Chapter 2
HE HATED HIMSELF, BUT he pushed that aside, telling himself he needed to do this, telling himself they both knew why this was important. He watched as slowly, her breathing returned to normal, as the muscles spasming around his finger calmed; he watched as her eyes went from the fevered wildness of a moment ago to a look of confusion, and then the dawning of embarrassment, and he refused to let her feel that.
“You are my wife,” he growled, as much for his own benefit as hers. “This is natural. Normal. Expected.”
The fine column of her throat shifted as she swallowed convulsively and he pulled his hands from her body, just for a moment, just so he could move his grip to her hips, where the fine, lace dress sat firm. He held her gaze in the mirror, challenging her to look away before he pushed the dress lower, over the swell of her neat buttocks, and down her legs. He crouched, then, and pressed a kiss to the curve of one perfect butt cheek. She pushed her head back, and he heard his name in her throat, like it was trapped there, and his body tensed.
This should have been Addan. She should have been Addan’s.
He flattened his mouth, reminding himself this was just sex, that she was just a woman who’d been trained for the role of his bride, and that included this.
He guided the dress to her ankles until she stepped out of it and then he stood, swiftly, and lifted her, carrying her to the bed; there was no sense in prolonging this, in taking his time with the seduction.
He’d get her out of his system, that was all he needed to do. To get this over with so he could begin moving on. She was his wife, and sex was going to be a part of their relationship. It was a simple transaction; it wasn’t a betrayal of Addan.
He stared down at her naked body, her beautiful naked body, her face flushed with pleasure, pupils huge, lips parted, and his gut churned, because he was enjoying this so much more than he should.
“My country needs an heir,” he said, simply, pushing his pants down.
Her eyes dragged down his body and he watched her, looking at him, and her cheeks blushed more, and her lips closed, as she stared at his erect cock and he hated that he was going to be her first, even when he loved that he was.
“I am sorry,” he heard himself say, as his hands moved back to her supple skin, parting her legs, and he moved his body over her.
“What for?” She asked quietly, her American accent thicker now than usual.
“If it weren’t for the necessity of a child, this could be… left. We would not have to rush…”
At that, her eyes flared wide. “I don’t think I see any point in delaying the inevitable. Do you?”
His expression hardened. “No.”
And so, they were back to how this had all began, with her bare challenge to get this over. To just do it.
He ground his teeth, looking at her face, watching her, wondering at her lack of fear, when before their wedding she’d been quivering all over.
“You will tell me if it hurts,” he said, with uncharacteristic gentleness.
“You’d better believe it.”
He bit back a laugh, his hands finding her thighs and spreading them wider, and the tip of his cock nudged at her womanhood. She grabbed her breath in her lungs and held it there.
He told himself to be gentle. He told himself to go slowly, to savour this, but his body was fighting him, desperate to take her, desperate to drive his hard length into her sweet core, to rid her of her innocence, to meld his body to hers. He was desperate for her in a way that disgusted him, and angered him.
“Don’t prolong,” she said, anxious now, and he saw in her eyes the fear at what was about to happen. His disgust grew. His disgust at this arrangement, at the marriage that was necessitated by his country’s political needs, at his brother’s death, at his brother’s betrothal, and at this woman. This innocent foreigner who was to carry in her body the heir to his country. Plenty of women had begged him to sleep with them, had cried out his name, screamed it into the air, their voices husky with passion, sometimes, two women at once, fawning over his body, driving him wild as he prepared to return that favour.
None had looked at him with a sense of reluctant anger, a stoic determination, and told him to get on with it.
He expelled a breath. He was overthinking this. It was Addan.
The fact his brother had loved her, and lost her – and all he deserved in life.
A year had passed – the respectful period of mourning had been observed.
He braced his arms on either side of her head, his powerful body above hers, and stared down into her beautiful face. Eyes that seemed to show everything she felt, that had seemed to sparkle with acerbic amusement when she teased Addan were now laced with pride and determination.
It rankled.
“Just do it,” she demanded, lifting her hips up, and he heard what she didn’t say. Get it over with.