Chapter Two ALEXANDER
When I set out for London this morning, I did not expect the day to pan out as it has. Lilian put me through an absolute mind-fuck at our weekly therapy session, and I haven’t recovered.
For years, I avoided therapy, even though my father at first encouraged me and later ordered me to attend. I was twenty-five before I capitulated, and it took me another five years to find a therapist I gelled with. Lilian is a straight shooter. She isn’t in awe of the De Vil name, and she doesn’t let me hide behind my self-loathing. She’s also the only person with whom I’m completely honest about my thoughts and feelings. Which is the main reason I’m usually exhausted and in a foul mood at the end of our Tuesday’s sessions. It’s why I lock myself away in my office and have Richard stand guard, ensuring I’m not disturbed.
That didn’t happen today.
Oh, our session started out same as usual, but then I made the mistake of mentioning Imogen, like the Exocet missile she is, Lilian turned her laser-sharp focus to my wife and stripped me bare. I’ve never lost my temper in front of Lilian, but I did today.
It’s a month since Imogen and I said “I do”, both of us as reluctant as the other, and I’ve done so much to isolate her and frustrate her, and coerce her into ending our marriage. But today, Lilian forced me to examine feelings I’m not willing to admit to in a way that left me feeling raw and unsure of the right way forward.
Why? Because she asked the killer question: do I still want to end my marriage?
I didn’t know the answer then, and I don’t know the answer now. I hate not knowing how to respond in any situation.
My balls are still tingling from the blow job Imogen gave me. She shouldn’t have known how to turn my spine to liquid, not given her inexperience, but my dick wasn’t the only thing she blew. My mind is a mess, a violent vortex of conflicting thoughts, like standing in the middle of a crowded theater and having everyone scream at me at the same time, and I’m expected to absorb it all.
Movement to my right catches my eye. Imogen, chin tucked to her chest, arms wrapped around her body, is heading for the door. I frown.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
She faces me, her eyes luminous, hurt swirling in those alluring green irises. “I thought you’d finished with me.”
Jesus Christ. Does she think me enough of a bastard that I’d let her suck me to a mind-blowing climax and not make sure I took care of her, too? Clearly she does, which means I’ve given her that impression. An impression I’m about to put right.
I crook my finger. “Oh, I’m far from finished with you, Little Pawn.” The moniker began as an insult, a way of belittling her, but now I think of it as an affectionate nickname.
She moves toward me like she’s floating on air. The satin nightgown flows over her curves and swishes around her ankles. It’s a vast improvement from the college hoodie and jogging pants she usually favors. Not that I’ve seen much of her in the evening, too busy keeping my distance, to deny her my company, to segregate her from the social interaction she craves.
That changes today.
Even if I do still decide there’s no future for us, I’m done with denying my body what it craves.
Brazen Imogen isn’t in the room as she peeks up at me, her teeth grazing her bottom lip. If I think about it, she’s often like this, timid and silent, whenever things heat up between us. I’m guessing her inexperience is the reason, but whatever the cause, it makes my dick ache. I enjoy dominating her, demeaning her, praising her.
I’ll enjoy fucking her, too.
Only a few days until I can. Pending that, I’ll have to get my kicks in other ways.
Her nipples stand at attention, hard, erect little nubs begging for my tongue. The fire is throwing out enough heat to keep the chill off the room, meaning she’s aroused, not cold. Oakleigh’s walls are so thick that the interior is often chilly, even at the height of summer. I trail a fingertip up her bare arm, and she shivers, making me question my belief until I slip both straps down her arms, and a moan spills from her lips.
It’s only the second time I’ve seen her completely naked, although I saw her bare breasts in the stables, and I have the same thought as I did the last time. My wife does not disappoint. She’s shapely, not skinny, athletic not voluptuous. A goddess. A perfect fucking goddess. Innocent, untouched—and mine.
I brush my thumbs over her nipples. The hiss of pleasure she gives me sends a rush of blood to my groin.
“Do you like that?”
Her pink tongue darts out, swiping across her bottom lip. She nods, swallowing, her words deserting her. Fuck, this submissive version of her is arousing to the point of pain. My balls are heavy, despite emptying them in her pretty mouth less than five minutes ago, and my dick throbs. A deep longing springs up inside me. I can’t think straight, my thoughts consumed by tasting my wife.
