by Fiona Cole
“What?”
“Dance with me,” I said again, holding out my hand, walking to meet her in the middle of the room.
Some of the disappointment faded, and curiosity took its place. She studied me, and I tried to hold still, wondering if my small fib had ruined our night, and she’d turn me down. Instead, one side of her mouth tipped, and she closed the gap, slipping her hand in mine.
I pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her waist, my fingers playing with the exposed curve of her spine, and started swaying.
“Where did you learn to dance?”
I huffed a laughed. “My mom taught me some basics when I was little. She claimed a good man could win any woman over with smooth moves; at least that was her excuse for falling for my dad.”
“They sound like they were happy.”
“Very. When she died, I took a few classes to keep part of her close to me.” I pulled back enough to meet her eyes and smirked. “And to win over the ladies.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled before tucking her head back against my chest.
“My mom loved Billie Holiday. She loved all the oldies.”
I knew that. She’d mentioned it in passing when I caught her in the kitchen with Dean Martin on. It was why I requested they play them in the suite.
Billie Holiday shifted to Frank Sinatra to Ben E. King, and with each song, I worked us closer to the bedroom across the foyer. By the time we reached the foot of the bed, my body ached to feel her lips on mine—to peel her wedding dress from her body and bury myself inside her all night long.
I drifted my hand up her back and into her hair, softly tugging her head back, so I could lean in for a taste. Her glossy lips parted, and I was inches from heaven when she pulled away.
Wide, nervous eyes met mine. But behind the nerves sat the resolve I’d been trying to break through all night, and my brows lowered before she even spoke.
“We’re not in the limo anymore, Nico. And no one is clinking their glasses.”
My teeth clenched, and I inhaled through my nose, searching to hold my irritation back.
“I said I wasn’t sleeping with you.”
“Vera,” I growled.
“Nico,” she said, standing taller. Her resolve locked in place, and I knew there would be no getting past it.
Frustration had me wanting to storm out. To slam the door behind me. We both knew she wanted to sleep with me and that it was sheer stubbornness that stopped her. My blood pumped for release, and my muscles ached from holding back for so long.
But it was my wedding night, and I wouldn’t run from my own wife. If I was frustrated, then she could damn well deal with it, even if I was a bear for the rest of the night. She could deny me, and I’d always respect her, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t be pissed about it. It didn’t mean I couldn’t still get what I wanted in another way.
With a growl, I turned her around to face the bed and started working the tiny buttons on the back of her dress.
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
“Helping you out of this contraption. I’m assuming someone helped you in, and unless you want to sleep in it forever, you’ll need me. Or should I call someone to come up?”
“No. But Nico, I said I’m not sl—”
“So I heard.”
Working the last button free, the heavy skirt parted, and I groaned.
“Like a fucking present I can’t even open.”
I stared at the small satin bow adorning the top of the strings holding mostly transparent lace over her ripe ass. She shivered when I dragged my fingers up her back and brushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders. The material fell down to pile against the full skirt. Holding one of her hands for support, I used the other to push the skirt down.
“Step.”
She did as she was told, revealing lace garters I wanted to rip off her. I pushed the dress aside, not caring about anything but making this inferno inside me ease. My cock throbbed from the constant teasing all night long, from knowing that this woman was mine—my wife. A word I never knew would make me as hard as stone.
My desperation made me rough when I gripped her hips and jerked her around to face me before lifting her enough to toss her back on the bed. Her bare breasts bounced, adding fuel to the fire, the rosy tips hardening to stiff points. Without wasting time, I put one knee on the bed and then the other, shedding my jacket and bow tie before working on the buttons of my shirt.
“Wha—what are you doing?” She scooted back to the pillows, worry and excitement, coloring her beautiful face.
I could have her, I realized with each inch I moved closer. I could have her, but I wanted her to come willingly. I didn’t want her giving in because I’d seduced her into caving. I wanted her to give in because she wanted it and knew she’d want it again every day after. If I had her tonight, she’d make excuses tomorrow.
But I took note of her excitement as I prowled closer, liking that she liked me being rough. I took note and stored it away next to the soft moan I’d heard when I’d spanked her weeks ago.
“Nico?” she asked, her words breathy and unsure.
“It’s my wedding night,” I explained, stripping my shirt before working on my pants. “At the very least, I’d like to come. Now, stay put while I jack off.”
Her eyes widened, tracking down my body, almost panting by the time I pulled my pants down far enough to free my length. I moaned, and her eyes snapped back up to mine. I raised a brow, half expecting her to tell me to fuck off and bolt—ready to pack it all back up if she really wanted me to. Instead, she rose to the occasion and clenched her jaw, lifting her stubborn chin like a dare. She leaned back on her elbows, pushing her pert breasts out, and I craved to fall over and suck on them until they were rosy and so tender that the softest brush of air would set her off.
I moaned again, giving myself another rough stroke. Unable to help herself, she watched. And I watched her.
I squeezed up my shaft and around the head, using my thumb to smear the precum leaking from the tip. “You can still have this inside you,” I offered one last time. “I can remind you how good it felt.”
