Twenty-Nine
Amelia
“Put me down, damn it.” I pound on Van Wyk’s back, but it doesn’t have any effect.
“It’s customary for a husband to carry his bride over the threshold.”
“Not over his shoulder!” I struggle, cheeks flaming. Fournier grins as he watches, but at least Tony and Jorge are more interested in perimeter security or whatever it is they’re staring at. I only care that they’re ignoring my humiliation. Pretending to, anyway.
“All right, we’re inside. You win. Put me down, Van Wyk!”
“Lukas,” he replies, carrying me farther inside. “You’re Van Wyk too, now.”
He’s right, damn it. I’ve taken his name. I’m married.
It still hasn’t truly sunk in. Maybe because it hardly felt real.
“Linda,” he says cordially as we walk through the entrance hall.
Oh, God, not her as well.
“Mr. Van Wyk, sir,” she replies in surprise as we pass her. “Miss Anderson.”
He stops, turning. I get a view of the wall. “It’s Mrs. Van Wyk.”
“It’s Amelia,” I correct.
“I’m so sorry. Mrs. Van Wyk. Of course.”
Everyone’s ignoring what I say. That’s pretty standard in this house.
Van Wyk carries on, facing me toward Linda again. She’s watching with wide eyes and a hand over her mouth. “Congratulations,” she says, so softly I barely catch it.
Van Wyk takes the stairs and I make a grab for the banisters, trying to stop him. “Fournier is still here. We have guests.”
His hand comes down hard on my ass, making me gasp. “Quit struggling.”
“Never,” I hiss back at him. “Not until the day you start taking no for an answer.”
“I’ll take no for an answer the day you actually mean it.”
“What? I’ve meant it every time.”
“Really?” His hand slides up the back of my thigh, beneath my dress, palm caressing my ass, his thumb slipping beneath my thong to probe rudely between my cheeks. I can’t help but writhe at his touch. “Hmm, good choice of underwear.”
Linda’s still in earshot, and my cheeks flame in embarrassment even as Van Wyk reaches the landing, turning the corner and finally blocking her from sight.
We reach the bedroom and he kicks the door open, strides into the center of the room, and finally sets me on my feet. I’m unsteady as my balance takes a moment to reassert itself, and he’s behind me, working the zipper of my dress down before I’ve even realized what he’s doing.
He tugs my sleeves from my shoulders, hard enough that somewhere a seam rips.
“Careful,” I admonish. “You’re damaging my dress.”
“Are you going to wear it again?”
I pause. I could. It’s not really a wedding dress, despite the lace and its ivory color.
“Maybe.” Probably not. “I want to keep it,” I add, surprising myself.
One day, I might want it, if only because of the memories associated.
To burn, if I ever get free of him. To cherish, if he ever fulfills his promise of making me happy.
He pushes it down more slowly after that, working it over my hips and letting it fall to the floor. I suppose I should be fighting him, but that would risk the dress. Besides, this was always going to happen.
“Can we close the door at least?”
“Why?” He unclips my bra. “This is nice. Lacy. Virginal.”
I clutch it to my chest. “Because… because people will hear us!”
“I don’t care.” He drops to a knee behind me, fingers sliding into the waistband of my thong, tugging it over my ass and down my legs.
I’m naked, facing the wide-open door. The rumble of Fournier’s voice comes from the hallway, Linda giving a reply, though I can’t make out the words.
If I can hear them, they’ll be sure to hear me.
“But I care. I mean it, Van Wyk. I want the door closed.” I’d do it myself, but I can’t move. The thong is around my ankles, hobbling me, and in these heels I can’t even step out without them catching.
He places a kiss on the top of my ass, strangely tender. “You’re so beautiful, my Little Stray. Call me Lukas, and I’ll close the door for you.” He pauses. “Or husband, if you prefer.”
I close my eyes, bracing myself. “Please close the door, Lukas.” How many times have I said his name? Why does it affect me so? It makes him… human, acknowledging him as something other than my monster.
“Was that so difficult?” he asks, but he gets up and does what I asked. While he’s distracted, I bend and slip the thong from around my shoes, because there’s no way of doing it gracefully. It’s probably ridiculous, but I don’t want my husband seeing me ungainly and awkward.
I might not have any choice, but I have my dignity.
The door shut, he turns, regarding me from across the room. A smile plays across his lips, and there’s even a hint of his dimples. For someone who never smiled, there are a lot more of late. Am I responsible for that?
“Lose the bra,” he commands. “Let me look at you properly.”
