“You belong to me. Even before this, you belonged to me.”
I don’t speak. What am I supposed to say to that?
“Come here, Cristina.” He sits up, motioning for me with two fingers. He widens his stance to make space for me to stand between his knees.
I get up and go to him. To my husband.
He leans forward, takes the empty whiskey glass dangling from my hand, and sets it aside. He looks me over.
My belly quivers. I’m not sure if it’s the whiskey or his eyes on me.
Everything is still for a long minute and so deadly silent. But then he takes hold of the dress at either side of the long slit. I let out a scream when he rips it up to my belly.
“Shh.” He grips my hips and tugs me closer. Without another word, he finishes what he started before our strange wedding.
He drags me so close I have to bend to place my hands on his shoulders. He clamps his mouth over my sex, hands shifting to my ass, kneading it, pulling me open as he devours me. His tongue and teeth are wet, so wet, and when I cry out as I come, I weave my hands into his hair. I’m holding him to me, hips spasming as something leaves me, something heavy and weighted melting out of me as I come on his tongue and I scream his name.
His.
I’m his.
But I already knew that.
When it’s over, and I’ve gone limp, he slides me down over him. My knees hit the rough carpet covering cold, unforgiving stone and all I can do is stare up at him as I try to catch my breath.
He wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb. The way he does it and the way he looks at me, it’s humiliating and arousing all over again.
He takes my face into his hands and mine close over the backs of his. His lips are wet, face smeared with me. And he kisses me hard, kisses me like he owns me.
But he does. He’s told me as much.
When he draws back, he looks at me again, then lifts me to my feet. Strangely, he unzips the dress rather than ripping it the rest of the way off. It pools at my feet as he picks me up, carrying me to his bed.
I’m naked when he lays me down, watching as he undresses, removing his cuff links and setting them aside. Undoing a few buttons at the top of his shirt before pulling it over his head, he never stops looking at me. Doesn’t speak a word as he undoes his belt and his pants, pushing them and his briefs off. I see him for the first time, fully naked. I’ve felt him before, but I’ve never seen him.
I back up a little on the bed. I lick my lips as the muscles of his belly and thighs tense. Then he walks toward me, arms powerful when he climbs up onto the bed before grasping one of my ankles and dragging me toward him.
“Damian…”
He lays his weight on me, not all of it though, some of it on his elbows on either side of my head.
I don’t know what to do with my hands, but when I feel him between my legs, I tense and try to pull away.
“Shh, relax.” One hand closes over the top of my head. He leans his face down to kiss my forehead, my cheek, my mouth. He touches my scar, traces the part on my chin, my lip.
His eyes are open, watching me, and all I can do is watch him back.
His other hand snakes down my side to close over my left thigh, winding down to my calf. He draws my leg up.
“I’m not ready,” I start, hands flat against his chest.
He slides the hand from my thigh to my pussy and rubs my clit. I’m so sensitive already, and it feels so good.
“You’re ready, sweetheart.”
I wrap my hands over his shoulders as he slides his hand back to my leg, opening me wider. I swallow hard because I’m scared. I never thought I’d be scared.
I don’t realize I’m crying until he leans down and licks that tear, then kisses my cheek.
“You’re especially beautiful when you cry.”
“And you like to make me cry.”
“Look at me. Just look at me.”
“I’m scared.” As I say it, my shoulders shudder, and I feel myself curl into him.
Into him. Not shrinking away from him but curling into him.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“It has to happen. You know that.”
I shake my head, turn away.
He touches me with a gentle hand, bringing my face back toward his.
“Did you like my mouth on you?”
“I—”
“No lies. Not now. Not in bed.” The way he says it, it’s strange. He’s not mocking or manipulating. I think. “Tell me the truth, Cristina. Did you like my mouth on you?”