by Selena
“Bullshit,” King growls. “That was pretty fucking public, what you just did.”
“No one at home will ever know.”
“I’ll know,” he says flatly.
“So, what? I can never go out dancing again?” I ask, feeling an ache behind my eyes. I fucked it all up already. I should have been more cautious, not gone all-out. I should have reined it in and taken it slow, working up to this. But of course I didn’t do that. For me, it’s balls-to-the-wall or nothing.
“You can dance any time you want,” King says. “If you need to grind your ass on some guy’s dick…” He breaks off and shakes his head, then lowers his voice. “I’m right fucking here, Eliza.”
A snort escapes me before I can stop it. “What? I’m supposed to grind on you?”
We stare at each other for a long moment, neither of us speaking.
“Oh, you poor thing,” I say at last. “That’s what you meant, isn’t it?”
“No,” he says, scowling and turning away. Out of his usual suit and tie, he doesn’t look so stiff. Now that I’ve had a week with him, I know he’s not as dickish as he came off at first, but I still don’t know him well enough to predict his next move, and that scares me.
“It is,” I say, an incredulous laugh bubbling out as I bounce onto the bed on my ass. “You totally want me to rub up on you.”
“Why would I want to dance with a frigid brat like you?”
“I’m not frigid.”
King scoffs. “You literally told me your sexuality was frozen.”
I stare at him a minute. But there’s no way I’m going there with him, letting him know anything real about me. I’d rather just get it over with. He’s going to fuck me eventually, anyway. I might as well learn to grin and bear it. And I’d rather him hurt me than look at me the way he did on our wedding night, like I’m some fragile, broken thing.
Broken? Yeah, I’ll admit it. Fragile? Like a fucking grenade is fragile.
I’ll take his wrath over his pity, and I know exactly how to get it.
“Yeah, about that… I may have exaggerated,” I say lightly.
“You what?” he asks, his voice going low and deadly.
I shouldn’t have said it, oh god, his eyes are glittering with a malice that says I’m treading in very, very dangerous territory. But once you say something like that, you can’t just take it back. I don’t want to, either. It’s a relief to know this is finally happening. I’ve spent the whole week tiptoeing around him, hardly daring to breathe lest it draw his attention. I lie in bed each night trembling and petrified, sure each one will be the night he’ll be done waiting.
“Yeah, I lied,” I admit. “I don’t have a problem with sex. I have a problem with you.”
King just stares at me, his eyes incredulous and turbulent as a storm. “You lied?” he asks at last.
“Yep,” I say. “I’m good at that. But it says something about you, too, you know.”
“What?” he asks, not moving a muscle, just staring at me. But I can see the fury inside him, can see the way he’s almost shaking with it. I know I should leave him alone, but some reckless part of me wants to just keep poking the beast. Like I said, I’ve never been one to stop at halfway. I push limits. I want to see how far I can go, what I can get away with, what he’ll do when he finally snaps. Maybe that’s partly why I keep going out every night, waiting for him to put his foot down the way no one ever has. To demand answers. But he let me have my way, just like everyone else has.
I’m the poor girl who lost her brother and her mother, after all. When I met him, I thought maybe he’d be the one to stand up to me, that he’d be a formidable opponent or even a match for me. But he’s too scared of my father, like everyone else in my life.
“You know,” I say. “It says a lot that a girl would lie about something like that just to keep from having to have sex with you.”
“You’re not a virgin, either, are you?” he asks.
I try to gauge his expression, his tone, to see how he feels about that. I don’t see disappointment in him, but there’s definitely an edge of jealousy in his voice. He does want me, despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise. The thought sends a tremor of triumph through me. I want to be wanted just like anyone else, even if it’s by a man I don’t want. I could lie to him, but I think of how important my hymen is to men and decide it will only make him want me more.
“I’m a virgin,” I say.
“Prove it.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. I knew it was coming, but my heart still lurches into my throat. “Now you’re going to throw me down and rape me?” I ask, a challenge in my voice. “That’s how you prove it to yourself, right?”