She swallowed but held strong. “No.” Her denial, weak and needy.
“Fine.”
With one hand rolling my balls, I stroked myself faster and harder, taking in her sleek skin. She squirmed and panted, her hard nipples begging for attention. Every once in a while, she’d part her thighs just enough to give me a glimpse of her smooth folds under the sheer fabric, the scent of her arousal hitting me like an aphrodisiac.
“Just because I’m not fucking you, doesn’t mean you can’t get off. Feel free to play with your pretty pussy.”
Her tongue slicked across her supple lips, and I held my breath, praying for her to say yes. Instead, she snapped her jaw shut and shook her head, continuing to pant and writhe on the bed.
“I’ve had to do this more since I’ve met you than when I was a teenager. Every morning, I go to the shower and remember your soft wet pussy on my tongue. I remember the way you bent over and let me feast on you. The way you rubbed your cunt on my face as you came. I remember how tight you were. How I had to wedge my fat cock between your swollen lips and ease in. I remember the way your cum slid down my cock and coated my balls as I played with your tits.”
“Nico,” she moaned.
The desperation in just my name raced down my spine, and I knew I was about to come.
“I remember the way you cried out as you pulsed around me, milking the cum from my cock.”
With that memory and watching her strong thighs rubbing together for friction, I came. Cupping the head, I worked my hand faster, jerking every last drop of pleasure from my body. Goose bumps spread across my skin, pulling it too tight as wave after wave hit me. With a few more slow swipes, I calmed, focusing on Vera. She laid back, breathing just as hard as me, a flush working its way down her neck.
Good.
“I’m going to clean up. Feel free to
join me.”
A swirl of need and anger raged behind her caramel eyes, and I added fuel to the fire by smirking before disappearing into the bathroom. I imagined the anger was directed as much at her own stubborn pride as it was at me.
Not surprisingly, she didn’t join me in the shower. I wrapped the towel around my body and walked out to find her lounging in a small silk and lace nightgown.
“Did you wear that just for me?” I taunted.
She didn’t bother to look up from the magazine she flipped through. “Hardly. Raelynn packed it for me.”
“Did she pack all your lingerie?” I asked, both hopeful and worried at the same time. If she had a nightgown like the one currently riding up her thigh and doing nothing to hide the hard points underneath, then I was going to die a slow death over the next two weeks of our honeymoon.
“I guess you’ll have to wait and see,” she taunted.
She never looked up directly, but I felt the way she tracked me around the edge of the bed. She wanted to torture me. Well, two could play that game.
Standing by the bed, watching for her reaction, I dropped the towel.
“What the hell?” she practically screeched.
Pleased that she couldn’t take her eyes off my cock as I climbed in bed beside her, I smirked. “I’m your husband now, so the kid-gloves are off, and I sleep in the nude. Feel free to join me.”
With effort, she dragged her eyes away and glared. “You wish.”
I sure fucking did.
Twenty-Five
Vera
Rolling over in the clouds of blankets and pillows, I squinted at the long rays of the sun reaching through the window across the cream carpet to wake me up. I stretched after a sleep just as luxurious at this bed until a glint from my left hand reminded me of the day before.
I married Nicholas Rush.
I was no longer Verana Mariano, but Verana Rush—Mrs. Rush.
Turning softly, I rolled to my side, facing Nico. His bronze skin stood stark against the white sheets that barely clung to his naked hips. I studied each dip and groove of his body. I’d seen him without his shirt a few times, but never had I allowed myself the luxury of memorizing each ridge and valley. One arm stretched behind his head, and the other rested on his stomach—his own wedding band impossible to miss.
Just like it had been hard to miss last night when he’d jacked off in front of me.
Heat spread through my body all over again like a fire to tinder. I closed my eyes, and like a movie on fast forward, images of him flashed behind my lids. The veins along his arms straining with the effort to stroke his thick length as he reached for his peak. His firm chest rising and falling with his panting breaths. His flushed cheeks and sweat-dampened hair. His full lips slicked by his tongue, teasing with the filthiest words. His broad head leaking pearly liquid until his palm came up to swipe it away. His heavy balls cradled in his hand, his brand-new wedding band shining—a bright reminder that this was my husband. That if I wanted him, he would, could be mine.
I almost gave in. I almost said fuck it and demanded he fuck me. Every second of watching him was like an hour in the most intense game imaginable. My body hot, tense, aching.
I knew I should have run. I should have shoved him away and slept in one of the other rooms.
But the way he looked at me as I laid back in my white, lacy wedding lingerie, filled me with an intense power. His heavy-lidded eyes took me in like he’d never seen anything like me. The way he’d stared in awe and couldn’t look away had me glued to the bed. Here stood a man who respected me enough to listen to my words—even though part of me wanted him to push, so I could give in and blame him in the morning—but still wanted me any way he could have me.
Power.
It had flooded my veins and held me in place. It was amazing what feeling like you’re being heard—being seen—can do to you. As soon as he’d gone to shower, my hand flew between my legs, and I’d clamped my bottom lip under my teeth to hold back my moans as I came within seconds.
I’d wanted to give in.
But I didn’t. I wouldn’t be someone’s booty call for five years.
