The Marriage Dare

by Wylder, Penny

  He nods. “I have some business associates in Paris. We’re working on opening some European branches of Brazen Casinos. A wedding on top of the Eiffel Tower could be fun.”

  “I’ll have to have at least two dresses. One for the ceremony and one for the reception. Maybe a third if there’s a cocktail hour.”

  “I’ll have my assistant pull a list of designers that I’ve worked with before. I’m sure some of them would be ecstatic to work with you.” He takes a slow sip of his coffee, staring me down, not taking the bait.

  “What about Bali?”

  “The pictures in Bali would be nice. Very good for social media and the newspapers. Because naturally people are going to want to know that I got married. I’m sure you can expect a lot of people to attend the wedding. That would be my only complaint about Bali. It wouldn’t exactly be conducive to a large affair.”

  I take a bite of pancake, pondering. “What about the Taj Mahal? It’s certainly big enough.”

  He chuckles. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “And I’d like a world tour for the honeymoon. There are plenty of places that I’ve always wanted to see but have never gotten to.”

  Daniel leans back in his chair and puts his arms behind his head. “If you plan it, and as long as I have an Internet connection from which to do work, then that sounds fine.”

  “And of course I’ll need real live monarch butterflies to be released after we say I do.”

  Daniels eyes narrow and he suddenly sits up. “Come here.”

  I freeze. “What?”

  “Come here.”

  I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I get up from my chair and walk the few feet to his. Without warning, Daniel grabs my hips and pulls me onto his lap so that my knees are straddling his waist. The sudden proximity makes me catch my breath, dizzy with his presence. His hands wrap around my wrists and hold them down by my sides. “I know what you’re doing, Princess. It’s not going to work.”

  “I’m only trying to plan a fabulous wedding, husband.”

  “No,” he says. “You trying to push me. You’re trying to go so far that I think you’re more trouble than you’re worth. You trying to get me to walk away.”

  I blush, the now familiar feeling of embarrassment washes over me. He sees what I’m thinking three steps ahead of me. I don’t say anything to him.

  “I’m only going to say this one time,” Daniel says. “So you better fucking listen. You can ask me for whatever you want. If you want to get married on the goddamn moon, I’ll do my best to make it happen. If you want to get married at the bottom of the Marianna’s Trench, I have people I can talk to. If you want to re-create the wedding scene from Moulin Rouge, that is well within the range of possibility.

  “But what you will not do is get me to walk away. It’s not going to fucking happen. And if you think that you, Monica Blast, can possibly scare me? Then you have absolutely no idea who you’re dealing with.”

  The way he’s looking at me, the fire and passion in his gaze, should scare me. What it shouldn’t do is turn me on even though that’s exactly what I’m feeling, and the way I’m straddling him, it’s only going to be moments before he notices. Even if I don’t have very many choices, I still have my pride.

  I’m not going to let him conquer me with a few stern words. But my voice is far breathier than I like when I manage to speak. “I remember who I’m dealing with,” I say. “I remember a thin and scraggly boy who never spoke up to defend himself. I remember a boy who was so afraid that he made himself an easy target. I remember that you just took anything that anybody threw at you because you weren’t strong enough to fight back.”

  It only takes a second, and I’m on the floor. Daniel is over me, his presence overwhelming. All I can see is him. All I can feel is him, his hands on my skin where he grabbed me to bring us down here. The thin nightgown has ridden up exposing my panties and most of my stomach. I can feel the scratch of his jeans on my legs and it’s all I want to feel. The cold metal of his belt buckle sends shivers across my skin along with memories of undoing it on my knees last night.

  “You forget that I remember you too, Monica,” he breathes in my ear. His voice is dark, suddenly riding that sharp line that shows itself when he lets go. “And you like to push people. Push and push until people did what you wanted. Even if you had no right to ask it of them. You pushed me. Literally. Figuratively. And I took it because I had more important things to deal with in my life than being your goddamn lapdog. I bet you never even noticed when I left school did you?”

