17. Beg Me for It
CHAPTER 17
BEG ME FOR IT
Paloma
I lie in bed, eyeing the crystal swan. Since the all-mighty Archer decreed that tonight I can’t eat in my room, I decide it would be best if I just go to sleep. Whenever Dad punished me by sending me to my room with no dinner, I would just make myself go to sleep, so I could wake up early and eat breakfast before he woke up.
Archer thinks he knows me. But he has no clue what I’m capable of enduring. Being a ballet dancer isn’t for the faint-hearted. Sinking into my pillow, I turn the figurine in my hand until it catches the firelight. When the side of it shines blue, I stop to stare at it. It reminds of my elusive husband. Why does he make it so hard for me to get close? What is he afraid of?
His rejection used to sting. But it doesn’t anymore. I can see he wants me in the worst way possible. Somehow, he believes that staying away from me is for my own good. If he knew how much it physically hurts to be in this constant state of wanting, he would take pity on me and give me the sweet release I crave.
I’m tired of getting scraps from him. He won’t even let me touch him. The night he made me pleasure myself with the swan, he didn’t even take his clothes off. I may not have a lot of experience when it comes to sex, but I at least know this, it takes two to make it work. A shiver runs down my spine when I think of all the various states of naked he’s seen me in now. Of all the things he’s done to me, his mouth on my pussy is the best of my memories.
I reach below the covers and palm my mound. What would he do if I entered his room again? Would he finally concede and give me my wedding night? Anger swirls in the pit of my stomach when I think that after all this time in his mansion, I’m still a fucking virgin. I hate it. I hate that I crave him inside me so much. And all he can talk about is how he stays away because he’s not a good man.
What kind of secrets is he hiding? What makes him think that being my husband can hurt me? I don’t believe he’s capable of hurting me. Especially when everything he does turns me on. I dip my fingers into my folds. I’d like to think we made some progress this morning. A smile pulls at my lips. He almost fell to his knees when I reached into his trousers and wrapped my fingers around his shaft. Gosh, his erection was everything I thought it would be—strong and hard as a rock. I felt powerful holding him in my hand like that.
I wanted to take him into my mouth. But I chickened out. No idea why. I’m no longer afraid of his rejection. He’s not like Hunter. Hunter had a way of making me feel dirty for even asking him if he wanted me. He made me believe I was the reason he wasn’t turned on. I think he hated it when I took control, or when I asked for sex.
Archer is different. He says no to me, but I see the agony in his eyes. He wants me as much as I want him. So what is really stopping him? I’m his wife. I know he’s hiding something. My gut tells me it has to do with Dad. The way Archer’s eyes shoot daggers whenever Dad comes up in conversation is a huge giveaway.
And his family? They’re so weird too. They didn’t even bat an eyelash the night Archer brought me home. As if he went out once a week and bought women at auctions. They just accepted that I was his wife as if they were expecting it. Well, at least, Fisher and Jacob did. Gardenia had a different reaction to me that had nothing to do with the auction. She’s in love with Archer.
I turn to my side on the bed, placing the swan on the bedside table. Who wouldn’t fall in love with him? Yeah, the man is infuriatingly stubborn and controlling. But also caring and so passionate. He makes me feel like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. I know I’m not. There are literally fifty other women in my ballet company that look exactly like me.
“Why don’t you love me?” I scream into my pillow, then freeze. Do I want him to love me?
“Paloma.” Archer’s voice rumbles outside my door.
Speak of the devil…
“Go away.” I sink deeper into the covers and shut my eyes close.
“One,” he begins to count.
What is he even counting for? I sit up in the bed, glaring at the door.
“Two,” he says louder.
And I just know he’s clenching his jaw the way he does when he’s losing patience.
“Three.” The lock clicks, and then the door swings open.
“What the hell?” I gasp. “You have a key?”
“This is my house. Of course I have a key.” His gaze darkens. “You missed dinner. Again.”
“I wasn’t hungry.” I shrug. “I hope you enjoyed eating alone.”
“You really do think I’m bluffing.” He shuts the door behind him, then shrugs off his suit jacket.
My heart races when he begins to roll up his sleeves. “What are you doing?”