I wouldn’t be ordered to be a body purely for pleasure just because I was his wife.
I hadn’t escaped Camden just to do it with Nico.
Camden’s promise of having me whenever and however he’d wanted me haunted me more than I thought. I’d shoved it aside, focused on my plans with Nico, unaware that it lingered, touching every decision I made. Like a scar, it wasn’t very visible, but always there.
I’d almost forgotten it after the magical day and night, but when he’d started undoing the buttons on my dress and tossed me on the bed, I was sure he would take, especially when I just sat there panting with need.
But he hadn’t. He’d been arrogant and demanding but still respectful.
I focused back on the man in front of me, his chest a dusting of dark hair rising and falling over his deep, even breathing. His face calm in sleep without his usual look of annoyance or placidity.
We left for our two-week honeymoon today, and I couldn’t help but wonder if every night would be like last night.
Would I be able to be as strong as last night with my body on fire? How long could I burn when he offered to put out the fire? Was I strong enough?
I had to be. I would be.
At the very least, I wanted a friendship—a partner like my mother had described. Even if it never turned to love, five years was a long time to be with someone you disliked. I couldn’t sleep with someone who saw me as an inferior woman, there to service their needs, and Nico had made his thoughts clear about how he saw me with each menial task he gave me at work. Part of the reason I’d gone through with this was because I could still work—I could prove how valuable I was.
I needed Nico to see that value beyond being a plaything before I ever considered sleeping with him.
So, even if every night for the next five years was a repeat of last night—even if I was nothing but a pile of ash in the end, I would hold strong.
At the very least, I would enjoy the vacation and seeing the world.
I was in control. Me. Not him. Not anyone else.
“Good morning.”
Nico’s morning voice always hit me differently. The deep rasp sounded like sex—hard, rough, intense. It slipped in my ears and climbed down my body to my core. Dammit.
“Morning.”
Tension pulled tight like a rubber band. There weren’t many mornings we woke up together since he woke up first to exercise most mornings.
His eyes roamed my face, and I strived to hide the mixture of heat and nerves flooding me. His lips ticked up on one side, and without my permission, my eyes dropped like a homing beacon, remembering every second that they’d been on mine.
The blankets shifted, and I tensed, holding my breath, trying to mentally prepare for him to strut around the room naked, like an unashamed Greek god.
Don’t look. Don’t look.
Ooooor, don’t let him catch you looking.
Seriously, how did that fit inside me?
Jesus, Vera. Don’t look.
I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn’t have time to pull back when he leaned in, placing a quick peck to my cheek, grazing the corner of my mouth. I blinked, shocked by the move, staring off at the perfect spot that when he flung the covers back and stood, his firm, hard ass lined up perfectly with my shocked gaze.
His ass was the definition of the saying, you could bounce a quarter off it.
Too quickly and not quickly enough all at once, a pair of sweatpants covered his perfect butt, and he turned, leaving me to stare at the bulge pressing against the material.
Is this how he felt when he came out to find me in my lingerie? Because men in sweatpants was like lingerie for women.
“We leave in a few hours. I figured that gave us enough time for breakfast.”
I blinked away, finally looking up his sculpted chest to meet his humored gaz
e.
“I’ll order breakfast then shower. Care to join me?” he asked with a smirk.
I swallowed and shook my head, striving for an annoyance but failing when I couldn’t even open my mouth in fear that I’d end up begging him to let me join him.
“Fair enough.” He picked up the phone and dialed to order. “Banana pancakes and bacon, extra crispy, right?”
I nodded, surprised he remembered how I like my breakfast. I might have mentioned it in passing. He had meals delivered, and I’d cringed at the blueberry pancakes one morning, briefly mentioning banana pancakes were the only way to go.
And he remembered. He listened. I hadn’t even thought he heard me.
“H-how did you know?”
He rolled his eyes but smirked. “Banana pancakes are my second favorite pancake, and the smell of burnt bacon has lingered in the apartment for almost a week. It’s hard to forget.”
I didn’t know why him noticing hit me so hard, but I zoned out, remembering that my father didn’t even remember I only liked banana pancakes. A drop of heat, unlike the heat that spread like wildfire at seeing him naked, spread like a drop of food coloring in an ocean. It barely changed the color—barely noticeable—but it did change things.
Uncomfortable with the feeling, I shook my head, carefully edging my way out of bed to grab my robe. Last night, I’d wanted to torture him in my nightgown, but with the sun lighting up the entire room, I may as well have been naked.
“Feel free to join me,” he offered darkly, walking past.
This time, I managed to work up a weak glare. One side of his lips kicked up as he stretched his arms above his head. Watching Nico stretch in the morning should have been its own specific fetish tab on Pornhub.
A thin scar caught my eye above his Adonis belt on his left side. Before I could ask, he turned to go, and I shrugged into a thick robe and nabbed my phone, heading to the dining room.
Raelynn: Did you fuck him? Tell me you fucked him all over that suite.
Nova: How was your night? Did you survive?
Raelynn: Yeah. Did you survive? Or did you have death by orgasms? Please say death by orgasms.
