King’s Captive

by Amber Bardan

  He pulls back and his tip hovers at my entrance, and he draws me even tighter to him.

  My face lifts off the sheets, and I take a gasp of air.

  He enters me so swiftly the gasp knocks right back out of my lungs. His lips graze my ear. “Do you enjoy fucking your husband?”

  My eyes strain wide. My husband. That’s what I’m doing, fucking my husband. The haze lifts and I’m so much more present and aware, and I can’t escape the question.

  He takes my throat, baring my head back against his shoulder, holds me still and thrusts again. I’m pierced all the way to my soul. “Do you enjoy fucking your husband?”

  The question hits me again, and I jerk with it. He catches the movement in his steely grip.

  My husband...

  He takes me harder, his body thrumming tension from him into me. My pulse leaps a hundred million beats per second. There’s pleasure, building yes, but it’s lost under a swarming force. He impales himself inside me, and grips my hip, forcing us deeper. A shadow of feeling gathers substance and he’s busting it free.

  “Say it,” he pants, breath hot and damp on my ear. “Say you love fucking your husband.”

  I grab on to the sheets, but there’s nothing to hold on to that’ll save me from this. The truth is a hurricane tearing up my defenses. “I love fucking my husband.”

  He groans, low and deep, and agonized. He’s shaking, his whole big body trembling along my back. He’s losing himself. Losing everything to me. I’m crushed so tight but still falling apart. His fingers dig on my pulse, and he’s not even close to controlled.

  He plants his forehead in my hair. “Say you love your husband.”

  It’s almost too soft to hear but I catch it and once I do, there’s only one way to let it go.

  Oh God.

  The ghost of my emotions shines so clearly that I can only imagine how long it’s haunted me for.

  I loved my husband.

  Once.

  A sob rips through me, shuddering my chest. Once I loved my husband and he loved me.

  He pants, his suffering raw in his breath. “Say you love your husband.” And I hear the more, the “Please, please, please.”

  I clamp my hand over the one gripping my throat. Grief for our lost past is so thick here I taste it stronger than the tears. “I love my husband.”

  “Sarah.” The shout of my name rings in my ears. He’s screamed it as though I’m being torn away. “Oh God—my Sarah.”

  He rolls us to the side and his hands roam all over me, taking me in. His cock drives in my body, and it leaves something branded on me each time. He’s leaving bits of himself behind. I reach back and hold his thrusting hip, and the present washes away.

  My body remembers how love is supposed to feel.

  He calls my name over and over against the back of my neck. Begs for me as though I’m killing him. As though I’ve destroyed him.

  I’m stealing love from another life. And he makes me wish it were mine.

  The pleasure rolls over me.

  His movements get faster, then he cries my name one last time, and erupts in my pussy, drenching me in warmth.

  I’m brim to my edges with him, and burst with sensation.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Hot water flows from the open faucet into the hot-tub-sized bath. The warmth lapping my shoulders soothes the ache of muscles, yet scalds my raw skin.

  But my bruises are on the inside.

  I lie between Julius’s open legs, his cock sandwiched between his belly and my lower back. His touch runs over me. Even when I cried for a while again here in the bath, he never stopped his stroking. Yet it’s not his hands ruining me. Julius went rummaging in all my untouchable places, found me in corners I’d been unwilling to share.

  I can’t count the number of times I came tonight.

  He made up for our years of abstinence in a few frantic hours. Every time he started again, it lasted longer, and drove me further out of my mind.

  The water creeps toward my neck. I reach for the side of the bath for support. His arm crosses my chest and he grips me just under my jaw.

  He rubs his cheek against my ear. “I’ve got you, baby.”

  My feet slip against the base of the tub, and his other arm curls around my ribs below my breasts.

  “Baby, I’ve got you,” he whispers again, tilting my chin higher.

  And he does.

  There’s no way I could slip, no way I could fall under the surface with even one of his hands holding me. I don’t want to let go. Don’t want to let him be what keeps me from drowning.

  But it’s too late for resisting, we’re so far past refrain. The things I’ve told him tonight—the things he convinced me to say—they flash through my soul.

  I begged and I cried, thought I’d given all and yet there was more.

  My feet float up, and I let myself be caught, be suspended in his arms.

  He reaches out the arm holding my ribs and turns off the faucet, then squirts soap from the pump into his hand. He lathers my breasts. Soaps up my chest, and watches over my craned neck.

  My eyes drift shut.

  “I’ve got you,” he breathes again, and squeezes my nipple. Heat pools between my legs, makes me want more of what I know I can’t handle. He pinches my other nipple, as though a breast might feel left out.

  “Have you enjoyed being fucked by your husband?”

  My eyelids flutter open. He knows I have. He made me say it often enough.

  “Yes, Julius, I enjoy fucking my husband.”

  He strokes down my belly and reaches my oversensitive vagina. My thighs tense but he knows just how to touch so that even when I hurt, he keeps me feeling good. He makes small circles in the water over my clit. Desire hums through me. I stare up at the dimmed pendant light and spots flare in my vision. How delusional it’d been to think I could use sex against Julius. In these moments when he’s touching me, there’s nothing I can hold at bay. His touch affects me, but making love infects me. When he’s inside me, he takes things I never intended to give away.