  He said last night that he had to drop out of school, but in the haze of seeing him again, that was a detail that I didn’t remember until just now. And I hate that he’s right. Until the moment he introduced himself at the bar, I hadn’t thought about Daniel Argent in probably ten years. I didn’t notice that he wasn’t at graduation. I didn’t notice that he was gone at all. “No,” I whispered.

  He drags his hand up my skin, starting at my knees and not losing contact until his hand is wrapped around my throat. Not squeezing. Not threatening. But to show his dominance and strength. “I am not that boy anymore,” he says. “Do you want me to prove it to you? Do you want to push me until I go over the edge? Until I can’t do anything else but sink my teeth into you and never let go?”

  I am no longer in control of myself, and the groan that comes from me is completely involuntary. Yes. I do want that. I want his harsh, brutal, self. I want him to punish me for everything that I’ve done wrong. There’s plenty of it, and if it’s Daniel doing the punishment and not a stranger, at least I know that I deserve it.

  His mouth crashes down on mine, and I’m lost. Heat and darkness and lust surge through me. God, the way he makes me feel is indescribable. I’ve never had anyone make me feel this way before. This raw, natural chemistry.

  Hate and lust are a thin line—I’ve always known that. But this is the first time I’m actually experiencing it. His hand is still around my throat, the other one slowly inching down toward my pussy. I want him there. I want him there so badly that I can’t breathe.

  Daniel’s tongue invades my mouth, reminding me of exactly what he can do with it elsewhere. I’m shamefully wet from just his kiss. I hate that he can do this to me. Capture my body with his pleasure and make it his. And at the same time, I love every single second.

  His fingers slide over my panties, coming to rest right over my clit, and freeze. Nothing but the thin lace separates him from touching my skin, and I wiggle my hips to try to get him closer. He doesn’t move.

  “You know what to fucking do, Monica.”

  Oh God. My mind goes blank. He wants me to beg for it. My mind is screaming no, but my body is screaming yes. It’s exactly what he wants. He moves his finger just a fraction, adding enough pressure to make me moan. “Please,” I say against his lips, my voice barely a whisper. “Please touch me.”

  Daniel smiles with grim satisfaction. “Good girl, Princess.”

  He slides his hand under the fabric, and his fingers sink into my pussy with shocking ease. I’m so wet that he goes in deep, pulling another moan from me as he kisses me again. Fuck.

  Pleasure shocks through me, hard and fast, and I’m ready to come in seconds. But I don’t want it to be over. I’m arching up into his hand, seeking every ounce of pleasure that he’s giving me. Drowning in it. I’m so close. So, so close.

  Daniel tears his mouth away from mine. “You’re not fucking done,” he growls. “You will beg me to come.”

  I shudder. No. I’m not going to do that. It’s right there, just out of reach, and he’s not going to deny me that. I already begged him once. He’s not that much of a monster. I say nothing and close my eyes, pressing my hips into his fingers.

  They disappear.

  My eyes fly open, and I find his hard eyes staring down at me. I growl in frustration. Fuck this, I’m not going to lose my orgasm because of him. I shove my hand between my legs, and he catches my wrist before I can
even make contact. He pulls my arm over my head, and releases my throat to grab my other wrist. Suddenly, both wrists are in one of his hands, pinned above my head.

  The look on his face is fury and fire and lust all at the same time, pure exasperation. The contrast would be amusing, if I weren’t so desperately aware of our positions and my quickly fading pleasure. “Dammit, Daniel.”

  “Beg.”

  “No.”

  “Then we’re done.”

  He smiles when I make a desperate noise of protest, not letting me go. “I don’t understand,” I say. “I can’t. How can you promise to give me everything I want for a wedding? Clothes. Money. Trips around the world. And not give me a simple fucking orgasm?”

  He leans close, and I know that he sees the way I’m trembling. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t come, I’m more aroused than I’ve ever been in my life. And he speaks words that cut me to the core.

