Chapter 2
SUMMER
Istay pressed against the marble wall, breathing hard, the skin on my jaw still burning from his grip. My pulse won't slow down, and I push my back harder into the cool stone and count to thirty, listening.
Nothing but quiet.
I push off the wall, thankfully I’m alone.
The staff seems to have disappeared, leaving the glass doors to the pool deck wide open.
This is my chance. I stare out the doors to the bright blue sky and the dark green tree line all the way to the azure water.
I kick off my heels and leave them where they fall.
Bare feet on marble make no sound. I don't look back, I just go.
The heat hits me the second I step outside, the afternoon sun turning the stone pool deck into a griddle under my feet.
I hiss but keep moving, past the infinity pool, past the edge of the terrace where the cliff drops straight to the ocean, no stairs, no path, just rock and a fall that would break me before the water did.
Not that way then. I cut right. There's a narrow stone path curving down through the palms toward a strip of white sand I can see between the trunks.
I move fast down the path, the stones hot and rough under my bare feet.
The wedding dress catches on a low branch, and I rip it free without stopping, not caring about tearing it.
Sweat is already running down my temples, between my breasts, and down the backs of my knees.
The path winds through a cluster of palms and opens onto a small crescent of white sand.
The water is turquoise and flat, lapping gently at the shore.
It looks like a postcard and possible freedom.
I scan the waterline. There’s no boat, like he said, not even a dock.
Nothing. Just sand and water and the faint dark shape of another island on the horizon, miles away.
I could swim it, I think. I'm a decent swimmer, but miles in the open ocean with currents I don't know, no way to rest, and no idea what's in the water beneath me.
I'd drown before I got halfway. And I’m not going to die today.
I'm standing ankle deep in the warm shallows, the hem of the wedding dress soaking up seawater, calculating the distance, when I hear it.
Dead silence.
The birds have stopped and the insects have gone quiet. The jungle behind me has gone completely silent as if a predator has just stepped foot inside it.
I turn around slowly.
He's standing at the top of the beach path.
Fuck.
His arms are crossed, and I can feel the weight of his glare between us.
He's changed out of the dress shirt and is now wearing a black T-shirt that fits like a second skin across his chest and shoulders, along with dark sweatpants, and he’s barefoot like me.
He's not rushing, he's just watching me, probably wondering what the hell I think I’m doing.
As he warned me, he owns this island, owns everything as far as I can see.
"Going somewhere?" His voice carries across the sand, low and calm, almost amused.
I take a step backward, and the water rises to my calves.
His eyes widen as he starts walking toward me, slowly, each step pressing into the sand without sound.
"You made it further than I expected. Most people don't get past the front door." He smirks. “The last one who ran begged for days.”
I run toward him, which surprises him. I need to get out of the deeper water, then suddenly I turn at the last moment and run along the waterline, my bare feet slapping wet sand, the dress dragging heavy and sodden around my legs.
I make it maybe twenty feet before I hear him behind me, not running, but moving fast, his strides eating up the distance without effort.
His hand closes around my upper arm and yanks me backward as he drags me straight under.
Saltwater crashes over my head, and I thrash wildly, lungs burning, panic exploding as he holds me down just long enough for real terror to hit.
Three horrible seconds. Then he hauls me back up, coughing and choking on seawater.
My dress is drenched and completely see-through.
I spin and swing at him with my free hand, catching him across the jaw.
His head snaps to the side, and when he turns back, there's a red mark blooming across his cheekbone, and hunger in his eyes that wasn't there before.
Oh shit.
"There she is." He smirks.
I swing again, and this time he catches my wrist. I kick at him, and he takes it on the thigh without flinching.
I'm fighting with everything I have, twisting, pulling, and clawing at his hands, and he absorbs it all as if it costs him nothing. He pulls me in tight, both wrists locked behind my back in one hand. I can feel his heart beating, it’s steady and even.
Meanwhile, mine is thumping through my chest.
"Let go of me." My voice comes out ragged.
"No." His mouth is at my ear, his breath hot. "You ran from me, Summer. On my island, that mistake is going to cost you." He lifts me off the sand like I weigh nothing, his hard cock pressing against my ass through my wet dress. "Keep fighting, I want to feel you break."
He carries me up the beach path, and I fight the whole way, writhing, kicking, and cursing at him. He doesn't react, but his arms don't loosen either. He carries me through the garden, past the pool, through the glass doors, and into the cool dark of the villa like he's done this a thousand times.
Where are the staff? Can’t they see he is manhandling me? Or maybe they’ve been told not to look. They’ve probably seen this before, remember the last girl begged, he said.
He continues stomping through the villa, makes a turn down one side to a wing, kicks open a door at the end of the corridor, and drags me inside.
“No. No. No.” I kick and scream.
He ignores me as he drops me onto the edge of a leather chair in the corner of the room and stands over me, blocking the light from the window. I scramble to get up, but his hands come down on the armrests, caging me in.
"Sit."