  He flicks back and forth over the nub between my legs, and my system floods with deadly bliss. I strain in his arms, my chest pushing out.

  “Oh my God, look at you.” He grips my jaw tighter.

  I come apart in ecstasy. Warmth ripples over me and my knee bumps against Julius’s. Moans melt from my lips. I float back to myself, face safely turned against Julius’s neck, yet I’m still spitting out a drizzle of soapy water. His grip relaxes. I use the slack to roll to my side.

  He holds me—just holds me for so long.

  The water cools. He lifts me from the bath, wraps us in towels, then takes me to bed. Actually to bed, under the covers and all. He turns on the gas fireplace and moves about the room turning off lights until only the bedside lamp remains on. Vibrant images wrap around his side, sinking low on his hip and covering half of one ass cheek.

  I get a flash of that ass under my nails, the uneven texture of his tattooed cheek. My drowsy heart beats a little harder. He comes to bed, slides in the other side and faces me. He touches my wrist, then takes my hand and brings it between us to hold against his chest. We don’t speak. He stares at me.

  Then he smiles—it’s wicked, like he’s remembering everything we’ve done.

  I can’t resist the allure of his smile, or what it does to me.

  What happened to us?

  My skin prickles. Bumps rise along my arms.

  His gaze washes over me and his smile fades. He uses his free hand to draw the blanket up over my shoulder.

  My lungs get tight.

  His brow creases. My poker face has evaded me. He sees my feelings but he doesn’t ask why. My throat closes, but a question bleeds out. “I need to know, J
ulius.”

  The corners of his lips turn down, but he doesn’t flinch away the way I’d imagined.

  He strokes a patch on my thumb. “What do you need to know?”

  I blink, all my responses swimming. I shake my head, and my eyes sting. “I need to know everything.”

  He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “I love you.” There’s no hint of cruelty or sarcasm in his expression when he lifts his chin. “But I don’t trust you.”

  A sliver of hurt splices me.

  No, he doesn’t trust me, not at all. I am who I am. I’ve done what I’ve done. He might not trust me but he forgives me. There might be consequences, but I haven’t lost his affection.

  I take a shuddering breath. Clean sheets shiver around a clean me, the taste of soap still in my mouth, yet I feel dirty. I can’t do the same for him. There’s not enough generosity in my heart. “Then I can’t forgive you.”

  His chin scrapes the back of my hand, before he lets it go to cup the back of my head. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.” His nose scrunches, and the pressure from each of his fingers surrounds the back of my skull. “But I need you to start believing me.”

  I stare into his pleading gaze and every desire I’ve ever had to flee from him is snuffed out by the urge to run to him. To be held against him.

  To drive myself under his skin and see the him he really is—the one he’s afraid to show me. The truths he won’t ever reveal. I press my hand to his chest.

  His heart thuds under my palm. “Please, baby, believe me.”

  My head swirls. I know exactly what he’s asking. He wants to stop the doubt. Wants me to stop fighting everything he tells me.

  I lick my lips. “I believe you, Julius.”

  His ribs rise with breath under my touch. He tugs me against him. My cheek finds the perfect place to rest on his solid chest.

  He reaches back behind him and turns off the lamp.

  I lie in the dark, in Julius’s bed, surrounded by the scent and feel of him. I’m his wife. Fatigue might have a hold of my body, but my mind is wide-awake. I wrap my arm around his waist.

  His touch travels from my hip to up between my shoulder blades, then rests there. “Baby?”

  My pulse skips. “Yes?”

  “Do you really love me?”

  My eyes close, and my heart clenches. He knows as well as I do that what he had me say was dragged from somewhere else. I take small breaths against his skin. I did once, I believe that. But now?

  I’ve told him my share of lies, but here, nude in his arms with our hearts beating against each other, I won’t lie.

  He remains so still against me.

  Yes, there are things I’m feeling. I don’t understand them. But something has been transformed deep inside me, and I won’t ever be the same.

  “I don’t know what I feel,” I whisper.

  That’s the only truth I have for him.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “When we were married, did I ever cook?” I swipe a carrot from the chopping board on the kitchen counter and bite.

  He stops his cutting and glances up. “We are still married.”

  I swallow the half-chewed carrot. Ha. That one will take a while to adjust to. “I mean before the accident.”

  “We agreed it would be in everyone’s best interests that you didn’t.” He smiles.

  I toss the remaining carrot stick at him.

  He laughs.

  My ribs constrict.

  Of all the stupid things I’ve done, this is perhaps the most stupid. I’m falling for Julius. This man, my husband apparently, I have no idea who he is. But there’s no choice. There’s no decision I can make to keep this at bay. These feelings happen in moments. When he laughs—a sound I hear often now—it pierces my armor. Shows me the man I wish him to be. Who maybe he once was.

  My gaze drops to his lips, stretched wide and smiling.

