Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
IVY
I ’m dreaming of him again , I thought through the sleepy fog in my brain.
Strong hands wrapped around me, carrying me, holding me tight. That feeling I used to have in my girlish fantasies. A prince rescuing his fairy princess.
But then the sound of an engine punctured my haze and my body jerked. My eyes snapped open and I found a familiar figure hovering over me. Those hard features and that calm facade.
Stubble covered Christian’s cheeks, adding a slightly rough edge to his aura. He looked like he’d just gotten out of the shower, droplets of water rolling down those gorgeous bare abs, his skull tattoo glistening and tempting me to trace it with my tongue.
Then my gaze dropped to his gray sweatpants and my lips parted on a sharp exhale. He’s hard .
I had no business looking in that general area, so I shook my head, lifting my gaze to his face where those intense blue eyes that had haunted me every minute of every day and night watched me with a gleam in them.
“Finally awake, angel.” His voice was like velvet as his gaze traveled the length of my body. “I missed seeing those hazel eyes looking up at me.” A smile spread on his lips.
“What—” My gaze darted around, panic slowly rising at the unfamiliar surroundings. “Why am I not in my room at Louisa’s?”
It was a stupid question because the answer was evident. He had kidnapped me. Again.
I finally registered the humming noise. We were on a plane.
Overwhelming rage flooded my veins and I shot to my feet. Well, I attempted to, only to be yanked back by the seat belt.
“Safety first,” he said.
How dare he mock me? I thought in my rattled state. It was all too much. To go from dreaming about him to waking up in the sky and seeing him in the flesh. And worst of all, he looked good. Gorgeous even.
“Take me back. Right now. Or I swear, I’ll unleash my brothers and my sister—who’s Sofia Volkov’s daughter, by the way—on you,” I snapped, shameless to use my brothers and newfound sister as my connection. Then, just in case he didn’t get the point, I added, “She’s super badass.”
He laughed, the sound vaguely amused at best. “Your brothers and newfound sister encouraged us to bury the hatchet and work out our problems.” I scoffed, but then immediately tensed as he leaned over. I watched his movements as he unbuckled me, noting the wedding ring on his finger.
He must have caught me staring at it because he dug into the pocket of those sinful sweatpants and took my hand into his. “It’s about time you put yours back on.”
I snorted. “I see you’re still breaking and entering.”
The last time I saw my wedding ring was when I shoved it in the drawer of my bedroom back in Ireland.
“Only when it comes to you, wife.”
My stupid heart fluttered, but instead of falling under his spell, I rolled my eyes and stood, needing to put distance between us.
“So damn cliché.”
“If that’s what it takes to win you back.” His tone was light, amused, but shadows danced in his eyes.
“Christian, I thought we decided to move on.” My chin trembled at the thought of him with another woman.
“We did not,” he stated calmly. I inhaled and exhaled heavily in a hopeless attempt to return my heartbeat to normal. “I told you I’ll kill any man who gets near you. You are my wife. My life. And I’ve been going fucking crazy without you. Not even therapy is helping.”
“You went to…” My voice broke before I recovered it. “You’ve been seeing a therapist?”
He nodded somberly.
“I will do fucking anything for our marriage. For us.” He took a step forward, reaching a hand to my face and cupping my cheek. “You’re my wife, we belong at each other’s side. We’ve made vows.”
My heart that had been aching for months suddenly shuddered with ideas of its own.
“There was no mention of kidnappings in our vows,” I pointed out, my teeth grinding. “And I don’t believe that my brothers and sister would allow you to take me just like that.”
Fear held me back. Juliette’s betrayal hurt, but Christian’s just about tore me apart. I didn’t want to love someone that much to give them such power.
“Divorce is perfectly acceptable.”
His jaw clenched and his eyes darkened to the deepest oceans.
“Til death do us part.” His voice lowered to a frightening edge. “Remember?”
“No,” I lied. “Shouldn’t there be an apology or some groveling buried somewhere among your words?”
“I’ll spend my life groveling, angel.” The depths of his blue eyes flickered with so many emotions, it was terrifying and thrilling at the same time. “But first, I’m taking you home.”
Christian brought me home, but not to the one I expected.