“Delivering on my promise from earlier today.” He loosens his tie and pulls on it.
“What?” You can’t be serious about that.” I clutch the covers to my body. “You wouldn’t dare. My father is going to find out about this. How you treat me?—”
“He’s not here now. I am, Little Dove.” He stalks toward the bed. “Why am I here, Paloma?”
“What? How should I know?”
“Okay.” He smirks, gripping my covers. “I’ll explain. You’re acting like a brat.”
“I am not.” I eye the long fingers threatening to pull away the only thing keeping me safe from Archer. “I don’t have to eat dinner with you if I don’t feel like it. You can’t make me. Despite what you think, you’re not the king of everything.”
“I warned you, Little Dove. Tonight was your last chance to be a good wife and join me for a meal. But since you didn’t, I’m here to show that beautiful ass of yours what happens when you act like a brat.” He towers over me. “But if you want to save yourself the embarrassment of a spanking. Now is the time to apologize.”
“You’re out of your mind. I don’t apologize. Especially when I haven’t done anything.” The air leaves my lungs. Because I finally realize that I underestimated Archer. He’s here to deliver on his threat from earlier.
He yanks the covers off me, and he sucks in a breath. “Such a good girl.”
Yeah, I’ve been sleeping in my underwear since the night he ordered me to. I don’t know why I kept doing it. Maybe I hoped he would come back to me and offer a bit of release.
“Tell me you’re sorry for acting like a brat.” He braces his hands on his hips, a long vein bulging along his forearm.
“No.” I lift my chin, not bothering to cover my chest.
In one fluid motion, he wraps his fingers around my ankles, pulls me toward him, and flips me onto my stomach. What the hell? I face plant on my duvet with my ass up in the air. Heat rushes to my cheeks when he hooks his thumbs in my panties and yanks them down to my thighs. I glance over my shoulder to demand that he stop, but the words don’t come.
His hand lands on both my butt cheeks with a sharp clap.
“Hmmm.” I fist the sheets and moan into the covers.
“Apologize.” His tone is lethal.
“No.” I shake my head.
He smacks me again. The pain vibrates just above my entrance and reverberates at my core. I’m instantly at the edge of the precipice ready to jump. As if he can read my thoughts, as if he knows what this is doing to me, he spanks me again, then once more. He waits for the sharpness to dissipate, then he palms my ass to ease the pain. The sensation is sublime. I don’t want it to stop.
“Apologize, Little Dove.”
I shake my head in response.
“I can do so much worse,” he warns me.
I bury my face in the covers and tense. He braces a knee between my thighs, gripping my hips with both hands. I melt into the mattress because I’m sure of what’s coming next. I desperately need to feel his length inside me. His ragged breath is the only sound in the room. And I know he’s at the brink of insanity, same as me. I arch my shoulders and push my butt toward him. Beyond offering myself up to him to take me already, I can’t do much else. I can’t beg. I have to somehow hold on to the last shred of dignity I still have.
He runs his thumbs up my spine in a languid motion that he follows all the way up. He grips my hair at the base of my skull, then hovers over me. “Apologize. Say the words, and I’ll stop.” He presses his lips to my ear. “Say it, I’m sorry I acted like a brat. ”
“No.” I clench my teeth. For one, I don’t want him to stop. And two, I’m not acting like a brat. He’s being a stubborn ass. “Archer.”
He fists my hair tighter, pulls gently and slaps my butt cheek again. “You want this, don’t you? You want to come like this?”
My skin is tender and hot from his ministrations, but my pussy is begging for more. He can’t leave me hanging again. I will hate him forever. I hold my breath while I wait for him to make up his mind. I refuse to beg though I’m seconds away from doing so.
“Like this?” He tugs at my panties from where they hang halfway down my legs.
As soon as they’re off, he hooks my knee on the edge of the bed and then the other. He delivers another blow, while his fingers grip my hair tight.
I’m hanging for dear life.
“Such a pretty pussy.” He skims the pad of his finger down my slit. “It’s too bad you’re a brat.” Again, his hand comes down on my ass.
I don’t know how much of this I can take. At this point, my entire backside is on fire, and my pussy is screaming for some release.