  His laugh, I hear it when I close my eyes and it sinks beneath my skin.

  The man laughs when I come. An honest, instinctive rumble of joy. He laughs with his face between my thighs. Laughs when I scream and bite. He laughs into my mouth, laughs with his rough cheek pressed against my back.

  “How did we meet?”

  His smile slips and he carries the chopping board to the stove and adds the vegetables to the pot. “In Ireland.”

  I snap straight. Ireland. He hasn’t admitted to me that’s where he’s from, but right now, all I want is for him to keep talking. “I went to Ireland?”

  I round the bench and follow him to the stove.

  “Pass the stock, please.”

  I grab the jug and give it to him. He pours stock into the pan, and adds seasoning.

  “I want to know how we met.”

  He puts the lid on the pan and lowers the heat, then turns to me. “We met in a pub. You’d finished school, and after your mom’s car accident, you went to visit with her family.”

  “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

  “Well, you did.” He guides me to the kitchen table, and we sit down.

  He tugs his cell phone from his back pocket and unlocks the screen, taps and scrolls, then hands it to me. A jolt runs through me. There’s no way to get used to seeing pictures of yourself you can’t remember being taken. I’m sitting on other Julius’s lap. His arms around my waist. I’m smiling in a way I had no idea I could smile.

  “You were eighteen and I was twenty.”

  I slide my thumb across the screen and the next image fills my lungs with bittersweet pain. This time I’m lying in bed on my side. Hair mussed, nose scrunched. He’s annoying me with the camera. And it’s like sliding into that skin.

  “One date was all it took.”

  My hand flattens on my chest. The memory is so close. So close, yet out of reach.

  “We seemed to happen all at once.”

  “How long were we married before the accident?”

  “Three years.”

  I swipe again.

  Julius takes the phone from my grasp. “That’s enough.”

  “Why?” My hand drops from my chest. “I want to know about us.”

  “We need to be careful.” He puts the phone away. “I won’t rush this and hurt you again.”

  I slide my chair back and stand. “I’m doing fine. I’ve handled everything this time, haven’t I?”

  “Yes,” Julius glides out of his chair. “And I intend on keeping it that way.”

  He strides into the kitchen like we are done here, then stirs the pot.

  “You can’t keep my own life from me forever.”

  His stirring pauses, but he doesn’t look back at me. “I know.”

  * * *

  I lean against the bathroom counter, skin still pink from my shower, and study my face. I prod my forehead and search for a sign of the eight years vanished from my life. I trail my fingers over my cheeks. Maybe they’re thinner. I’m not even sure.

  I’m not sure about anything.

  This could all be a nightmare. Or a delusion. I turn in front of the mirror and look at my naked self. My boobs are the same. A decent handful, but just as high as they’ve always been.

  I touch my stomach and run my hands over my belly.

  A flash like a bolt of lightning tears through me. A memory deep and pure, yet unimaginable. No. I grab the counter. My heart pounds. I’m imagining things.

  Must be imagining things.

  I stumble to the wall and hit the heating lights. The bathroom gets lighter. Brighter. I hunch and study my belly.

  It’s flat and smooth.

  But for a moment I knew it wasn’t always. I search down my abdomen, then freeze. My fingers shake. Right there, hidden under a smattering o
f pubic hair, is the thinnest white line.

  Rage slams down on me, a blast of energy that shoots undiluted strength into my extremities. I storm into the bedroom. Julius sleeps, naked, sheet pooled around his hips, tattooed arm over his eyes. The sight of him, as always, sparks a chemical response. Not nearly enough to take the edge off the pain.

  I grab his pants from the floor and hurl them at him. “Wake up, asshole.”

  He leaps out of bed in one move, feet hitting the floor with a thud.

  I stalk the edge of the room. My insides bubble hot and volcanic.

  “What’s going on?” He scruffs his face.

  I stick my finger at him. “Tell me about Thomas.”

  His hands fall to his sides, and he drops onto the edge of the bed. “You’re remembering.”

  “Tell me.” I don’t intend to screech, but my voice is high and torn.

  “They took you both.” His head dips. He stares at the floor between his knees. “You didn’t remember him. He was only two.”

  My arms wrap around my waist and I double over.

  “You didn’t remember. They told you that you were in the car crash with your mother and that he was your brother. Your father is the one who lied to you.”

  I drag a deep breath in and straighten. “No, you lied.”

  His head snaps up.

  “You kept him from me all this time,” I spit. “You didn’t tell me the truth.”

  “Every single thing I have done in the last seven years has been for you.” He springs off the bed and strides closer. “Every terrible thing has been for you.”

  “Not that.” I shake my head, and step to the side. “That wasn’t for me.”

  “You’re right.” He stops. “That wasn’t for you, that was for him.” He thumps his chest with his fist. “Because I’m a father.”

  My ribs ache just as though it were my chest thumped.

  “I had to do the right thing for him.” He bangs his knuckles on that rose. “Because he needed to have his father, but his mother couldn’t remember who she was to him.”

  Tears cover my cheeks. I bite my lips. Salt runs into my mouth. “It’s not fair.”