Linking my fingers with hers, I walk her backward until her upper thighs collide with the end of the writing desk. Grasping her by the waist, I pick her up, setting her bare arse on the polished mahogany. The reading lamp casts a warm, yellow glow over her body, and the flames flicker up the walls. The whole effect is erotic as hell.
“Lie back.”
She lowers herself, using her forearms for support until she’s horizontal. Her cunt glistens, the tops of her thighs wet with her arousal, and I’ve barely touched her. I swipe a finger through her lips, holding it up to the light so she can see how soaked she is.
“You’re so wet, Imogen. Was this from sucking my dick with those pretty lips?”
Another swallow, another swipe of her tongue. Another tiny nod, affirming I’m right. Fuck. I’d give anything to get naked with her, but all I can hear is Carter’s fourteen days echoing inside my head. Fourteen fucking days of torture.
I grip her ankles and pull her legs apart, exposing her to me. I tug on her dark red curls. “I like this, Little Pawn.” Some guys like bare pussies. Not me.
She blushes the color of a ripe tomato and tries to close her legs. I run my hands up her inner thighs and push them apart. “No.” I lightly smack her cunt. She gasps, in surprise or pleasure? Maybe both. “This is mine. You will not hide from me, Imogen. Do we understand each other?”
A nod. I lightly smack her between the legs again. “Let me hear you say you understand.”
“I understand.” Her voice shakes, but her eyes are unwaveringly fixed on me. She’s not afraid. She’s aroused.
“Good.”
Starting at her neck, I run my palms over her body, pausing to caress and knead her breasts, tugging her nipples until she cries out. I stroke her abdomen, clutch her hips, and tug her closer to the end of the desk. Half her butt hangs off the edge, but she’s stable enough. Sinking to my knees, I run my tongue through her lips. I’ve only been with one virgin, and that was when I was fifteen, and she was sixteen. After Annabel’s murder, I didn’t have sex for five years, and when I did find my sex drive again, I chose women who were more experienced. Women I could learn from. Women who weren’t afraid to demand what they needed from me. It’s knowledge I put to work now, with Imogen.
“Alexander.” She breathes my name, and my dick swells. Her hips rise off the desk. I push her back down.
“Don’t move or I’ll spank this pussy rather than worship it.”
I taste her again, savoring the musky flavor with every sweep of my tongue. Each woman tastes different, but Imogen… she’s the best of them all. If I’m not careful, I could get addicted to this pretty pussy, and that cannot happen. Not until I figure out what I want. Even if I do decide to keep her, there’s the thorny issue of kids to navigate, and that’s a decision I’ll never go back on.
Before my thoughts spiral, I thrust my tongue inside her and play with her clit until she’s sweating and writhing, despite my threat. She keeps mumbling, but I can’t make out the words. Her fingers thrust into my hair as instinct takes over, and she rides my face until she’s coming, her cry of ecstasy tightening my balls. One tug on my dick, and I’d come again, but I don’t touch myself, not when I can have her touch me.
I get to my feet and stand over her. Blotches dot her pale skin, her red hair is a mess, and her eyes are heavy and sated. She’s an enchantress, a goddess, a fucking queen. God, I crave to sink my dick into her.
Five days. Five fucking torturous days where I’ll have to suffer a permanent erection, blue balls, and a foul mood.
“You’re scowling. Did I do something wrong?”
I force a hint of a smile and hold out both my hands, taking hers. Pulling her to a sitting position, I tuck her hair behind her ears and gently brush my lips over hers.
“You were perfect.”
She positively beams, and it’s so bright that she lights up the entire room. My wife is a woman who reacts well to praise and degradation.
If I’d designed the perfect partner for me, she’d be it. Dad couldn’t have known how she’d turn out when he struck that deal with her father, but that doesn’t negate the facts.
I pick her nightgown up off the floor and slide it over her head, then help her to her feet. The satin material falls into place, skimming her hips as it settles. I immediately want to rip it off her, to gorge myself on her stunning body, to bury my head between her beautiful tits. To mark her with my cum until every man she comes into contact with can smell my scent and know to stay the fuck away or die a violent death.
I can’t let her go back to her rooms. Not yet. I’m so hungry for her. Starved. Aching.
When I say nothing, she turns to go, but I snag a hand around her wrist.
“Not yet, Little Pawn.” I lead her over to the couch and press on her shoulders until she sits. “Lie back and let me feast.”
I hope you enjoyed this deleted scene from The Devil’s Pawn. I would have loved to include it because… I mean, it’s hawt as hell, but unfortunately some scenes don’t quite fit in the end.