by K. Webster
“Don’t touch me.”
Ignoring her words, I dig my fingers into her thighs and haul her toward me, careful not to touch her where that bastard bruised her. She’s angry, but there’s no fear in her eyes. The woman is a fucking fighter—I’ll give her that.
“The moment I touch you, you’ll melt in my hands, dear wife,” I tell her smugly as I urge her knees apart.
She doesn’t resist and, instead, meets my stare. “You’ll never please me like that of my past lovers,” she taunts. “Victor had a way with his fingers and—”
I see fucking red again at the mention of his name.
Leaning over her, I smash my hand over her mouth to shut her up, and my other hand slides between her legs. I’ll be the best lover she’s ever had. Those men have nothing on me. Fucking nothing.
“Did he touch you like this?” I growl as I stare into her furious eyes. When my hand rubs over her knickers, she whimpers. “That arse had woman hands. Was he soft and gentle when he touched you? Or,” I murmur as I slip my hand under the fabric, “was he rough? Did his fingers feel firm and leathery like mine?”
Her eyes flutter closed, and I watch with smugness as she shamelessly bucks against the way I touch her. When my middle finger pushes into her wet opening, a moan begs to be released from her mouth, which I still have covered with my hand. I want to hear it. Letting my hand slide away, I replace it with my mouth as I fuck her with my finger.
She’s drenched and completely aroused at my touch despite her attitude. Her body clenches around my finger, and my cock aches to replace it—to feel the way she grips it.
“Alexander.” My name on her tongue is a prayer.
The possessive feeling of ownership I have over her fills my soul. I can’t bear the idea of another man even looking at her, much less touching her. She’s my wife.
“No more lovers,” I murmur as I own her cunt with my fingers. “You’ll only come by my touch until the day you die.”
“Same goes for you, mister. I’m far too jealous to share,” she tells me firmly.
Her words cause me to pause. I cannot make promises I’m not certain I can keep. It reminds me of the one woman that thought she had been able to hold on to me.
“When are you going to make an honest woman out of me?” Nicolette asks as she tugs her dress back down over her arse.
I shove my cock back into my pants and shake my head at her. “It isn’t like that for us.”
Tears well in her eyes but I don’t feel sympathy for her. In the very beginning, I told her I had no interest to do things the proper way. I wanted a good time. She was that good time. But once I was done, we would move along. She was a friend with sexual advantages but nothing more.
“It can be,” she urges.
I snatch up my waistcoat and fold it over my arm as I retreat back through her bedroom window. “It won’t be, dear. If you’re still unmarried when I come back, shall I call upon you again?”
Turns out, I could call upon Nicolette whenever I had wanted. And after that initial conversation, she seemed at ease with our simple relationship based purely on sex and nothing more. I hadn’t cared at all about Nicolette the way I do about Edith.
Edith is different.
“I’m going to fuck you, wife. You’re going to wear the afterglow of our union to dinner.” Changing the subject has always worked well in my past. I don’t want to promise Edith anything and I certainly don’t want to dwell on the reasons as to why I believe she’s different than all of the other women.
She whimpers when I curl my finger and hit her in a spot only my finger can find. “God!” she screeches and comes hard, her entire body shuddering wildly.
“I’m going to fuck you now. Understand?” I question as I lift up to observe her. Her cheeks have reddened from her orgasm, and a pleased smile plays at her lips.
“Understood. But I meant what I said.” She frowns. “I can’t share you, Alexander. I’ll go insane if you take on another lover after me. I’ve lost my head for far less before, and I’m warning you—it won’t be pretty.”
I contemplate her words. Can I handle it when she becomes unhinged the moment she finds out I’ve slept with another woman? It is inevitable that it will happen. But my cock aches and I know I’ll convince myself of anything just to get inside her.
Women have always been my demise. This one included.
“Only you, Edith,” I lie. “It will only be you from here on out.”