“I heard you talking on the beach on our wedding night,” King says, prowling forward. “Voices carry across water. You should know that, having a house on the beach.”
I scurry off the far side of the bed and find myself backed into a corner. Damn it. I dart forward, trying to get around the bed, but he’s too fast. He grabs my wrist and backs me against the window. My heart is racing like a scared rabbit in my chest as I look up into his deep, dark eyes.
“You wanted me to hear, didn’t you?” he asks. “You love testing me, but you don’t know who you’re fucking with, piccola.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just like you wanted me to know where to find you tonight.” A little smirk forms on his full lips, and my heart skips a beat altogether. “You said I didn’t have to wait up. You didn’t tell me not to. You wanted me to wait up, to sit here wondering and worrying, didn’t you? Admit it. You wanted me to come find you.”
“No,” I say, scowling. “Why would I want some asshole to come ruin my fun?”
“Because you get away with everything, but you don’t actually want to,” he says. “You want someone to stop you. You want someone to care enough to save you from yourself.”
“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me,” I snap. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I think I do,” he says. “Did you want me to hear you on our wedding night, too, Eliza?”
“Hear me doing what?” I ask, genuinely confused this time.
“I think you did,” he purrs, stroking my hair behind my ear with his free hand. “Is that why you said those things? Or was it because that’s what you like? You want me to rough you up and fuck you dry?”
I realize then what’s he’s talking about, that he mistakenly thought Lizzie’s words were mine. All this time, he’s thought I was avoiding sex because I didn’t want him to know I’m not a virgin.
“That wasn’t me,” I say, my voice coming out breathier than I want. It’s just that he’s so close to me, his body almost touching mine. And even though I was just all over some stranger in the club, this is different. This is King. He makes me feel things I’ve never felt about anyone. Vulnerable, and irresistible, and helpless, and terrified. I’ve never been so close to him before, and my body trembles at his nearness. I can feel the heat of his body crackling across my skin, can smell his scent, something spicy and salty at once that makes my mouth water. I feel electric, combustible, like I’m gasoline and he’s a match hovering just out of reach.
I want to know what happens when the match is dropped.
“That was my friend Lizzie,” I whisper, gripping the windowsill behind me.
He hasn’t spoken, hasn’t moved, but his eyes are drinking me in, caressing me until I ache for just a brush of his skin against mine. I don’t know if I’m more scared by how much he wants me, or by how much I want him.
“Prove it,” he says again, his gaze heated. His fingertips brush the bare skin of my thigh, and a tremor goes through me. I bite my lip to keep from gasping, and his hungry eyes follow the movement, locking on my mouth.
I can’t move. I feel like an animal, frozen with fear. My pulse races for a different reason when his fingers move up, slowly trailing across my skin and sending goosebumps blooming over my body. He hooks a finger into
the hem of my little dress, and I shudder again, my own grip tightening on the windowsill. He adds a second finger, working it under the tight fabric. I take a shaky breath, my whole body tight with anticipation as he moves another finger into the hem. He tugs slightly at the stretchy fabric, and my eyes drop closed, my nails pressing into the paint on the sill.
King draws a labored breath and drags my dress up with one slow, sure move. His hands fall to my narrow hips, and I suck in a breath, my eyes flying open at the sensation of his rough, hot hands on my skin. He thumbs the straps of my bikini underwear, swallowing hard enough that I can hear it in the silence between us. Nothing moves except his thumbs, toying with me as they move up and down over the thin straps.
“Show me,” he commands.
“No.”
After a pause, he steps in, his chest pushing me back, pinning me against the window. His knee pushes between my thighs, pushing me back so my thighs bite into the sill right below my ass. “Then admit you’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what’s wrong with you?”
“I fucking hate you,” I snap. “That’s what’s wrong.”
“Get over it,” he growls, grabbing my knee and opening my legs. “No one said you had to love me. But our families want a baby, so you do have to fuck me.”