We were in an old manor located along the craggy cliffs of Ballyhack in Ireland. It was his mother’s wedding present—a home and land of our own. Unlike the Murphy estate, which was surrounded by woods and soothing sounds of forests, this manor had the view of cliffs and the Atlantic Ocean on one side and green pastures as far as the eye could see on the other.
We ended up in my homeland with an uneasy truce, if it could even be called that. He was with me from morning to night, rarely leaving my sight.
On top of that, he had gifts delivered on a daily basis. Sometimes even hourly. Chocolates. Cakes. Flowers. Jewelry. A car .
Everything but the one thing I really wanted.
An apology.
Compromise.
Promises kept.
And then there was the sexual frustration. By the end of the first week, I was torn between dragging him to my bed and banishing him.
“We need to talk,” I said Saturday night as we both sat in the living room, the television on with the girliest rom-com I could find: Legally Blonde .
“Okay.” Christian turned to face me and I instantly regretted starting a conversation. My eyes fell to his bare torso, those abs tempting me like a glass of water on a hot summer day. He wore nothing but sweatpants, the outline of his hard length clearly visible. I had to ask the question that’d been plaguing me since I woke up on the plane last week.
“Why do you insist on wearing sweatpants?” I blurted, forcing my gaze away from his body and locking it on his face.
“Your Pinterest.” His mouth twitched when I glared at him.
“Stalker,” I muttered. I had completely forgotten that I had a mood board dedicated to men in loungewear.
“Just so you know, I’m strongly considering working through that list of models and ending them all.”
My mouth gaped, unable to find words. Then I gave my head a subtle shake.
“I’m going to take that as a joke. A lame one,” I mumbled. “Anyhow, I want you to stop with the gifts.” Then, because I was genuinely worried, I added, “And my sweatpants models are not to be touched.”
Christian raised an eyebrow. “Delete the board, then.”
I threw my hands up in frustration. “Fine, but I want your word that you won’t go after them.”
His smile faded. “I told you, no other men for you.”
Yes, he was a psychopath, but his obsessive madness was doing stuff to me and I worried I was going to cave into temptation and jump him right now. Sex on the couch seems like a great idea.
I launched myself off the couch, terrified I’d follow through if I didn’t get away.
“Just stop sending me gifts,” I said over my shoulder, then ran like the devil was at my heel.
For the remainder of the evening, I hid in my bedroom like a coward, sprawled on the bed with a pulse throbbing between my legs. I stared at the ceiling, stubbornly ignoring the desire coursing through my veins.
The clock’s soft ticks and tocks filled the space. I’d just dozed off when suddenly my wrists were pinned above my head.
Despite the dark, I could make out the outline of the beautiful face. Those intense eyes and the set of his jaw. My husband.
My body slackened under his weight and my legs fell apart. I moaned something incoherent and licked my lips, watching his eyes blaze as his free hand wrenched off my underwear. He slammed inside me with a feral force, and I glimpsed his vulnerable expression before his movements wiped all thoughts from my mind.
I cried out, my back arching off the bed as he proceeded to ram into me, owning every inch of me with every ruthless thrust. His groin slapped against my flesh, his hips crashing against me with the savage power.
“My wife likes when I fuck her hard.” His voice was raspy, and when I opened my mouth to speak, he covered it with his palm. “Don’t deny it. I can feel it in the way your cunt is strangling my cock.”
With every word out of his sinful mouth, my core tingled. My brain turned fuzzy, world spinning as his rhythm took on a feral momentum. He fucked me like it was the last thing we’d get to experience in this life and the next. Like it was our final act. Like I was his.
My walls clenched and pleasure started to gather in my core, shooting all the way up my spine before submerging my entire body.
“Christian…” I moaned. “So… good.”
“There she is.” Dark tones coated his voice as he leaned down and trapped the lobe of my ear between his teeth and whispered hot words, “Let go, angel. I’ll catch you.”
I gripped the sheets, my orgasm so close . Just a little more and…
I shot up from my pillow, panting hard.
For a second, I was lost to the steadily retreating images, but then I looked around and found my fingers were inside my panties.
Fuck. I was dreaming.
My damp hair stuck to my temples and my heart was thundering erratically against my rib cage.
