Chapter 42
Highlands – Scotland
Honeymoon
I wake up before him, but I don’t move. I prefer to stay still, lying quietly on the hot body of my husband.
And when I say hot, it’s not only about the temperature of his skin but about his physical beauty itself.
The night before last, I had never seen a naked man and didn’t quite know what to expect. I mean, of course I knew the basics, the anatomical shape of the male body, but I never imagined how beautiful the hardness and rigidity of his form could be.
Rodrick has a broad chest. Actually, he’s broad and big all over, I think, blushing.
Even now, between my thighs, I can feel his pulsing from the times during the night when he was inside me. There’s a slight discomfort and some muscle soreness, but it’s completely eclipsed by the pleasure he gave me.
I suspected—just from the way he made me feel when he kissed me, from how my body reacted to his touch—that the moment he took me, he would carry me to the stars.
Nothing prepared me, however, for the feeling of being whole—my virile, masculine husband’s body over mine, opening me to receive him, his mouth seeking me without pause.
It was like stepping into a new world. No longer merely existing but living, experiencing, the fullness of possessing and being possessed.
“Already awake?” he asks, running his hand over my bare back, sending shivers through me.
“I usually don’t sleep much, and today I wouldn’t have been able to anyway.”
“Why?”
“I’m embarrassed to say it and have you think I’m silly.”
“I want to hear it.”
“I’m extremely aroused by everything that happened. The wedding and . . . last night. I never imagined it could feel so good.”
“Fuck.”
“What is it?”
He shifts me on top of his body, and his hard, thick member presses against my abdomen.
“Oh!”
“I don’t want to hurt you. You must be sore.”
“A little, but maybe you could teach me how to . . . give you pleasure.”
“You want to suck me, princess? You want to learn how to take my cock in that beautiful mouth?”
I was already aching with desire, but after his dirty words, my body trembles in anticipation. “I don’t know how.”
“But you want to learn.”
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway.
I kneel between his thighs.
“Touch those beautiful tits for me, sexy.”
I lift my hand and lower it again, shy, but he looks at me as if daring me to retreat.
If I want to learn, I can’t die of embarrassment over everything. Rodrick has a dirty mouth, and if I’m being honest, it excites me immensely that he treats me like the woman he desires and not like an inexperienced princess—which is exactly what I am.
I run my hand over one breast.
The sensation is delicious, especially when I touch my nipple, but it’s his gaze on me that’s driving me insane. I try tugging one of the peaks, and a sigh of pleasure slips out.
He growls, reaches out, and touches me between the thighs, as if he can’t stand just watching—and I congratulate myself for that.
The sense of victory doesn’t last, because when he brushes my point of pleasure, I almost fold in half.
His other hand grips his own sex. He moves it up and down, squeezing, in a steady rhythm.
It’s beautiful to watch, but I want to be the one to make him moan, and even with my shyness, I move his hand away and take over the task, mimicking his movements.
I don’t look away from his eyes, simply because I can’t. My husband is very handsome.
He slides one finger into me, then another. My body undulates as I ride his hand, craving more.
“You’re perfect, Jazmina. You have no idea how stunning you are.”
“I want to kiss you here,” I say, stroking the tip of his sex with my thumb.
“Taste me first.”
There’s liquid seeping from him, and I watch closely as he gathers some and brings it to my lips.
“Suck. Draw it in without using your teeth.”
Without stopping my caresses, I suck his finger.
“All of it—take my whole finger.”
I start to but then stop and lean forward. “I think I understand, my husband. Is this what I’m supposed to do?”
I run my tongue over the tip of his member, and the salty taste hits me. Without asking for more instructions, I do it again and then open my mouth, taking him the way I did his finger.
“Fuck, Jazmina.” His hands clutch the sheets, then move to my hair, holding it. I think he wants to see me taste him. “Suck my cock while looking at me.”
His words send a shock of pleasure through my sex and I moan around him. “Mmm . . .”
“I’ll never forget this image. Do you have any idea how beautiful you look nursing my cock?”
I suck harder, using my tongue along his length, and I’m rewarded with caresses in my hair and on my face.
The way he grips me—right on the edge before pain—makes me desperate for more, eager to feel him inside me.
His moans tell me I’m doing it right, and more confident now, I take as much as I can.
The ache between my thighs intensifies, and I slide my free hand down, touching myself. I moan with pleasure, and his grip in my hair tightens.
“So filthy . . . touching your little pussy while you eat me. Open your mouth, let me go deeper, Jazmina.”
I come to the conclusion that I love his dirty orders and submitting to the dominant man who seems to know exactly what my body craves.
My moans grow louder, creating a vibration as I devour him.
He thrusts his hips. “I want to come in your mouth.”
I don’t hesitate, nodding in agreement. I want everything he can give me—seeing him undone for me.