  “Because you don’t actually care about the wedding. Not yet, anyway. You don’t care about trips or the clothes or any of it. You enjoy it, but you don’t care about it. Everything you’ve ever known has been handed to you. And you’ve never had to fight for the things you care about.

  “Right now, I know that you care about your orgasm. It makes you feel something.”

  “I hate you,” I say, trying to fight my way out of his grip. It doesn’t faze him in the slightest. “I know,” he says, “but you’re still going to beg.”

  I thrust my chin up. “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ve got all day,” he says. “I’ll keep you here, and bring you to the edge over and over until you’re so mindless with it that you don’t have a choice.”

  Anger and arousal flood my system. I feel like I can’t breathe. His face softens for a second, and I feel his fingers creep back down. He enters me smoothly, and I groan. It’s perfect, the feeling of his fingers stroking inside, brushing that makes light flash behind my eyes. I’m on the edge again in seconds. “You’ve done so well, Princess. You already asked for this. Ask for more.”

  I shake my head. I can’t give in. Not when it feels like I’m going to lose part of myself. He kisses me so tenderly that I feel a surge of emotion, confusing and beautiful and welcome. It’s like he’s asking me to let go and trust him. And in a way he is. Asking for what I want. “I need it.”

  “What do you need?”

  I can’t look at him, and I close my eyes. “I need to come.”

  His fingers speed up, pleasure rolling up through my spine and all the way to where his hand holds my wrists.

  “No,” he says. But before I can say anything, he covers my mouth with his. Sweet and soft and deepening. “But keep asking. That’s the other thing you’ve never heard, Monica. The word no. So you’re going to keep asking until I decide that you’ve had enough. Fight me all you want, but I’m going to win. I’m going to own you, Princess. Heart and soul.”

  His fingers work me in sure strokes, thrusting against my G-spot and making fireworks explode in my core. I could come. I don’t have to listen to him. There’s nothing stopping me. Except, I don’t want to. I want to listen. I want to feel that release without shame. I want to hear him call me a good girl again, even if I feel like I shouldn’t want that.

  But does should and shouldn’t matter right now? We’re the only ones here. And he’s going to marry me. I realize that I’m afraid of the future, and how he’ll choose to use this against me. But that’s not something I can carry. He’s hard. He’s ruthless. But he’s not cruel.

  Not the way I was to him.

  No one will cry for me because I had to beg for a few orgasms.

  I’ve done far more damage. This is nothing in comparison.

  A gasp escapes me, bringing me back to the present, another surge of pleasure washing over me, so sharp it almost takes me over. “Please, can I come?”

  “No.”

  I’m looking up at his face, and he’s studying me. There’s no anger or cruelty in his eyes. If anything, there’s compassion. It raises something into my chest, an emotion that I can’t name, amplified by the pleasure in my veins.

  “Please.” My voice is desperate. “I need to. I can’t hold it back.”

  “You will.” His words are at once an assurance and a command, though he doesn’t slow his fucking, adding a third finger to my pussy. It only makes it worse. I moan, writhing on his hand. I can’t see him anymore, I’m blinded with the pleasure. “Breathe,” he tells me, and I do. I take one breath and then another, going through the storm of pleasure. Sizzling in it.

  Daniel’s thumb brushes over my clit in small circles in time with his thrusts, and I can’t bear it. I’m right there. I’m so close that I don’t think I can take it back. “Please please please please please.” The words spill out of my mouth. I beg him. “Please, Daniel, I can’t—I need—”

  “Okay, Princess.” The words are soft in my ear. “Come.”

  My orgasm roars outward from his fingers, consuming me. I think I scream. I’m aware of nothing but this pleasure flying through me, making me fly. I’m shaking, my pussy squeezing down on his fingers and pouring my orgasm onto his hand.

  He doesn’t stop fucking, triggering a second orgasm, and then a third like fading aftershocks of an earthquake. It might be the best orgasm that I’ve ever had in my life, and I’m not sure that I’ll ever recover.