"Fuck you."
His jaw tightens as he leans in close enough that I can see the red mark my hand left on his cheek, already darkening. "You hit me," he says.
"And I'll do it again."
"I know you will." His eyes drop to my mouth and stay there. "That's the problem."
He straightens and then grabs my jaw, tilting my face up. I spit at him. It lands on his chin, and he doesn't flinch. He just looks at me with those amber eyes, their centers almost black.
"Stand up."
"No."
He pulls me up by the jaw, and I grab his wrist with both hands and dig my nails in hard enough to draw blood.
He doesn't let go as he presses my back against the wall, one thick thigh pushing between mine, forcing my legs apart through the wet fabric of the dress.
The silk rides up, his thigh is hard and warm, positioned exactly where he wants it.
"You want to fight me, Summer?" His voice is barely a whisper. "Then fight."
I try to push against his chest and twist my hips away, but every movement grinds me against his thigh, and the friction sends a hot, sick jolt through my stomach that I refuse to acknowledge.
He watches my face, reads every flinch, every catch in my breath.
His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, gripping the base of my skull.
"There it is," he murmurs. "Feel how wet your cunt already is for me?"
"I don't feel anything." My voice breaks on the last word, and we both know I'm lying.
He rocks his thigh up hard, and my whole body jerks. My hands go from pushing his chest to gripping his shirt as my fingers twist in the black cotton. He starts grinding, slow and deliberate, dragging my clit along his leg with every roll of his hips.
"Your mouth says no." He rocks up again, harder. "But this greedy little pussy is soaking my thigh."
“That’s the seawater,” I spit back as my head falls back against the wall. The heat is building low in my belly, spreading down my thighs. He hasn't even really touched me, and I'm already shaking.
"Say my name," he commands.
"No."
He grips my hair and pulls my head forward until our faces are inches apart. "Say it."
I kiss him instead, hard, brutal, teeth and fury.
I bite his lower lip and taste copper. His blood, hot and metallic on my tongue.
He groans and kisses me back like he's trying to devour me, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth while he grinds harder against my clit.
I bite him again, and he pulls back, blood on his lip, eyes completely dark.
"There's my girl," he says, voice wrecked.
I slap him, hard, right across his bloody mouth.
His head turns with the impact, and when he looks back, blood is smeared across his lip, and he's wearing that dangerous smile with red teeth.
He tightens his grip on my hair viciously, yanking my head back until my scalp burns.
His other hand wraps around my throat and squeezes, cutting off just enough air to make my pulse spike.
“You’re going to come like this,” he growls against my ear, grinding his thigh relentlessly against my aching pussy. “Riding my leg like a desperate whore. And you’re going to say my fucking name when you do.”
I fight it so hard, but the pressure, the heat, the way he’s choking me just right, it’s too much as my thighs start shaking uncontrollably.
"Say it," he demands again.
I shake my head, tears burning my eyes.
He tightens his grip on my throat and grinds faster. "Say it, or you’re not going to like the consequences.”
But my body betrays me, a broken sob escapes as the orgasm slams into me, my pussy clenches and floods all over his thigh, hips jerking uncontrollably against him while black spots dance in my vision from his hand around my throat.
“Kairo …” His name rips out of me like a curse, shaky and humiliated.
He doesn’t stop as he keeps grinding through every spasm, dragging it out until I’m crying and twitching, completely limp against the wall. Only then does he loosen his grip on my throat. I suck in a ragged breath, tears streaming down my face.
He steps back just enough for me to slide down the wall, legs useless, the wedding dress bunched around my waist. I can feel my hardened nipples pressing through the fabric.
Kairo looks down at the dark, soaked mess I left all over his thigh with dark satisfaction.
“Look at the fucking mess you made,” he says, voice low and rough. “On your knees.”
“Excuse me?”
When I don’t move fast enough, he fists my wet hair and forces me to my knees.
“Clean it,” he says, shoving my face into the wet patch.
“No …”
“Clean up the fucking mess you made, wife, or things will only get worse for you. Push me again and see what happens.”
I look up at him from my knees, through tear-soaked lashes, the humiliation washing over me.
“No.” The answer is whispered.
He raises a brow at me as he pushes my face against his thigh. “Lick your juices off me like a good little wife. I will not ask again.”
I swallow my pride as I lean forward and drag my tongue over the wet fabric, tasting myself while fresh tears slip down my cheeks.
He watches every stroke with hungry eyes.
When he’s satisfied, he yanks me back up by the hair and shoves me toward the bed.
My face turns pale. What is he going to do to me?
“Shower and get ready for dinner. This is our wedding night, after all.” I swallow at hearing those words.
“I want you to wear this …” he says, pointing to a red silk dress hanging beside the bed.
“With nothing on underneath. Disobey me …” He smiles, bloody lip cracking.
“And I won’t be nice enough to let you come next time. ”
He turns on his heel and walks out, and as he does, he takes the key and locks me inside the bedroom.
Fuck.