The smile on her face is breathtaking, and for a moment, I wonder if I can hold true to my word. It will be easier on the estate because, unlike London, there aren’t women ripe for the fucking milling about. Maybe I can do this.
“Make love to me,” she murmurs in way that helps finalize my decision.
With a nod, I pull away from her and stand beside the bed. As I work to get my trousers and shoes off, she begins sliding her knickers down her thighs. The moment I get a glimpse of the dark hair between her legs, I can’t contain myself.
“On your hands and knees,” I command, my booming voice echoing off the walls.
I should let her remove her dress, but I can’t wait any longer. So, the moment she assumes the position, I shove the frock up her back and enter her with force. Her scream is laced with part pleasure and part surprise. Then she gasps when I begin thrusting in and out of her, my fingers digging into her hips to guide her to my pace.
“I want to kiss you,” she murmurs.
“Later. We’re going to come together first,” I grunt.
After slipping a hand around her, I find her swollen clitoris and start working it as we fuck. It doesn’t take long until she’s screaming my name as if I’m a fucking god. I get lost in the amazing way she grips my cock and am soon coming deep inside her.
I’ve never come inside a woman. Ever.
So why the fuck did I just do it?
A possessive thought wickedly swirls in my head. Because she’s my wife. If she becomes pregnant, then it will only further prove the validity of our marriage. In fact, every time I fuck her, I shall come inside her. I want her belly swollen with my child in less than a year’s time.
She collapses onto the bed, and I watch with pleasure as my come drips from her. If I didn’t have other things to do at the moment, I would push my fingers back into her and hold all of it inside her so that she’ll indeed get pregnant.
“Will you come lie down with me? Hold me?” Her face is hopeful, and I hate that I must crush her in this instant.
I lean forward and hastily kiss her forehead. “I’m sorry, dear. I have business to attend to.”
Big, fat tears glisten in her eyes before they roll down her cheeks. “What sort of business?”
Shaking my head, I slip my trousers on and then pad toward the door. “Not yours.” I don’t mean to come off as harsh—simply matter of fact. I’ve spent far too long hiding parts of myself from everyone. Just because she’s my wife, I’m not keen on delivering everything about me on a silver platter. I’ll keep her in the dark as I do everyone else.
I’m a selfish man.
I ignore her sobs as I stalk toward my study.
TWO HOURS.
For two hours, I’ve watched the clock on the wall slowly tick away as I waited for him to return. I finally gave up and bathed. Once clean, I felt renewed. The heartbreak he so carelessly bestowed upon me was left along with the suds in the tepid water.
I’m horrified that I so easily gave myself to him. That I assumed that this was different. That, finally, someone wanted me for more than just a place to come.
But, alas, Alexander is like the rest. Just like William and Sven.
I’m so foolish.
Thoughts of Sven’s dark, wavy hair and smoky brown eyes assault me.
He drags a slender finger between my bare breasts and I let out a small chuckle when he dips it into my belly button.
“This is my favorite part of you, lover,” Sven says in his thick Spanish accent and presses a kiss on my nose
. “Simply beautiful.”
I sigh and palm his cheek. My professor and I began flirting when I first became a student of his. But now, months later, we’re completely devoted to each other as lovers.
“I want to be your wife. You tell me you love me all the time. Why not marry me? I want to have your children,” I pout.
His eyes darken and his lips press into a firm line. I’ve upset him.
I slip my fingers into his hair and pull him to my lips. “You love me too.”
He smiles at my words. “I do love you. That is why I’m going to taste every inch of your flesh. Tonight when we make love, I’m going to make you come over and over again until—”
Someone pounds on the other side of his office door, interrupting him.
“Who is it? It’s late!” I hiss at him as I scramble to redress.
Sven tugs on his clothes and yanks up the blanket from the sofa we were lying on. He still hasn’t answered me but he seems worried. Surely, if it’s the dean from the university or another employee, he can explain to them that we’re in love. It will all work out.
