Chapter 23 Sera #2
"Life's not fair, baby." His hips roll, hitting that perfect spot, and I nearly come apart. "Promise me that you’ll give yourself to me, your entire self, everything. Or I stop right now."
"You wouldn't—"
He stills completely. Buried deep inside me but not moving.
"Try me."
The bastard. The absolute bastard.
"Fine," I gasp. "I promise. Just—please—"
"Please what?" He's enjoying this. I can hear it in his voice.
"Please fuck me. Please let me come. Please—"
He pulls almost all the way out. Pauses.
Then slams back in.
I scream.
He sets a punishing pace, driving into me over and over, and I can feel my orgasm building impossibly fast.
"That's it," he encourages. "Take it. Take everything I'm giving you."
"Adrian—I'm—"
"Come for me. Now."
I shatter, clenching around him, pleasure tearing through me so intensely I see stars.
He groans, rhythm faltering, and I feel him getting closer. Chasing his own release.
This is it. This is my moment.
"Wait," I gasp.
He stills, buried deep, breathing hard. "What?"
"You want to finish inside me?" I look at his reflection in the window, meeting his eyes. "You want to fill me up?"
His jaw clenches. "Yes."
"Then promise me the bookshop. Tomorrow. Three hours minimum."
Understanding flashes across his face. Then disbelief. Then something that might be admiration.
"You're negotiating. Right now? Like this."
I clench around him deliberately, and he groans. "Promise me, Adrian. Or I'll force you out."
"You wouldn't. You want to feel me as much as I want it."
He's not wrong, but I can be fucking stubborn, and this, right here, is what I have.
"I absolutely would." Another deliberate squeeze. "What's it going to be?"
He laughs. Actually laughs. It's dark and rough and filled with something that sounds almost like pride.
"You are a delight, my little wife." His hand tightens on my hip. "Fine. Tomorrow. The bookshop. Three hours. With security."
"You promise?"
"I promise." He leans down, mouth at my ear. "Now let me finish claiming you."
He starts moving again, harder than before, and I'm already building toward another orgasm. It's too much, too intense, but I don't want him to stop.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans. "So fucking perfect. Taking me so well. Letting me fill you up while you're already carrying my baby—"
His primal talk pushes me over again. I come with a cry, and he follows immediately, groaning my name as he finishes inside me.
We stay like that for a moment. Both breathing hard. His body covering mine. Still joined.
Then he pulls out carefully, and I feel his release start to drip down my thigh.
"Don't move," he orders.
I hear him opening drawers, searching for something. Then he's back with tissues, cleaning me gently, almost reverently.
"You okay?" His voice is softer now. Careful.
"Yeah." I'm boneless. Exhausted. Satisfied in a way I haven't been since the gala. "I'm good."
He helps me sit up, pulls me against his chest. We're both still mostly naked, sitting on his desk surrounded by scattered papers.
"That was..." I don't have words.
"Effective," he supplies, and I can hear the amusement in his voice. "You learn fast."
"I didn't—it wasn't just strategy." I need him to know that. "I wanted this too."
"I know." He kisses my forehead. "That's what made it work. You wanted me. But you were smart enough to use that want to get something you needed."
"So, I get the bookshop?"
"Three hours. Tomorrow afternoon. With me and two guards." His hand finds my stomach again. "But you're eating breakfast first. And if you feel even slightly off, we come back immediately."
"Deal."
He stands, pulling me with him. Scoops me up like I weigh nothing.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking you to bed. We're not done."
"Adrian, I can't," my eyes are wide. "I just—"
"You negotiated for three hours at a bookshop." His smile is wicked. "I negotiated for tonight. However, I want. Remember?"
Heat floods through me despite my exhaustion. "You're insatiable."
"I'm making up for two weeks of sleeping next to you without touching you." He carries me toward the door. "And you promised to try. To really try. That starts now."
"This is trying?"
"This is me reminding you why you said yes." He kicks open the bedroom door. "Why you're going to keep saying yes. Why this marriage might actually work."
He lays me on the bed, following me down.
"Because as much as you hate that you want me," he murmurs against my mouth, "you do want me. And I'm going to make sure you never forget that."
I should argue. Should push back.
Instead, I pull him closer.
Because he's right. I do want this. Want him.
And maybe Bianca was right too.
Maybe there's power in accepting that. In using it. In making this life mine instead of just surviving it.
"Show me," I whisper.
And he does.
Again and again until the sun starts to rise and we're both exhausted and sated and tangled together in sheets that smell like sex and expensive cologne.
"Tomorrow," he murmurs against my hair as I'm drifting off. "The bookshop. I promised."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. You earned it." His hand finds my stomach, protective and possessive. "You're learning how to play this game, Seraphina. How to be my wife."
His words stir something inside of me, and I'm not sure how I feel. Am I happy that I used sex to get something—maybe? It's all very confusing.
But as he pulls me closer, I find I don't care.
I fall asleep smiling.
Because for the first time since this nightmare began, I don't feel powerless.
I feel like maybe, just maybe, I can survive this.
I can even win.