I’m still holding the garment to my chest, but I straighten and let it fall, standing naked and proud in just my heels. He’ll do whatever he wants to me, but he won’t take my pride. Never mind that part of me wants him to look.
He exhales slowly. “You are, without a doubt, the most stunning creature I’ve ever beheld.”
“More beautiful than your wife?” I don’t know why I ask. It just slips out. Maybe it’s the teddy bears on the wall, constantly reminding me of her presence.
He doesn’t reply, merely walks to the dresser and opens a drawer, taking something from it. Then he turns to face me, and he’s holding another pair of those goddamn cuffs. He did buy more. True to his word, like he always is.
I can’t pull my eyes from them. I know what’s going to happen. My heart races, my skin tingles, and heat pools between my legs. I’m wet from just the anticipation. Or was I already wet, from when he stripped me? I hate how much this man affects me, but I can’t stop it. I’ve never been able to.
He takes a step toward me. “First, you are my wife.” Another step. “Second, my marriage to Juliette was one of convenience. While I grew very fond of her, I didn’t love her like that.”
“I’m seeing a pattern,” I say dryly, pulling my eyes from the cuffs with an effort.
He shakes his head. “Not what I meant.”
“Yes it was,” I retort. “You don’t love me, and our sham of a marriage is just as much a convenience.” Aside from how inconvenient it is.
“I worship you,” he replies softly, taking another pace closer. “I’m in awe of you.”
That’s unexpected and unconvincing, despite the seriousness of his tone. I can’t help my scoff. “Do you pin everyone over a terrace table when you worship them?”
He steps closer, almost in reach. “That was before I learned how strong and fierce you are.”
I don’t feel very strong and fierce, not when I’m naked save for my heels and he’s still fully clothed.
Not while he’s holding those cuffs, that I both love and despise.
My straight spine and lifted chin are an illusion.
It takes all my courage to stand before my husband and not quail, or run.
It’s too late for that, and I brought it on myself.
“I see that defiance in your eyes,” he murmurs, “and it calls to me.”
Defiance? Is that what he sees? “What does it say?”
His hand slips around my throat, his grip lighter than usual yet all-too familiar. I can’t repress my shiver. “It tells me you want to fight.”
“I don’t,” I say quickly. Maybe I do, but I know I’ll lose.
He doesn’t release my neck but steps around me with fluid grace, pulling me back against his chest. And this is why I’ll lose; he’s not just so much stronger than me, he’s faster too. He’s a predator, and he moves like one. I will always be his prey.
The cuffs slip around one wrist, drawing tight, velvety against my skin. He pulls my other hand back, and I shiver but don’t resist.
He pushes me toward the breakfast table. “Do you remember what I said to you, that first time in your apartment?”
Almost all of it. His words from that night are engraved into my memories.
“Hands behind your back, please.”
“Don’t kick. If you do, your punishment will be far worse.”
“Oh, shush. We both know you want me here.”
“Mostly you refused to leave,” I reply, closing my eyes as I can’t help but strain against the cuffs. The chain holds, as it always does. “And you may have mentioned how gorgeous my ass was.”
He chuckles. “It still is, and that’s a convenient segue.
” He pushes me against the table, then bends me over it, the wood cool against my breasts and smelling strongly of polish.
“If you recall, I told you I hadn’t intended to punish you so soon, but there’s a merit to getting it out of the way.
Then you’ll know what happens when you defy me. ”
“I’m not going to defy—” I break off with a gasp as his hand slaps into my ass.
“You did earlier.” He pins me with a hand between my shoulder blades and slaps my other cheek. Heat radiates out and the blow is hard enough to push my thighs against the edge of the table.
Great, more bruises.
What’s worse is how getting spanked like this sends the ache right to my pussy, and not in a bad way. It’s as if I like it, even though I don’t.
That’s not as convincing as it should be.
“You like this, don’t you?” he asks, as if reading my mind.
“No.”
His fingers dip between my legs. “Are you sure?”
I moan, feeling him part my labia, teasing my entrance, spreading my arousal around. Is there any point denying it? Is there any point saying no to a man who sees that like a bull sees a red flag?
He spanks me again and again, while my wrists strain at the cuffs, my knees buckle, and each blow causes my breasts to rub against the polished surface.
It’s not merely the pain, it’s the way he does it.
Keeping me pinned, even though it’s redundant.
The irregular delays, making me anticipate each new strike.
The way some blows are on the crease of my thighs, which is a different kind of sting and deliberately sadistic, the bastard.
If it were only that, I could endure. But it’s not.