“Sven,” a female voice shouts, “It’s me, Margareta.”
“Goddammit,” he huffs out.
I throw him a questioning look to which is answered with an apologetic one as he unlocks the door. The door immediately flies open and a stunning woman with long flowing brown hair glides in. She’s carrying a baby with chubby cheeks on one hip and tugging along a small child behind her.
“Who are you?” she questions, looking straight past Sven at me.
“I, uh, I’m his—” I start but Sven interrupts me.
“Darling, this is my student. She required some additional tutoring but was just leaving.”
His words are dismissive as he takes the baby from her. “My son, I’ve missed you.”
I gape at him but my heart shatters when he leans forward and kisses the woman on the lips—lips that were moments earlier promising to do very naughty things to me.
“Who is this, Sven?” I ask in a shrill tone. I want to hear the words from his mouth even though I know exactly who this woman is to him.
He scowls and shakes his head slightly at me. I feel a threat in his stare. “This is my wife, Miss Merriweather. I’ll see you in class tomorrow. Good evening.”
His wife. Of course. While we were together and she was so far away, it were almost as if she were a fantasy. Never had he mentioned her name or even spoken much of his children. It was always just the two of us. And he always professed his love for me. I had imagined I would come first if it ever came down to me against her.
Clearly I was wrong.
As the door closes behind me, I know that I was his toy. Nothing more.
That night crushed me. I had spent three days in my bed sobbing and nursing my broken heart. He had cast me aside for something better—his family. A family I had known little about. It still sickens me that he made so many empty promises—that he told me over and over again that he loved me.
It was all a farce.
I was used as a place for him to get off until his wife came back. Much like William used me until it was time to go running back to Lissa.
And Alexander?.
I’m sure he has his own wicked scheme up his sleeve. This time, though, I won’t sit idly and watch it happen. My heart isn’t his to use and abuse.
A knock at the door startles my thoughts, and I smooth out the frock I redressed in before answering.
“Oh, hello, Alcott,” I say flatly. I’m in no mood to grace him with a smile, as that would take too much effort.
“Countess.” He nods and holds both of my suitcases up. “I figured you might need these. Father prefers everyone to dress accordingly for dinner. And that frock belongs in the bin.”
My lip quivers at his statement, and his callous smirk fades away.
“My words were in jest, dear.” He smiles in a genuine way that takes the sting away. “I honestly was trying to be nice by bringing you your things. To make up for the way I behaved earlier.”
Now that he’s smiling and being pleasant, I cave. “Thank you. I’ll make sure I’m presentable.”
He flashes me a flirtatious grin, and I roll my eyes at him.
“What? I’m trying here,” he chuckles.
“I think I like you better when you’re not,” I tease back.
His eyes widen when he’s shoved to the side as Alexander enters the room.
“Moving in on my wife?” Alexander snarls. “So typical, Alcott.”
Alcott scoffs at his brother. “Hardly. See you both at dinner.”
The moment the door slams behind him, I turn to glare at Alexander. Sweat drips from his hair, which has fallen in his face, and a scowl has stolen his features. If I weren’t so angry at him, I’d think he was absolutely delicious-looking.
“You may unpack our things while I bathe,” he says blandly as he pushes his trousers down on the way to the washroom, giving me a beautiful view of his arse.
When the door closes behind him, I want to scream in frustration. Instead, I swallow down my hurt and curiosity about where he’s been. Then I scoop both suitcases up and bring them over to the bed, where not but three hours ago my husband used me like a plaything.
I’m nauseated by the very idea of it.
He takes his precious time in the washroom while I unpack my stuff. I leave his in the suitcase. My arse of a husband can unpack it his damn self.
Once I’ve placed all of my makeup onto the vanity, I sit at it and take the time to artfully paint up my face so I shall be breathtaking. Alcott thinks I’m plain—well, he can eat his words right along with his supper, because I plan on making him feel like a fool.