“Please.” The covers muffle the word.
“I didn’t catch that, Little Dove.” He tightens his hold on me and lifts my head. “Was that an apology?”
“I need you.” I meet his gaze.
He looks at me with hooded eyes for what feels like an hour. Then he claims my mouth with the same desperation I feel. I take what he’s willing to give, hating myself for my lack of self-restraint. Yes, I want to come, but I also want him to let me in.
“Let me touch you,” I beg when he comes up for air.
There’s so much agony in his eyes. What’s stopping him? Why can’t he love me? Why won’t he let me love him?”
His gaze roams my entire body as he labors to catch his breath. Even his perfect hair is a mess. We’re at an impasse. Both of us halfway to self-destruction. Neither one of us willing to give in.
“Is this how you begged him? You showed him your sweet little cunt and begged?” he says through gritted teeth.
“Don’t do that.” I suck in my breath. “You’re using him as an excuse. You’re not jealous of him. He’s your shield. Because you’re afraid of me.”
“Hmm.” He growls in my ear. “What do you want from me?” He drags his fingers down my spine. When he reaches my ass, he releases my hair. “Beg me for it.”
I furrow my brows, looking at him with eyes wide open.
I don’t dare move. Though I know he’s done with me. His punishment is complete. Like before, I’m left vulnerable and exposed—wanting and longing for a love I can’t have. My heart rate continues to beat dangerously fast because he’s still watching me intently.
Lifting my butt, I slip my hand underneath my belly and keep going. A moan escapes my lips when my fingers touch my sensitive bud. I swallow my tears and slightly grind my hips into the bed to give myself what he won’t give me.
He hisses and drops to his knees. “That’s right, wife. Take what you need.” He parts my butt cheeks and breathes hot air into my wet entrance.
And then I’m sure I’ve died and gone to heaven. His mouth descends on my sex and sends me over the edge.
“Yes.” The words echo in the room and I’m not sure if that was him or me.
His tongue is relentless and calculating as it works to bring me higher and higher. He kisses and nibbles as if I’m the most delicious meal. I’m well aware that he’s choosing to please me but only because my hands are trapped beneath my body, and I can’t see his eyes.
More, I need so much more.
“Archer.”
“I know.” He kisses the inside of my thigh and stops.
“Archer?” I prop myself on my elbows and let my head hang.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I twist at my waist to meet his gaze. He licks his lips, then places his index and middle fingers in my mouth. Gosh, the man is crazy beautiful, alluring and a complete mystery to me.
He rises to his feet. “Relax, Little Dove.” He pulls out of my mouth and penetrates me with his fingers.
The sharp sting of my hymen breaking shoots up my core. I didn’t think that was a real thing. Or that after all the years of extraneous exercise, I would have any of it left. But fuck it hurts.
“Ah.” I yelp.
“Look at me,” he repeats. “Don’t look away. Isn’t this what you wanted?”
I shake my head. But I realize that I didn’t really know what I wanted. “It hurts.”
“I know.” He moves his fingers out, drawing circles on my butt hole, then inserts them again. “It will pass. Focus on what feels good.”
“Hmmm. Everything you do feels good,” I confess as my legs tremble.
Despite the pain, the desire burning in my core hasn’t stopped growing. I can’t contain it. His deft fingers know exactly what they’re doing as they reach deeper and deeper inside me. Each stroke is meant to drive me to insanity. And he’s winning. He wins every time. Because I have zero self-control when it comes to him.
“Let it go, wife.” He grips my hair at the nape of my neck and plunges into me again.
And then I’m flying so high, my body is weightless. My orgasm rips through me with so much intensity, it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
When every last bit of my release is spent, he releases the hold he has on my hair and my pussy. I lie there unable to move. He cradles me in his arms and sets me on the bed the way he found me when he first walked in.
“I like seeing you like this, covered in your own juices.” He pats my hairless mound.
I glance down and catch a sight of the dry blood on his fingers. I get the sense that I’m missing a big point here. But I’m too sated to think about anything too hard. Or to even consider what any of all this means.
“Don’t move,” he orders then disappears into the en-suite bathroom.