  When I come to, I’m breathing hard, and I’m no longer on the floor. I didn’t even notice Daniel picking me up and holding me close, moving us both to the couch. My head is lying on his shoulder. “Did I pass out?”

  He chuckles, the vibrations soothing. “I don’t think so. It’s only been a couple of minutes.”

  We sit there in silence for a few moments before Daniel turns toward me, taking my mouth in another soft, aching kisses. “Was that so bad?”

  I shouldn’t want to be near him, and I can’t bear the idea of not touching him. So I hide my face in his neck. “Which part?”

  “Any of it.”

  “The orgasm was nice.”

  He laughs again. “And?”

  I pause, not wanting to say anything. But after everything, it seems silly. I was bared to him in every way just moments ago. There’s no reason that I shouldn’t be able to talk. To be honest. “You’re really going to make me talk about it?”

  “I am,” he says. “But it doesn’t have to be right now if you don’t want that.”

  “You’re not going to make me beg to talk about it, are you?”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  “Good.”

  I don’t say anything more. I don’t know how to feel and I don’t know what to say. Maybe when he asks me again there will be something else in my mind. But right now my mind is…quiet. Which it hasn’t been in a long time.

  “The lawyer will be here soon,” Daniel says quietly.

  That brings me out of my reverie. “I don’t have anything to wear. Please don’t make me wear this.”

  He kisses me on the forehead, a surprisingly tender gesture. “In my room, bottom drawer. There are some sweatpants and a t-shirt.”

  “But it’s the marriage lawyer,” I say.

  He grins, lifting me up and setting me on my feet. “We’re getting married regardless, and he gets paid no matter if you’re wearing sweats or not.”

  It’s a fair point. “Okay.” It’s better than being in cum-covered lingerie. I walk toward his suite—the direction he points, but just before I turn the corner, I look back at him.

  He’s looking out the window, and he’s so fucking beautiful. He looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world, but he does. He didn’t leave me on the floor, he picked me up and cradled me. He took care of me. No man that wants to completely destroy me would do that.

  It seems like both of us aren’t admitting the whole truth. There’s more to this marriage than he’s letting on, and I don’t hate him as much as it feels like I should.

  The words he spoke to me echo in my head. I’m going to ow
n you, Princess. Heart and soul.

  There’s a whisper from deep inside that tells me that he’s right. And I’m not sure if I want to stop it.

  7

  Daniel

  I don’t remember the last time I’ve lost control like that. Ever. Monica drives me crazy in a way that I absolutely can’t explain. I want to break her as much as I want to cradle her. The way she hid her head with me just now—seeking comfort even when I forced her to the edge—raises a protective instinct in me that I don’t want to ignore. And that I can’t afford.

  I’m not marrying Monica for sentimental reasons, I’m marrying her to make her pay for her crimes. And it’s going to take a lot more than her begging to come to make up for it.

  My phone buzzes, and it’s my publicist, Rose. I knew that it wasn’t exactly going to be quiet with me and Monica, but I didn’t think that it would be this fast. “Hey, Rose,” I say as I answer the call.

  “Do you want a heads up on the questions?”

  Rose never beats around the bush and she rarely does pleasantries. But in this case I honestly have no idea what she’s talking about. “Questions for what?”

  She sighs. “First round of publicity for the launches, Daniel. Smaller papers from around the Southwest. They’re the lead up to the big guns. They’re going to show up to your suite in five minutes, this has been on your calendar for a month, we’ve confirmed three times. I’m in no mood for you to play dumb. Do you want the questions?”

  I scrub my hand over my face. “It’s been a hell of a last twenty-four hours, Rose. Forgive me for not remembering a drive-by publicity session.”

  “Just please tell me that you’re dressed and I’m not going to see pictures of you in the tabs opening your suite door in a robe and nothing else.”

  I laugh, “I’m decent. Thank you for the heads up. I don’t need the questions.”

  I hang up, because this is fucking perfect. An illustration for my new bride that I mean business, and that she’s going to pay.