What breaks me is when he gently runs his palm over my ass, his touch soothing and so damn electrifying.
Every time he does, my pussy clenches, and I can’t help the whimpers that escape.
It seems I can keep in the sounds of pain, but not the sounds of pleasure. It’s humiliating.
“God, I love spanking you,” he murmurs. “The feel of your body, the noises you make.”
“So glad,” I bite out. At least one of us enjoying our marriage.
“And the best bit is now I get to do it whenever I want, wife.”
“Because before, you had to ask my permission.”
He chuckles, squeezing one cheek as I screw my eyes tight in an effort not to moan. It’s only partly successful. “I was referring to you living in your apartment. Now you’re by my side.”
“Only until death do we part,” I say, trying to make it as much of a threat as I can.
“I’ll get you that book on toxic plants for Christmas,” he replies, “and you can buy me one on antidotes. A marriage is all about balance and partnership, right?”
I laugh mirthlessly. “Does that make it my turn to bend you over a table?”
“Any time you can,” he says, amusement in his tone.
That would be never, then.
I wouldn’t want to anyway.
He lifts me up by my shoulders, turning me to face the bed. “I can’t resist you anymore. Not when you’re so damn wet and naked, and with your gorgeous ass so red.”
I try to ignore that, but it’s impossible. As usual, I deflect instead. “You just like me restrained.”
“Yes, I do.” He pushes me forward, and I stumble in my heels. He’s there in an instant, catching me, supporting me. Waiting until I’m stable, then shoving me forward again. And that’s Van Wyk in a nutshell, at least in how he treats me: care and dominance, thoughtfulness and possession.
He stops me at the foot of the bed, unfastening one of my cuffs. “On your back, please.”
Oh yeah, and his irritating civility that comes out at the best and worst of times. Who else would say please while ordering a naked woman around? Or while he kills people?
I crawl onto the bed, and as I do, I hear him take a sharp breath then let it out slowly. He’s watching me, I know he is. Do I really affect him that much?
I pause, looking at him over my shoulder, curious. He stares back, taking all of me in, unconsciously moistening his lips. I’m the one naked and submissive, but the way he can’t take his eyes off me makes me feel sexy and desirable.
A wicked little urge takes hold. I want to play.
Arching more than necessary, I lift my ass, working my shoulders as I crawl slowly forward, the cuffs dangling from one wrist. He groans behind me like a man in pain, and I can’t help but smile.
I roll to my back, extending my hands up to the headboard and gripping the bars.
I know he’ll want me to. I know he’ll cuff me to them.
And then I spread my legs, because that’s the next thing he’ll ask.
My knees lift, my hips tilt toward him, and I close my eyes and press my head into the pillow, baring my throat to him.
I’m exposed in every way I can be, and yet I feel… powerful.
“My Little Stray,” he breathes. “My wife. Do you know what you do to me?”
I didn’t, but I’m beginning to. Watching Van Wyk come undone without even a touch is exhilarating. Maybe this is how I get him to lose control.
He walks around the side of the bed, threading the loose cuff through the bars and securing me again. I used to protest, to feel like he was stealing my agency and freedom. Now, it’s simply a precursor to pleasure for both of us.
“I warned you what would happen if you weren’t a good girl,” he says, voice husky with arousal.
He checks both my cuffs are tight, then opens the nightstand drawer and pulls out a blindfold.
“I’m going to punish you for pretending you didn’t want to marry me, and embarrassing me in front of Bastien. ”
“I wasn’t pretending and you weren’t embarrassed,” I retort as he covers my eyes with silk, cutting out all the light and eliminating one of my senses. Immediately, the sheets feel cooler, my ass warmer, and my body tingles.
And along with my vision, the fleeting sense of power I had is gone. I’m restrained, helpless, and Van Wyk is feeling sadistic. I know he is.
There’s a long pause before he speaks again, giving my mind plenty of time to imagine all the things he’s going to do to me. My nipples tighten almost painfully, my legs spread wider without any conscious thought, and I have to bite back a moan of need so that he doesn’t make some snarky comment.
Instead, the comment he does make comes as a complete surprise.
“Did you really not want to marry me?”
My breath catches. Is he serious?
His tone suggests he is.
All of this—the kidnapping, blackmailing me with my sister, keeping me as a prisoner—and he asks now?
No, of course I fucking didn’t is on the tip of my tongue.
But then I remember all the things he said to me in the town hall. The way he’s looked at me in this room. The promises to protect me, never to hurt me.
Care and dominance, thoughtfulness and possession.
And I can’t give him an answer.