“You want to drink me, love?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I increase the intensity with which I take him.
“I’m going to come, but you’re coming with me.”
I barely notice him lifting me, switching our positions. I don’t even have time to feel embarrassed before his tongue is inside me again, tasting me. I lower myself onto his face by instinct and don’t stop sucking him.
He holds my ass, keeping me from moving. I feel my abdomen tighten with tension, and he notices. He nips at my point of pleasure, and at the same time that I fall apart on his tongue, he thickens in my mouth and gives me his release.
“Drink it all.”
I do. Hungry and needy, I take every last drop.
Is sex always like this with anyone?
I don’t believe it. What happened was an intimate, complete exchange. A bond so intense it fills my eyes with tears.
I can’t move. I’m exhausted but feeling fulfilled as well.
He picks me up in his arms and rocks me. He kisses my hair and holds me tight. “Look at me.”
I’m still floating and it takes effort to obey.
“I’m crazy about you.”
I look at him, my heart racing.
I’m in love with the man I joined in a marriage of convenience.
How will I be able to leave now?
“Where are we going?” I ask as we leave the castle.
“To take a walk so you can familiarize yourself with the area.”
Yesterday, when we arrived, I already loved the region from what little I could see, since it was getting dark, but now, in the morning light, I’m enchanted. It’s like stepping into a medieval film.
The colors shift through various shades of green and yellow across the natural landscape of hills and mountains, and there’s a huge lake in front of the castle. A stone bridge with arches underneath allows us to cross to the other side.
“I don’t want to leave ever again,” I say, letting go of his hand and smiling as I spin around. “Let’s pretend you’re a barbarian and I’m your lady. We need to defend our lands against invaders. If we stray from our property, we risk losing it.”
He laughs—maybe at me—but his face is relaxed when he comes closer and pulls me into his arms. “And the fashion shows in Paris? The twelve-centimeter heels with red soles you love so much? Painted nails?”
“Is that how you see me? A frivolous princess?”
“No, but I know you grew up surrounded by luxury. I did too, but life here is a bit different from what you had in Rheadur.”
“I know it would be impossible because you need to work and I need to study, but I’d like to come back here at least on weekends.”
“Are you serious?”
“Very serious. I feel happy here.”
“Maybe it’s the company,” he says, winking.
Conceited bastard.
“I won’t deny you have quite an influence,” I tease, “but the place is too beautiful. Did you inherit everything from your father, or is part of it from your mother?”
“Here, in the Highlands, it’s my mother’s inheritance.”
I’m dying of curiosity to know about his childhood, but I’m afraid it will ruin our day.
I sigh, wondering if this is how it will be between us—me having to walk on eggshells, not knowing when to speak or stay silent.
I smile sadly at the irony. I ran from becoming a woman like my mother, only to end up just like her?
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to fight.”
He sits on a rock and pulls me onto his lap. “That wouldn’t be unusual for us.”
“All right, I’ll explain better. I don’t want to fight on our first day as husband and wife. You don’t like talking about the past.”
“No,” he says simply, and his tone shows I was right.
I try to get up, but he stops me.
“But that doesn’t mean I won’t talk. Not about everything, but I can answer some questions.”
“As a concession?” I ask, annoyed.
“No. As part of a dialogue with my wife.”
“I was gearing up for a war, and you disarmed me with that answer.”
He throws his head back laughing, then shakes it from side to side. “You’re unbelievable, princess.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“At this moment, yes. Now ask what you want to know.”
“On the day we went to that dinner celebrating our engagement, when Elizabeth approached me, she didn’t only say your family was cursed, like I told you.”
Again, I can feel his tension.
“She talked about my father’s death,” he concludes.
“Yes. She said that besides killing himself, he murdered your stepmother.”
“It’s true. He killed her and then shot himself in front of me.”
I pull back to look at him, thinking I misheard.
His face is serious like never before—impassive, almost carved from marble. I can’t see any emotion, as if it doesn’t affect him at all.
His eyes betray him for a brief moment, though. Before he can shut them down, I see all the pain there, and it’s like being stabbed in the chest myself.
Rodrick is unshakable. Strong and, in my mind, indestructible. But now I remember what Athol said—pain and anger beneath the surface.
“You’re not going to ask why?” His voice sounds hard.
I straddle him, facing forward. Holding tight around his neck, I kiss his face over and over. “No. If one day you want to tell me, you will.”
He doesn’t hug me back right away, so I squeeze him even tighter. “I just want you to know that I’m here.”
He holds my face, pulling me back slightly. “For how long?”
It sounds almost angry, but somehow—remembering what Athol said and knowing what I know now—I’m certain it’s not directed at me.
“No deadline. We didn’t set one, and for now, we don’t need one.”