It’s apparent that, in this family, you have to always have your claws bared. They’re hell-bent on literally screwing you the moment you let your guard down. Well, no more. I’m not going down without a fight.
I peer at my reflection, satisfied at the change in my appearance after I’ve applied the color to my face. The rosy dusting on my cheeks makes my cheekbones seem higher, and I wink in the mirror. My full lips are now as crimson as the blood I’ll shed if those bastards try to mess with me. A smile plays on them as I think about bloodying up a certain man in the room next door.
My hair has become a mess, so I twist it into a chignon and pin any strays in place. In a mere minutes, I’ve completely transformed into a woman of elegance. A woman who fits in at this estate.
A countess.
After a quick search through the armoire in which I hung my dresses, I decide upon my most expensive dress and then put it on. The silky, black material hugs my body in all of the most flattering ways, and the corset I choose lifts my breasts in an eye-catching manner.
The Dumont men can go to Hell, because I know I look amazing.
I’m smoothing my dress out when the washroom door swings open and Alexander fills the doorway. The plush towel is tied dangerously low on his hips, accentuating the way his pelvic muscles point downward in a delectable “v,” and water droplets remain on his sculpted chest. He’s taken the time to shave his normally overgrown face, and I’d be lying if I were to say that I were immune to how handsome he is when he’s clean-shaven. My breath catches at the sight, and I am immediately angry at myself.
He used me.
I’ll do well to remember that.
“Like what you see?” He smirks as he saunters over to the armoire. “I could give you more of what I gave you earlier.”
“I hate you,” I seethe.
He chuckles without humor at me as he searches through the large mahogany piece of furniture for his clothing. “Where are my clothes?”
This time, I’m the one smiling in sweet revenge. “In your suitcase. Next time, call the maid, because I’m certainly not one. Last time I checked, I am the Countess of Havering, married to a pompous earl.”
He curses under his breath as he storms over to the bed and begins rifling through his clothing. I observe with
pleasure as he searches for this things. Once he’s found everything and starts dressing, I go to exit the room, but his words stop me.
“Where are you going?”
I turn and stare at him incredulously. “I have business to attend to,” I say, spitting his own words back at him.
He fastens his trousers as he stalks over to me. His dress shirt is open, and my eyes once again skitter across his chest before making their way to his furious gaze.
“You’re not going anywhere without me. We have an act to uphold, and your going anywhere without me will appear to be suspicious.”
“Oh, I can act. Just like when I acted as if I were turned on by the way you touched me, dear husband. Honestly, I was bored. As you fingered me, I wondered what it is we’d have for supper. I thought about whether or not your brother were a better lover.”
His steely eyes narrow and he becomes enraged. I wonder for a moment if he’ll hit me like that bastard Victor. Instead, he slips a palm around the back of my neck and crashes his lips to mine. My breath is stolen from me as he kisses me deeply. And while the desire to push him away is strong, the warmth he pulls from my body only draws me more into the kiss.
I slide my palms over his pectoral muscles and skim my thumbs along the ridges of them. He’s quite possibly the fittest man I’ve ever been with. As his cock grows hard between us, I hate the fact that, if he were to ask me to bed, I’d go willingly. Finally, he breaks our kiss and rests his forehead against mine, his coal-colored eyes searching mine for answers.
“You’re an insufferable woman. I’m pretty sure you’re insane.”
His words hurt, but I don’t let it show. “And you’re no prize chicken yourself,” I bite out.
This time, his lips softly meet mine, and I nearly sob at the sweetness of this kiss. No man kisses me unless it’s passionate and a means to making love to me. But Alexander? He’s kissing me as if I’m precious to him.
When he practically jerks himself away from me, I stare at him with questions dancing in my head. He grits his teeth and shakes his head before he finishes dressing. Apparently, he doesn’t know the answers either.