I went to yank my hand from my aching pussy with a jerk, when a voice froze my movement.
“I want to see more.”
My eyes widened and my cheeks heated as I turned my head to the side. Embarrassment flooded me as I found my husband seated on the chair next to the bed, his legs crossed at the ankles.
He’s still wearing those damn pants .
My eyes fell to his taut forearms, the soft moonlight throwing shadows over his features. The look in his eyes was dark, a thousand words spoken without him uttering a single sound.
His gaze zeroed in on my hand still frozen between my parted legs.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered.
“Watching you. Wishing my tongue could replace those fingers.”
I looked down, my glistening pussy on full display. When in the hell did I get rid of my panties? Mortification filled me and my cheeks burned as I returned my gaze to him.
“Care for a toy?” he suggested.
I paused, my heart thundering at the tempting idea. When I remained silent, he stood up and closed the distance to the bed, taking my hand in his—the same one that was on my most intimate parts—and lifted it to his face.
Then he inhaled my scent deeply into his lungs. “ Fuck .”
My feelings dispersed, my heart buzzing, thundering, with nothing to anchor it. It desperately wanted to flee to him .
“Will you let me eat you out, wife?” he whispered darkly. “Like that first day.”
My nipples instantly peaked into tight buds under his merciless gaze.
“Just that?” I asked cautiously, almost hopefully.
He remained there, watching, looming, waiting.
“Anything you want.”
His long, masculine fingers wrapped around a taut nipple and twisted, gently at first, then harshly. A sharp inhale echoed in the silence, pleasure zapping straight to my core. It was so strong that my entire body shuddered, my every nerve coming alive under his touch.
He pinched both nipples and I nearly levitated off the bed with a yelp. “Mmm… again.”
“So demanding.” His voice was low, like the cool silk surrounding me.
He twisted them again, more forcefully this time, and I released an anguished cry.
“Yes, yes… ahhh…” I whimpered when he massaged the aching nipples with the pads of his rough thumbs. He continued twisting and pinching my nipples, then ran the pad of his thumb over the tips as if soothing them, giving them a slight reprieve before he went back to torturing them again. He knew exactly what to do with my body to bring it to release.
My core throbbed in sync with the rhythm of his fingers. Hard and fast, then slow and agonizing. My thighs rubbed together, hungry for his hand. Then, as if reading my mind, he released my one breast, tracing his hand down my stomach all the way to my soaked pussy.
At the same time he pinched my nipple, hard enough to elicit a whimper of pain, he thrust his finger inside me and a shiver shot through my body.
“Ohhh…” I moaned throaty sounds.
“Mmm. You’re dripping, angel.” Christian ran a finger through my folds. Pleasure coupled with pain and my lips parted in a wordless cry. “Look at me.”
He thrust two fingers inside me and I almost blacked out from the sensation. “Ahhh…”
“Your walls are strangling my fingers,” he rasped, his eyes locked on me. “Do you wish you had my cock?”
I moaned my answer.
Lust shone in his eyes, harsh and out of control. He pinched again and I gasped, the sensation and rhythm overwhelming and savage. He was working me like we’d done this a million times.
He rammed his fingers a few more times, the heel of his palm slapping against my clit with every move and it took no time for stars to burst behind my eyelids.
My back pushed off the mattress, meeting his fingers on my nipples and inside me. He curled them, and a scream tore from my lips as the ecstasy hit me from all directions.
“Ahhh… I’m… I’m… ahhh .”
I raised my hips, riding the wave. Riding his hand. It felt like dying and going to heaven. Sheer pleasure racked my body, tearing me apart only to put me back together.
Christian wrenched his fingers from me and placed them at my mouth. “Suck them clean.”
My eyes widened in confusion or shock, I wasn’t sure, but I had no time to contemplate because he pushed them between my lips.
“Mmm…” I lapped at his fingers, my face burning and my thighs clenching. The orgasm vanished, but a new one rose to the surface under my husband’s penetrating eyes as I continued to slowly lick his fingers, curling my tongue around them.
“Such a good wife,” he praised, heat flaring in his eyes.
I released them with a pop, a line of saliva sticking to them.
Then I watched with utter bewilderment as he walked out, leaving me sated and sprawled on the bed.
All alone.