
He smiles against my lips. I can taste his blood when I kiss him back.
I grow bolder and braver with each stroke of his tongue against mine.
I manage to free one of my hands. I slap and scratch at him, fueling him more.
He spreads my legs and tears at my panties, ripping them clean off.
I know what comes next is going to hurt, but I welcome the burn. The ache of having him claim me rough and greedy.
“No,” I cry out, all while pulling him closer. His fingers dance between my legs.
“You want it, Odette. You’re fucking soaked.”
I do want it. God, do I want Nico to just take me already.
“You don’t want to do this.” I hiss when he bites down on my nipple while shoving two fingers inside me.
I yank my shirt from my head, unable to keep from seeing him any longer. I can no longer pretend. “Please, Nico. Please.” He knows what I’m asking. What I’m begging for.
He jerks his pants down and slams his body into mine in one brutal thrust.
My eyes roll back in my head at the hot, white blinding pain of how full I feel.
“Nico. Nico. It hurts.”
“I know.” He caresses my cheek and kisses my mouth.
“I know it hurts so fucking good. You’re so tight.
Fuck, I could come inside you right now.
” He starts to move, and my body snaps like a rubber band that’s been held too tight.
Our game is forgotten. I stop resisting, giving my body and my heart both to him.
How can something that hurts feel so good?
Nico thrusts inside me. My body stretches around him, hungrily taking every punishing blow, aching for more.
I bite my lip, meeting his dark, consuming gaze.
“I didn’t expect you to enjoy this so much.” His movements slow, and he kisses me softly. “I didn’t expect it to be this fucking good.”
I don’t know if he’s right, but everything is happening too fast for me to worry. “Does it always feel like this?” I wonder aloud. “Will you always want me like this?” I mean to come off as though I’m teasing, but the words come out sounding desperate, too needy.
“I hope so, wife. I fucking hope so.” Without warning, he rolls us on the mattress, putting me on top. In control. He allows me to catch my breath and find my bearings. Lets me explore his body urgently and eagerly with my fingers and my mouth.
I touch and taste every inch of him I can, paying attention to what makes him moan. What makes his cock twitch inside me. What has him pulling away.
When he’s had enough of my play, he moves us again. Taking back control, his movements are more hurried. Almost clumsy as he thrusts faster and harder. I watch him, fascinated by the faces and sounds he makes. Every grunt, pull of his lips, every breath is beautiful.
“I’m going to come,” he tells me. Warmth floods me.
His movements slow to a crawl nearly as he collapses on top of me.
“Fuck, baby. Fuck.” He slides a hand between us as his cock slips out of me.
He continues to play with my pussy, rubbing his cream all over me.
Shoving it back inside me when it leaks onto the sheets.
Nico smiles and gathers me up in his arms, bringing us so close I can’t tell where his heartbeat ends and mine begins. He kisses my forehead, my temple, the tip of my nose.
I lay in his arms breathless and happy.
I didn’t think I’d enjoy it, either. Not as much as I do. I didn’t think I’d tremble under him and want all he has to give. I didn’t know I’d feel so connected to him. Like we’re one body. One soul.
I run my fingers through his hair. Trace the muscles and veins of his arms. I kiss the hollow space at the bottom of his throat. Then, I climb onto his lap, ready to do it all again, missing his warmth. Missing the way he felt inside me. I rock against him, as his erection grows again.
I never want to leave this bed.
I never want to leave him.
“We should head back,” he tells me as he tosses the last of our takeout in the garbage, bursting my happy little bubble.
The one that has held only the two of us for three days.
For three days I’ve had Nico all to myself.
For three days we’ve made love. We’ve chatted.
I learned that when he was a boy, he killed a man who had tried to hurt his mother.
An enemy of his father broke into the manor.
Forced Nico to watch him rape her. When he tried to hurt my husband in the same way, he bit off the man’s dick.
Nico’s mother killed herself, and his father remarried Marco’s mother. Marco is his adopted brother, not blood brother. The two of them have always felt more like rivals than brothers.
He still refuses to talk about Catherine. I don’t push but I am frustrated by his silence when it comes to discussing her.
We leave the city behind. Returning to the cold manor. To the house that hates me as much as I dislike it and the ghosts that inhabit its walls.
Nico is being distant again.
There’s something about this house that changes him.
That pulls him away from me.
We’ve been back for two days, and he’s hardly spoken three words to me.
He’s been in his office with his men, going over plans of attack on an enemy.
The men who threatened my father and our family.
I know he’s under pressure, but I miss the man from the apartment.
The man who chased me. The man who made love to me like his life depended on being with me.
The house is silent. Too quiet. Not even the whispers are present.
I put on the red dress and slip into my husband’s room.
He’s asleep. The covers are pulled down to his waist, showing off his abs.
I kick off my shoes and crawl onto the bed to kneel next to him.
I press my lips to his stomach, but he doesn’t stir.
Dark shadows line his eyes, and I wonder if this is the first time he’s slept in days.
I pull the covers down further, exposing his naked boy completely. His cock is semi-erect. I put my mouth on him there, having zero idea what I’m doing. I only know that I want to kiss him on the head of his veiny dick. The second my mouth closes around him, his fingers seek purchase on my scalp.
A moan leaves his lips, but he doesn’t speak. His hips begin to move, and I suck him deeper between my lips as they burn and stretch to accommodate his girth and length.
Tears trickle down my cheeks as they hollow.
Nico fucks my mouth until he’s about to come. When I think he’s going to erupt, he grabs me under my arms and pulls me upward. My teeth catch on his skin, but he doesn’t complain. Wordlessly, he yanks my dress over my head and tosses it somewhere in the room.