“No,” I gasp, shoving at his chest. “If you need it that bad, I’ll give you head.” I struggle out of his grasp and try to sink down onto my knees, but King grabs me under the arms and hauls me up.
“And have you bite my dick off? How stupid do you think I am?”
“I won’t, I swear,” I say, my voice desperate as I struggle to free myself. “Just don’t touch me. I’ll do it if you don’t touch me. It’s my job as your wife, right?”
I manage to slip out of his grasp and drop to my knees before he can protest. I’m relieved to be off my shaking legs. I pull down the skirt of my dress, discretely wiping my palms on the fabric before reaching for his pants.
“Eliza,” he says, his voice rough as I kneel up and reach for the drawstring on his sweats. “You don’t have to—”
He breaks off when I flatten my palm and run it along the ridge in his pants. I feel his cock throb through his sweats, and a tremor of something goes through me. I shift my position to press my knees together against the ache growing there. But I won’t pay attention to that. I’ll pay attention to servicing my husband. I know this won’t work for long. He’s right—our families want a baby from this union, and I’m well aware that this won’t get us one. But maybe it will buy me time, a few days at least. If I can satisfy him, he might not press the pregnancy issue.
I can do this. I might even like it. It feels… Good. Exciting and dangerous but not too scary. I’ve only seen a cock in a few porn clips Lizzie sent us once when we admitted we’d never seen one, and never in real life. I swallow hard at the size of it, my pulse fluttering in my throat. It’s so much bigger than I expected, and so hot I can feel the heat through his pants. Suddenly, a thrill of anticipation goes through me at the thought of peeling down his sweats, seeing it bare.
I slide my hand back down it to the base, until I feel the lump of his balls. I stop, not sure if I’m supposed to touch them, too. Something about them feels embarrassing, like I went too far. Obviously I know guys have balls, but even when I saw porn, I don’t remember them. I never paid any attention to them, and now I’m not sure what to do about them. They’re so… visceral.
King clears his throat, running a hand over the back of my head and lifting my face. “You don’t have to do that,” he says, his voice low almost choked. If I couldn’t tell by the hardness against my palm, his voice lets me know exactly how much he wants me to do it, even if he’s giving me an out.
Our eyes meet, and I swallow hard. There’s so much in those eyes, but I can’t read what it all means. And for once, I want to. I want to know what’s mixed into that longing in his gaze. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “I want to.”
He looks like he might protest, but I undo the drawstring on his sweats before he can. He pulls off his shirt and tosses it on the bed as I reach around him, tugging his pants free of his ass and lowering them. I sink back on my heels to admire the raw beauty of his naked body, all chiseled angles and lean muscle. I want to trace the V of his hips, run my fingers around the sculpted muscles of his abs. But most of all, I find myself staring at his cock, standing tall and proud against his lower belly, straight and deeper in color than the rest of his skin.
A hot thrill races through me, adding pressure to the ache between my thighs. His cock is so… Animal. It looks rough and brutish and wild, so unlike the calculating, reserved man it belongs to. It makes me tremble with fear as I lean forward and gingerly wrap my fingers around it.
He sucks in a breath, his hand circling the back of my head, stroking my hair. I tense, expecting him to shove his cock down my throat and fuck my mouth. But he doesn’t pull me forward, instead letting me look at him, explore him with my fingers at my own pace. I wrap my fingers around his shaft, sliding them down his thick, hot length. Part of me wants to pull away, to turn and flee. But another part is fascinated. I thumb the thick vein that runs the length of his stiff cock, then run my fingers over the ridge around the head. His skin is velvety smooth, softer than I’d imagined, but beneath it, I can feel the steely muscles straining for relief.
I almost wish he’d be a dick about it, just force me to do what he wants whether or not I want to so I could know that he’s a monster through and through, that there’s no going back from it. It’s hard to deal with his kindness, especially when it’s so undeserved. I’ve been a horrible wife. A horrible person. I hardly gave him the time of day all week, and he’s been nothing but respectful of my need for space. And yeah, okay, he’s kind of a prick sometimes, and he’s cold and haughty, but compared to the other men my father could have given me to?
