Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
NICHOLAS
Our flight touches down at five past three on a dazzling, sunny day. As we taxi to a stop, I study Victoria’s expression. She’s bursting to know where we are but is determined, for reasons known only to her, not to ask nicely. The private airfield a few miles north of Dubrovnik gives nothing away, either.
Croatia is a particular favorite destination of mine, and therefore an easy choice for somewhere to take my new wife and allow us the time and space to get to know one another. Plus, I have a yacht moored here, and I’m hoping to spend at least part of the honeymoon sailing. The Dalmatian Coast has some of the most spectacular scenery in Europe, and the weather stays fine even this deep into October. Whereas in England, the chill wind that whips off the English Channel is already in full force and will only gain strength in the coming months.
Craning her neck, Victoria peers through the small window to the right of her seat. I drag my gaze over the column of her neck. I’m desperate to get inside her, and while I wouldn’t have described myself as thoughtful or kind, even I couldn’t bring myself to fuck her when tears streamed down her cheeks and she shook in my arms after I made her come last night.
My jaw involuntarily clenches. Despite the promise I made her not to lay a finger on fuckwit Matthew—a promise I will keep as long as he never sets eyes on my wife again—that doesn’t mean I don’t intend to have my assistant compile a full dossier on him. I’m intrigued to find out what the shitty excuse for a man looks like. I’ve done my fair share of questionable things, but what I’ve never done is make a woman feel as though she’s defective in some way because she doesn’t spontaneously explode into orgasm the moment I touch her clit.
A sigh spills out of Victoria as the plane door opens and warmth and light flood the cabin.
“Fine. Fine. I give in. Where are we?”
A smile tugs at my lips as I stand, holding out my hand and taking hers. I maneuver her in front of me. With my fingers squeezing her hips, I steer her toward the steps leading down to the armored car waiting on the tarmac. At the top, I hold her back, waiting for Barron and Andrew to get into position. Once they are, I rest my chin on her shoulder and put my lips right next to her ear.
“Croatia. It’s one of my favorite places to visit, and I know you haven’t been.”
“I haven’t.” She glances over her shoulder at me, her eyes shining and alive, her smile lighting the dark places inside me—ones that have lived in the shadows ever since my mother chose death over life. Chose her own selfish needs over those of her children. “I never expected a honeymoon, you know.”
Something twangs in my chest, pulling tightly as though a band has wrapped itself around my organs and is slowly strangling them. For all Victoria’s sharp wit and audaciousness, there’s a vulnerability about her I’ve never previously noticed. And not just sexually, either. It’s as though she’s constantly battling hidden demons that tell her she isn’t good enough. For whom, I’m not sure, but if anyone knows about battling demons, it’s me.
“I thought it would be a good idea to get away from our families and places familiar to us both and get to know one another in a neutral environment. The sun won’t hurt, either.”
Barron gives me the nod, and I gesture for Victoria to take the stairs ahead of me. My eyes travel to her arse encased in shapely blue jeans. Until a few weeks ago, I’d never thought of Victoria as anything other than my future wife’s annoying sister. Now, even thinking about Beth makes me feel as if I’m cheating on Victoria. I can’t help stray thoughts from meandering through my mind whether I’d feel as relaxed and enthusiastic about my honeymoon if it were Beth picking her way down the airplane steps.
I don’t think I would have.
Something Xan said to me a few weeks ago about a combative wife and how vibrant and alive bantering with Imogen makes him feel. At the time, I’d scoffed at him, certain I’d chosen the right wife for me. Now, I’m not so sure. There’s something to be said for a woman with fire in her eyes and passion in her belly.
Although if Victoria ever waxes off my eyebrow like Imogen did to Xan at the height of their feud, she’ll see a different side to me. A spanking will be the least of her punishments.
A shudder travels through me. I wouldn’t have said I’m into kink—unlike Tobias who spends every spare moment he has at his sex club, The Lair, watching people get off—but spanking Victoria this morning and seeing how drenched she was afterward made my palm twitch. It’s an activity I’m keen to revisit, and soon.
The journey to our final destination only takes twenty minutes. As we drive through the heavily guarded gates, I focus my attention on Victoria. I’m keen to see what she thinks of my home away from home. I bought this house about five years ago. It needed completely gutting, the renovations taking almost six months to complete. I adore coming here. Victoria will be the first woman other than my sister I’ve let through the doors. I didn’t even plan to bring Elizabeth here, and I’m not sure why. If we’d made it to the altar, I intended to take her to Thistlewood in Scotland, the same place Xan took Imogen.
Perched on top of a hill, with views down to Dubrovnik old town and the vibrant blue waters of the Adriatic Sea beyond, the stone house stole my heart the second I laid eyes on it. Small by my family’s standards, with only five bedrooms and six bathrooms, its positioning makes it easy for my security detail to ensure not only my protection, but anyone in my family who may visit.
We round the last curve, and the house appears before us. Victoria’s eyes light up, much as they had when I told her where we’d flown to. A broad grin stretches her full lips wide, and an urge to kiss her steals over me. I hold the thought and exit the vehicle, but as I round the car and have her join me, I surrender.
“Come here.” Sliding my arms around her waist, I tug her close and claim her mouth.
Like a rose fed the perfect amount of sunshine and water, she opens beneath me. My dick gets hard in about two point five seconds, and like a horny teenager, I grind against her, swallowing the half sigh, half groan she makes.
Already, kissing Victoria feels so natural, as if I should have been doing this the whole time.
Once again, the thought that Dad was right, and I had chosen the wrong bride first time around crosses my mind. It’s a moot point now that Elizabeth is dead, but I can’t help wondering all the same.
One thing’s for sure: I am obsessed with kissing and touching my wife.