I hate that he’s still fully dressed while I’m on my bed fully naked. My eyes flutter closed, and I feel the weight of what happened, and the entire day drags me into a deep slumber. I barely feel Asher’s hands as he wipes my pussy and the insides of my thighs. The hot towel feels amazing as he presses it against me.
“Good night, Wife.” He bends down to kiss my forehead.
I let sleep take over, too tired to worry about the fact that Archer is leaving me again. Come morning, I’ll wake up all alone. The door closes shut, and I’m bathed in darkness. Not even the firelight is there to keep me company.
My head lulls to the side, and I’m dreaming again. I see his shadow standing by the foot of the bed and then my side. His zipper comes down, and his erection is free. I want to reach for it, but my arms are too heavy, pinned down to either side of me.
“My turn,” he whispers, teasing my lips with his shaft.
It’s wet and salty. I think I like it. A moan echoes in the darkness, then he’s shoving his cock inside my mouth. I can’t move, but I do my best to let him, to take all of him. He pumps and pushes in a little more, and then some more, until I can’t breathe.
He holds it there, fucking my mouth with measured thrusts. I can’t breathe, but my body feels too heavy to struggle. His cock also feels too good to let it go. I fantasize about stroking it with my hands and feeling the same sense of power and control I had when I stroked him in the gardens. I regret being such a coward then. I could’ve let him do this instead of fighting. I don’t want to run from him anymore.
“You take can a bit more, Little Dove. I know you can.” He braces a hand on the headboard.
I relax my jaw and take him to the hilt. And just when I think I’m going to pass out from lack of oxygen, he pulls all the way out. My head sinks into the pillow as I gasp for precious air. But he’s not done with me. He positions himself again, teasing my mouth and even nose with his tip. I try to chase it, but then I remember he asked me not to move.
I let my mouth fall slack.
“Such a good girl.” His voice fills every nook and cranny in the room as well as my chest. He fondles my breasts, rolling my tight nipples and pulling them into peaks. When he’s had enough, he fills my mouth all over again. “Suck me dry, Little Dove.” It’s not an order. It’s more of a plea.
I want to give him that. I want to be the reason he comes undone. I have no idea what he needs from me, so I lick his tip and suck hard on it as if my life depends on it. My hand itches to hold him tight. But that’s not what he asked for. He said, don’t move.
“Jesus,” he growls and glides himself all the way in, until I feel him in the back of my throat.
His movements, along with his breaths, are ragged and no longer in control. He grips my hair at the nape of my neck and puts me where he wants me, basically doing all the work for me. I’m here. I want to say to him. I’m here for you. But I’m too tired to move.
He pumps with his hips and then lets out a cry. “Fuck.”
My throat is covered with something sticky. I swallow, savoring his semi-erection resting on my tongue.
“Did I do it right?” I ask when he pulls out.
“Of course you did, Little Dove. You’re always so fucking perfect.” He strokes my hair, then runs his fingers over my lips. “Such a pretty mouth.”
“Stay with me.” I smile and reach for him, but my hands catch nothing but air.
My eyes fly open, and I find myself alone. The fireplace crackles on the opposite end of the room like it does every night. And like every night, Archer isn’t here. I sit up and press a hand to my forehead. He’s gone. I swallow to taste him again, but that’s gone too.
The thumping of my heart chases my sleep away. For a moment I wonder if Archer even came to my room at all. I let my legs fall to the side of the bed and wince at the soreness between my thighs. My bottom screams in protest too. I pad to the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror to admire Archer’s handiwork. I have his hand neatly printed on each cheek.
A ribbon of lust unfolds at my core thinking of all the other ways I’m not yet his. I shake my head at the woman in the mirror and the way she smiles and blushes at the thought of Archer fucking me for real.
“You’re right,” I admit to my reflection. “I am his.”
I belong to Archer. And I don’t even care that he doesn’t think our marriage is real. It’s real to me. What I feel when I’m with him is one hundred percent real. He’s convinced he’s protecting me. But what is he really protecting me from? I’m done asking. It’s time I find out his secret. Whatever he’s hiding, I know we can work through it together.
Archer is mine, as much as I am his.
If he won’t fight for us, I will.