Chapter 8 #3
My forehead scrunches. I couldn’t care less about my food consumption. I eat to survive. That’s what living my formative years as a factory worker taught me. Eating for pleasure has not come naturally to me. His other demands will be silently thrown out the fucking window.
Bless his cloying little cotton socks. He’s forgotten the knifing incident. Or he’s keen for a repeat performance. He is a masochist, after all.
A thumb goes to smooth a straight line along my forehead. I crease my lines harder. “Gods, woman, he’s too old for you to be giving piggyback rides and baby cuddles.”
“I…” Melek’s hand goes to my mouth to stop me, anticipating what I’m going to say.
“If Eli wants a piggyback ride or to play whatever other nonsense you two get up to that involves him flying in the air, remind him he has to play those games with me. I’ll tell him tomorrow morning.”
I try to speak again, but his hand is still firmly covering my mouth. My lips meet a warm, tough-skinned palm. “Hmmm, this is a good look on you, wife. Should’ve gotten you a muzzle years ago.” Over my dead body, my fury fires back.
Yanking my face back, his hand falls from my lips. “What about your nightly torture sessions?”
Melek falls back in his chair, kicking his boots up on the opposite side of the desk, rubbing his chin, gazing at me thoughtfully. “The good doctor told me sex is a healthy part of pregnancy.”
My eyes do somersaults into the back of my skull. “He obviously hasn’t heard of your type of sex. The kind where you fuck the woman senseless and she wakes up sore all over the next day.”
“Did you just roll your eyes, wife?” Of course it is the eye roll that sends him over the edge. His boots thud back onto the floor. “On my lap.” It’s a harsh demand. One that has me eagerly complying.
Did I say Melek is the masochist? Maybe it’s me. Damn it.
Sliding off the desk, I appraise him in the chair, devastating in his stature. If it weren’t me who was here, who would it be? I find the deepest scar on my palm and skirt its edges.
He waits for me to fold myself over his lap, my ass in the air.
A collective sigh comes from both of us. The strain of this day, this news. I need the escape, and he knows it.
Without preamble, Melek takes what is his—me—placing me over his lap, flipping up my dress, and shoving down my underwear.
“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted.” He rubs at my plump ass cheek before letting out a slap.
I grind my teeth, and my legs lurch. “The doctor said it was best not to exert yourself, and nothing too rough.” Literally, rough and exert are Melek’s middle names, so that would be a first.
Another loud slap passes through the room. Pain radiates down my heated skin, licking at the nerves in my groin.
I clench and try my best to keep still, not letting Melek know he’s affecting me.
Slap, slap, slap. He rains down in succession, breaking me before I have a second to catch my breath.
“Melek,” I shout, weeping at the exquisite ache.
Pliant on his lap, I close my eyes as he takes a gentle palm to the delicious burn that is trailing over my lower half.
After a couple of minutes, he finally utters, “Stand.” His menacing vibrato sways through my bones and lingers on my clit. It takes me a moment to find my feet, my dress toppling down to cover my exposed bottom half.
“Now, be a good wife and lie naked on our bed. Wait for me, and I’ll show you how gentle I can be.” Face contorting, I grace him once again with my backside.
I hate him, I remind myself.
Not giving him an inch, I storm out of the room and enter ours with a loud slam of the door, my core leaking from his dangerous hands. My anger only climbs in the aftermath of my punishment.
I hate that he turns me on so damn much. He is the bane of my existence. My curse to bear for giving into this extravagant world, and for seeking comfort where I should fight harder. I sold out, and I am going to do it again.
Stripping out of my clothes, I leave them strewn across the floor and go lie naked on the bed, waiting for my husband. The commander of the hollow.
A gnawing need fills my pussy. Wetness slides through my centre.
“Yes,” I whimper.
My eyes open to meet Melek, naked and licking languorously up and down my core, occasionally dipping in, sometimes floating around my clit to breathe and pinch. That beard also makes an appearance as he rubs it against my thighs, and my pussy basically milks itself for him to drink.
Bastard. Traitor. Argh…
How did I marry the one person in Halo who knows how to expertly pleasure a woman? What are the chances?
Seeing him between my thighs, that head of thick, wavy hair and those rippling, possessive irises make me consumed with indecent thoughts. His plush lips and expert tongue are my current ruin. For an old, angry prick, he sure knows how to lick… kiss… and tease…
It’s beyond inconvenient that hollow commander overloads are my weakness. Pity I’ll have to leave this one day.
For once in our coupling, he doesn’t edge me to an inch of my life while sucking on my pussy. He licks and fingers my core until my juices are drenching his lips, and I’m quivering all over.
“Fuck me, please.” The words tumble out as I stretch out my arms and legs, desperate to experience rapture by cock. My hulking husband is over me, trailing his length up and down my slit at the rough command.
“Happy to oblige, wife. Suck.” His drenched fingers push at my mouth, my own juices covering his thick fingers. I lick every last drop, showing him how needy I truly am.
Not wasting a minute, Melek pushes in slowly.
We moan in unison, forest and spice walling me in.
His fingers leave my lips, and soon, his tongue is seeking entry, teeth biting as the commander pumps in and out slowly.
The complete opposite of last night, and a new type of mindfuck blossoms. Painful, languorous, slowness.
I hate him. He’s evil. Still, the spark of pleasure builds and flows throughout my body lightning-fast.
Sensing my sudden rise to the edge, a hand is on my clit, circling deliberately but sluggishly. I thrust up to meet him faster. Melek pulls his lips off of mine, teasing, “Uh-uh, no more rough sex for you. Only slow—” I strike. Surprise crosses his features. “The fuck?”
He stops all movement, glaring, pain-stricken, hollow eyes down at me as I grin mischievously up at him after having bitten his neck—hard. The imprint of my teeth on his golden skin makes my heart go wild in my chest. Mine. “Stop fucking with me, Melek. Make me come.” I squirm below him.
Hurt turns quickly into molten pools of lava, his eyes blowing out ash. The transformation is exquisite to watch.
“You better watch your teeth, wife.”
“Or what?” I say, baring said teeth.
With his own incisors bared back, he pushes up off the bed, his cock pulling out with a noticeable pop. An echoing roar fills the room, stalling me.
I often aggravate my husband. This is different. This is like a boy who had his favourite toy taken off him. He’s livid, frustrated, and wounded. Walking over to the grey walls, he screams “Fuck,” right after he throws a punch, a fisted indent now a permanent fixture next to our en suite door.
Ignoring me completely, he strides into the bathroom. I watch on in utter disbelief.
I won.
I fucking won.
I throw my hands in the air at my own victory, but then the bitch in heat lets herself be known, and as if he can sense my resolve weakening, Melek stalks back into the bedroom, cock hard, red, and swinging, squaring his eyes on me, fuming, “Don’t you dare fucking touch yourself. ” His voice carries, booming…
Command taking hold, I fall back. The commander disappears into the bathroom once again.
With fresh orders and a weird need to follow them, I crawl up our extra-large bed and shimmy under the covers, wishing for the thud in my groin to disappear, my exhilaration petering out, sleep claiming me restlessly.
Groggy, once again, I’m woken, this time by two heavy arms sliding around my body to nestle me in the comfort of a familiar heat at my back. “Sleep, wife.” The words reach me as I go back under.