There is no comparison.
I’ve known a lot of made guys, and if I’m honest, King’s probably one of the best ones I’ve met. Yeah, he’s new and low ranking, but that means he hasn’t had years to become a hardened, heartless brute like a lot of mafia men. I don’t know of a single one who wouldn’t have demanded I fulfill my wifely duties on our wedding night, that’s for damn sure. He could have made me service him every single night of our honeymoon, could have overpowered me physically, forced me into pleasing him, but he didn’t. He had every right to demand that I become his wife in more than name, but he hasn’t crossed the lines that he very well could have.
I recognize that, and if this is what he needs, I’m more than willing to thank him for his patience in this way. I lean in, angling my head to kiss along his shaft from the base to the tip. He’s breathing hard by the time I reach the head, and I feel a swell of pride rise inside me. His cock throbs against my lips, demanding more, and I open my lips and lower my mouth over his salty tip. He lets out a soft groan, his fingers tightening in my hair. I’m not sure what to do next, so I begin to lick and suck gently.
I keep going until my cheeks start to ache from the work. When I slow, King begins to move his hips a little, keeping my rhythm going.
“Let me take over,” he says after a few minutes. “Just relax your throat and keep your teeth off. I won’t hurt you.”
I nod, but when he grips my hair and starts to move my head, I tense up. I wanted to do this because I’m still in control.
He pulls out, his hard cock slick with my saliva, bumping against my cheek as it stands up straight again. King takes my chin and lifts it, his dark eyes searching mine. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb across my wet lower lip. A shiver goes through me, and I press my knees together. “If it gets to be too much, pinch me, and I’ll stop. No questions asked. Okay?”
I have to admit, I have no clue what I’m doing. Obviously, I was doing something wrong. If I let him fuck my mouth, I can see what he likes so I can do better next time. I nod, and he grips his cock and lowers it back to my
mouth, pushing it between my lips and over my tongue.
“God, baby, I want to come down this pretty throat,” he purrs, his smooth voice so seductive I don’t care what he’s saying to me. I think he could say he wanted to murder me in that tone, and I’d agree. I wonder how many other girls he’s gotten to kneel for him by using that tone.
Stroking the side of my throat with his fingers, he begins to move my head in rhythm with his hips, rocking them forward and back, his cock sliding deeper with each shallow thrust. My pulse flutters against his fingertips, and a burst of nerves shimmers through me, making me quake. I raise my eyes to his, holding his gaze while he slides his cock deep into my mouth. A tremor goes through me, clenching in my core.
I feel… Powerful. Somehow, even though I’m on my knees just allowing him to do as he pleases, I feel alive and excited and… Sexy. I can imagine myself through his eyes, on my knees at his feet, my mouth open for him to fuck while my eyes hold his, begging for him to have mercy on me as he takes charge. But that’s the key. I’m allowing him to take control. I see the complete surrender in his eyes, that he’s lost to his lust while I’m still in control of my senses, even as he uses my mouth for his pleasure.
After a minute, I adjust to the new sensations, spreading my knees on the floor and arching my back, taking hold of the base of his cock and adding a little suck with each thrust of his hips. He knows what he’s doing, so I let him do it while I take note of what he likes. It also lets me pay attention to the things I was too absorbed to notice when I was worrying about what I was doing wrong. I cup his balls in my hand, moving them inside his soft skin. He groans quietly and thrusts harder, hitting the back of my mouth, his cock straining against my throat.
Tears spring to my eyes and I gag, pulling back. He slows, stroking the back of my head, but he doesn’t pull out this time.
“Oh, baby, your mouth feels so good,” he says, gliding in and out slowly until I recover. I can taste salt and a musky flavor, and saliva fills my mouth as his soft skin slides against my tongue. I want more. I kneel up higher, wrapping my hands around his thighs and pulling him closer again. I suckle greedily at him, and he moans and pumps deep into my mouth again, his thick cock throbbing as salt spreads over my tongue.