“I only come inside you,” he finally speaks. I seat myself on his lap, and he slides right into my pussy. I grip his shoulders and grind down on him, wanting to fill his warmth. Needing our connection to return. To remind him, he said it himself that I make him feel alive.
He uses my body and is coming within minutes, spilling his seed inside me. The moment he does, he pushes me to the side.
No cuddles. No kisses. Nothing.
“Get dressed,” he clips, and there’s no desire in his tone. I want to believe he’s teasing, to believe this is part of some test or game I don’t understand yet.
“Didn’t I make you happy?” My voice comes out meek, smaller than it has ever been. I don’t want it to crack, to break. I don’t want him to know his icy demeanor is killing me on the inside.
“Of course,” he tells me. His fingers drift along my hairline, brushing the strands away from my face. I want to melt into his touch, but he’s already pulling away. He doesn’t meet my gaze. He refuses to look at me at all.
He picks up the red dress, shoving the silky material into my limp, unresisting arms. “Go back to your room,” he says, giving me a push toward the door like an employee or an unwanted child.
My heart plummets, dizzy and disbelieving, then shoots back up to get lodged in my throat. “You want me to leave?” The question tastes as bitter as it sounds. I want to throw up.
He’s already on the move, grabbing his own clothes, covering the skin that I can still feel the lingering touch of against my own.
“I thought we…you…” I try to articulate my thoughts, but I can’t vocalize what I want to say. I can’t make myself finish what I thought, because the truth of his betrayal cuts too deep.
Can’t he see how hurt I am? He must realize how jarring his change in behavior is. But all he does is smile like this is normal. Like it’s okay to kick your wife from your bed.
“It’s late,” he says, and he’s holding the door open for me, ready to be rid of me.
I clutch the red dress, the one that I vow never to wear again. I take a shaky breath and back away as the sting of his rejection swallows me whole.
I drag my feet, hesitating at the door like he’ll suddenly change his mind.
I don’t realize…I don’t realize how obvious I am.
How lost and raw and unaccustomed to pretending this isn’t crushing my soul I am.
I half-expect him to grab me, to pull me back into his room, to show me that this is all part of how much he wants me, of how much he needs me. How he needs the thrill of the chase.
He doesn’t stop me and I won’t beg him to love me.
I try not to look at him as I go, try not to let him see how much this destroys me, but my reflection catches in the window at the end of the hall. The glass throws my expression back to me like an accusation, and I’m ashamed to see how weak I appear.
Hurt.
Surprise.
Panic.
All these emotions flood me, clouding my vision along with my tears.
I stumble through a tangle of thoughts the feelings I was developing for him a jumble of uncertainty and unraveling hopes. I can’t even dress myself.
Anyone could step into this hall and see me in nothing but my birthday suit.
With every empty, hollow step, I grow smaller. Less of a woman and more of a girl who doesn’t know what she’s agreed to. I’m alone in a house with no place for me.
Nico has no room for me in his life.
He has no plans of treating me like anything more than his property. His dirty little fuck toy. And I gave myself over to him so freely. I didn’t make him work for it. Next time he'll be the one left broken and begging for my affection.
I enter my room, and it feels too much like a hotel. Like a place I’m not allowed to make mine. It’s beautiful, and cold, and empty. Just like my husband.
What little belongings that were packed for me are stored in the closet. They don’t even feel like they are my own anymore either. They are memories of a place I was never wanted. A family that never loved me.
Why did Nico bring me here? Why did he marry me? Why did he share so much of himself only to rip his affections away the moment we came back to this house?
Did I disappoint him? Did I say something? Do something? Not do enough? The questions shove themselves against each other in my head. I wonder whether it was a mistake. I wonder if I am a mistake, and now he sees it.
There’s something about this house.
I glance around my room wishing for those wings right about now. i;d even settle for the shadow snakes.
The room holds no answers, and all I want is to scream. I want to throw something. Break something like Nico has broken my heart.
The whispers return, driving me to the brink of insanity. I dump the dress on the floor and grab clean underwear. I pull them up my legs and move no further.
The whispers grow louder, sounding almost as if they are as angry as I am.
“Stop it,” I demand. I’m shivering in my underwear trying to be brave, trying to convince myself everything is fine.
This is what I agreed to. I married a man who may have murdered his first wife.
“You’re being childish,” I say to myself, wrapping my arms around my body as though they can shield me from this heartbreak.
Nico never promised to love me or like me. He swore only to protect me.
I stare at the ceiling, and it stares back. Silent and judging. All knowing.
I swipe away my tears.
Nico cares about me. He just doesn’t know how to show it. That’s all this is. A misunderstanding.
He won’t leave me here, not like this. Not when he’s wanted me all along. I’m his. His possession, his wife. He won’t keep me waiting for long.
But I wait.
And wait.
Every second, every minute is a confirmation of the worst things I’ve ever told myself.
That I’m just a piece in a game I don’t know how to play.
That he’s done with me. I blink back tears, but they’re unrelenting.
There’s nothing in me to stop them. I’m too tired, too drained.
Too ruined by how much I wanted this, how much I thought he wanted me in return.
A noise startles me, quick and light against my bedroom door.
A promise? An apology? The muffled sound of footsteps?
It makes my heart leap. It fills me with too much hope, too fast, and it takes a moment for the tears to follow the disappointment when I realize they’re walking away from me, when I realize that it’s not him, not the man I thought I knew, not the man I wanted to know.
When I realize that he’s never coming, I fall onto the bed, hoping that tomorrow doesn’t come.