Regretfully, I pull away and take her hand. “Let me show you the house.”
I speed through the rooms downstairs, giving her little time for anything more than a cursory glance. As I sweep her up the curved staircase to the next floor, I ignore every door, beelining for the one at the far end of the long hallway. I open it and, placing my hand on her lower back, ease her inside.
She reacts as I’d hoped with a sharp inhale.
“Oh, Nicholas. It’s stunning. ”
Leaving me on the threshold of the master suite, she strides over to the floor-to-ceiling French doors leading out onto a balcony. Homes dot the hillside, smaller than my villa, but perfect all the same, leading all the way down to the coast. The sun sparkles off the sea like thousands of diamonds tossed into the waves. I make my way over and band an arm around her waist.
“See over there.” I point to the left, where the stern of a boat peeks out from the eastern side of the marina. “That’s my yacht. I’m a keen sailor, and I’m hoping it’s something you might enjoy, too.”
“I’ve never sailed.”
“That ends tomorrow.”
“What if I don’t have sea legs?”
“I’ll hold your hair while you puke over the side.”
A ripple of laughter vibrates through her. “You know, Nicholas, I think you’re a closet romantic.”
“If by romantic, you mean horny, then, yeah, I’m romantic.”
She goes still in my arms, and while I’m far from knowing what her body language means, if I had to guess, there’s a part of her that thinks last night was some kind of fluke.
Time to show her it was no fluke.
Reaching around to her front, I unfasten the buttons on her blouse and slide it from her arms, letting it drop to the floor. I brace a hand on her calf to balance her as I crouch and peel off her shoes, then pull off her jeans.
“I’ve realized something,” I murmur in her ear once I’m standing tall again, nibbling on the lobe. “Whenever I get you naked, that impudent tongue of yours is oddly silent.”
The laugh she emits is a little shaky. “I’m sure that’s pleasing to you.”
“Hmm, I may have agreed with you once.” I move her to face me, her hazel eyes luminous with a hint of unease visible. “But there’s a part of me that’s enjoying this verbal sparring we’ve got going on. It’s like gymnastics for the mind.”
“But you chose Beth because she was subservient.” Her gaze challenges me. “Yes?”
“That’s true.”
“And do you wish it was her here with you now?”
I rub my lips together, giving her question careful consideration. “I wish she were alive. She didn’t deserve to die like that, and I hate that I haven’t made any headway in finding out who planted that bomb. But if you’re asking would I rather she be here with me instead of you, the answer is no, I don’t believe I would.”
Her entire body relaxes, and as her shoulders sag, she loses at least two inches in height. “I wish she was here, too.” Her voice is small and far more reminiscent of Elizabeth’s timid tone than Victoria’s striding, confident inflection. “I miss her.”
Funnily enough, I don’t, and I never have. My drive to find those responsible for killing Elizabeth remains the same: securing my family’s reputation by ensuring the perpetrators are made an example of.
“As much as I risk sounding heartless, can we shelve talking about your sister while you’re standing almost naked before me, and my dick is weeping to get inside of you? It’s only marginally better than bringing up your mother.”
She chuckles, dropping her gaze, where it lingers on my groin. “I can do that.”
“Good.” I unfasten her bra and remove her underwear, tossing both lingerie items on top of her clothes. For someone so small, she’s in perfect proportion. High, proud breasts with pink-tipped areolae I’m dying to suck, a narrow waist, flared hips, and legs that will look incredible wrapped around my neck.
Grabbing my T-shirt by the neck, I pull it over my head. She stands and watches, her eyes traveling over my tattooed chest. Reaching up, she traces the outline of the ink.
“Why so many?”
I keep to myself the real reason I have tattoos. The pain of them reminds me I’m not dead inside. I was eighteen when I got my first one, and I quickly grew addicted. “You don’t like them?”
“Oh, no, I do. It’s just… I never would have guessed you were into them. You’re a De Vil.”
A chuckle echoes in my chest. “And that doesn’t gel with tattoos because?”
One shoulder pops. “I don’t know. I never think of aristocrats or members of high society as having tattoos.”
“Plenty do.” Grabbing her wrist, I tug her to me. Her tits collide with my chest, and a groan slips past my lips. “Take my trousers off.”
With more dexterity than I thought she’d have, she flips the button and tugs down the zip. As my trousers travel to the floor, so does she, and even when I step out of them and kick them to one side, she remains in a crouched position.
“You look good down there,” I rasp, my dick hard enough that it’s forced its way past the waistband of my boxers, and the slit is weeping. “Get on your knees.”
She shifts position, her head tilted back, her lips parted as though she’s already anticipating what I want. I tug down my boxers, and my dick springs free, the sunlight streaming through the windows glinting off the silver barbell. The dick piercing was another way of feeling pain, if only to prove I could feel something .
Palming her hair, I wrap the silken strands around my fist and gently tug her head back. I grip my dick at the root. “Open your mouth.”
“I’ve not… I’ve never… done this before. Does it taste bad?”
Her confession amuses and surprises me. I’d have thought a blowie would’ve been the first request for a selfish twat like Matthew . After all, he’d proven himself to care only about his own pleasure.
“Difficult for me to answer. I’ve never been flexible enough to suck my own dick.” I grin, my attempt at humor meant to relax her, and it does. She grins, too.
“Many women find giving head a turn on. If you don’t like it, we’ll stop. I have no intention of making you do something you’re not finding pleasure in.”
She swallows, and I can’t help groaning.
“Do that when my dick is in your mouth, and you’ll realize you have all the power.”
A tentative flick of her tongue over the head almost has me coming, but when she opens her mouth wide and half my length disappears between her plump lips, I’m a goner.