Chapter 13
Nate
Grace comes like it’s her first time, and it’s all I can do not to take her right now.
I need her desperate and mindless, her resistance giving way to pleasure—and she’s almost there.
As far as I’m concerned, Grace showing me her wet, needy cunt was her ‘I do’.
I entered her the only way I could without hurting her with my intensity, tongue-fucking her until she forgot to pretend she didn’t want it.
And then—I almost came against the mattress—she started talking, and I discovered that my sweet little wife has a filthy mouth.
“Your tongue… fuck, push it in deeper—” and, “Fuck… it’s going to kill me—” and, best of all: “Don’t stop, God, don’t you dare stop, motherfucker. Fuck—fuck—”
Her entire body arcs as she clamps down on my fingers. I devour her orgasm, sucking her clit between my lips, heightening the intensity as I push my fingers deeper. Nick broke her with rejection. I’m going to break her with love.
“Okay,” she says shakily. “Okay, stop! I can’t take any more.”
I want to tell her that yes, she fucking can—come more, take more, give me more.
I’m tempted to sit her on my face until she’s so boneless she suffocates me.
I’d come in my death throes. But I have to consummate this marriage before she remembers herself.
I need my wife to know, in her deepest places, that she belongs to me.
I release her wrists and Grace draws her hands up, covering her breasts. She’s blushing hard, her eyes sparkling with tears.
“Pretending again,” I say, watching as she closes her legs. I surge forward, my body suspended over hers.
“Nate,” she whispers, “are you—are you going to—”
She bites her lip instead of finishing the question. I chuckle, loving how sweet and quiet she is now, when two minutes ago her mouth was full to the brim with obscenities. I lean down to speak into her ear.
“Open your legs, Grace. Time to let me in.”
“Are you going to make me?” she whispers, still refusing to meet my eyes.
The answer is not yes. She’s mine, but she needs to say yes, at least this once.
“Do you want me to make you?”
She clamps her eyes shut and shakes her head, tears trickling into her hair.
I lean in and kiss her, lingering so she can feel how I’m poised over her, ready but not taking.
I let my thighs press against hers, tangling our feet together, inviting her to feel warm and calm after her storm of pleasure.
“Open your eyes and look at me. Look at your husband.”
“This is wrong,” she whispers, her voice broken. “You’re not my husband.”
“I’ve got paperwork that says otherwise.” And a mouth full of her pleasure that says even more. I lean down and continue. “We’re going to take this last step, Grace, and you’re going to love every second of it.”
She flinches, her eyes fluttering open.
“Are you hurting, love?” I ask.
I want to know if she’ll tell me the truth. Grace lies to herself all the time, but she can’t lie to me.
“No,” she answers.
“Perfect.”
Her eyes snap to mine, brows furrowed prettily.
“That’s right,” I tell her, “you’re my perfect, gracious girl when you tell me the truth. You can pretend again as soon as you’ve admitted what you want.”
She swallows, eyes tearful. “I can’t. It’s wrong.”
“What’s wrong,” I kiss the tip of her nose, “is how long it’s taken us to get here.”
She runs her fingertips over my shoulders and I resist the urge to preen. I flex forward, encouraging her to feel my strength. I’ll use it soon.
“It’s wrong,” her legs shift beneath me, opening, “just yesterday I felt… hollowed out. But now I’m—”
“Now,” I take myself in hand, dragging my cock along the seam of her pussy, “you’re soaked for me.”
She tries to shake her head, but I kiss her still, her gasps filling my mouth. I’m throbbing against the exact place I want to be. Grace pulls back, her lips wetter than her eyes. When her voice comes, it’s clear and assertive despite her dazed expression.
“I’m not on anything. Birth control or… or anything.”
It takes me a moment to understand. Then I want to thrust forward—now. I want to bind this woman to me on paper and in the flesh. I want to make her swell.
“Are you fertile?” The words come out dark and low. “Tell me.”
“F-follicular phase.” It means nothing to me, which she seems to realise. “I’ll ovulate early next week.”
“A shame,” I trail my lips along her cheek, “because I’ll tell you this,” I nip the tender skin beneath her jaw, “I’d love to see you big and round with my baby.”
“You would?”
I grab the nape of her neck, forcing her eyes to meet mine. “Sick or pregnant. Unwell or healthy. I will take care of you forever. But I need you to say the word. Say yes, Grace.”
Her thighs close around me, and I finally hear it: “Yes.”
“That,” I tell her, “is the only word you will ever need in this house.”
She looks like she wants to take it back, but I move fast. Pinning her wrists above her head, I spread her open with my thighs.
“Don’t you dare look away, now.”
She moans, half in fear, half in desire as I press into her.
She’s wet but she’s also too tight for this to be good for her.
Her body has been unused to sex for upwards of a year and, if I know Grace, she’ll have abstained from taking care of this herself.
She mewls in discomfort as I ease myself in.
Part of me wants to slam forward regardless of pain.
She’s practically virginal, paradoxically pure. I could corrupt her, now and forever.
But I don’t.
I pause, seeing the fear in her eyes. I soften my expression, telling her without words that this—pressing into her pristine warmth—is enough. The right and the wrong entwined together so tightly neither of us will ever untangle them. It’s more than enough.
“You’re doing so well, ” I whisper.
I trail kisses along her neck as her breath catches, her wrists twisting in my hands. I transfer my grip, pinning her with one hand as I tilt her head back with the other, ensuring she can’t look away. She lets out a breath, almost a protest, her eyes filling with tears again.
“That’s right. Cry for me, love. I’ll show you how good I can make you feel, even when you pretend you don’t want me to fill you up.” A heavy thrust, and I’m seated fully.
Grace’s moan is sweet in my ear. She pulses around me, so damn tight that I almost come. Her eyes are open, glazed with tears. I pull back to look at where we’re joined.
“Look at this…” I thrust again, her gasps turning into little sobs. “Look at you, letting me take care of everything. Letting me take everything.”
I set a deep, slow rhythm. Grace submits, her body trembling, her eyes trusting despite the tears.
This, right here, is why I love her so much.
Even though she was married to an idiot and abused by her mother—even though she was ill beyond anything anyone could recognise—she’s still the trusting girl in the white lace dress. The one Nick stole.
I think of my dead brother as I fuck his widow.
“You feel that?” I whisper to her. “That’s me, erasing Nick. Every single part that was his, is mine.” I thrust harder, feeling how her pussy flutters. A knowing smile twists my face. “You liked hearing that, didn’t you? You like knowing I’ve got you now that he’s dead.”
Her eyes find mine as I let her feel the full strength of my love. The surrender in her eyes makes me take her even harder.
“Can you come from being fucked like this, love?”
Grace does the last thing I expect: she nods.
She fucking nods through her tears. I snarl, unable to rein myself in.
The bed creaks beneath us as I force myself into her body as far as I can, her cunt squeezing rhythmically.
She doesn’t scream this time. Instead, she gasps, clenching hard.
My fingers find a grip on her throat, forcing her still.
I’m about to lose myself in her completely.
“I love you, Grace. I love you so fucking much.”
I let myself go, feeling how her body accepts what I give, hearing distantly that she’s sobbing again when I finally fill her up.