It makes me wonder how the rest of the night will be—especially once we’re alone. The entire reception is tense, from the meal I barely taste to our first dance to the cake cutting. Connor doesn’t pull me close as we dance to a song I don’t recognize and didn’t choose, spinning me emotionlessly around the dance floor until there’s a call for other couples to join us, and then the song ends. He doesn’t dance with me again for the rest of the night, leaving me to do my part by dancing with a few of the other guests and then retiring to our table to watch the party and nervously sip champagne.
I want the wedding night to be good. I want my first time to be good. Part of me wants Connor to lose control, to take me passionately, the way he’s touched me in the past, the way he gave in on our drunken phone call.
Another part of me wonders if there’s any point, when the rest of the marriage is intended to be cold and loveless.Shouldn’t we begin as we mean to go on?The thought lingers with me as the reception comes to an end, and Connor and I leave to the fanfare of music and sparklers, piling into the car once again to take us to the luxury hotel downtown where we’ll be spending our wedding night.
My heart is pounding in the elevator, the memory of the first night I was with Connor in London rushing back, him pinning me to the wall, his fingers in my jeans, inside my panties. My first orgasm by someone else’s hand. There’s nothing like that tonight. He’s on the other side of the elevator, his jaw clenched as tightly as his hand around his leather overnight bag, and I bite my lip as the elevator chimes and we step out onto our floor.
Our room is huge and luxurious, the bed the biggest king-size I’ve ever seen, everything draped in white and gold and soft textured fabrics. We have a balcony and an adjoining bathroom that’s nearly as big as the bedroom, and I set my own overnight bag down by the dresser, feeling the waves of nerves again as I realize this is it.
My wedding night.
Connor goes straight to the wet bar. “Do you want a drink?” he asks crisply, and I nod.
“Sure,” I manage, watching as he makes two gin and tonics and hands me one.
“To our marriage,” he says, tapping the edge of his glass against mine. “May it be a fruitful partnership.”
Something in my stomach twists at the cold toast. I’d known better, of course, than to expect any real sentiment. It shouldn’t hurt in the slightest, but of course it does.
I can’t imagine any girl wants her wedding night to be so emotionless.
What do you want him to do?I ask myself sharply as I take a sip of the drink.Fake it? Pretend? Do you want to start your marriage on lies? Better to be upfront with each other.
Connor finishes his drink, setting it aside, and there’s quiet for a moment. I swallow the last of mine, my mouth feeling dry despite the cool, crisp liquid. “Should we go to bed?” I ask tentatively, feeling my heartbeat speed up a few notches at the words, and Connor raises one eyebrow.
“Do you want to?” Connor asks, moving closer to me, his gait easy and loose, as if he could care less. I don’t see any hint of desire or lust in him, and it hurts.
I lift my chin. “We have to consummate the marriage,” I say stiffly. “That’s a part of this. Besides, you need an heir.”
“Of course,” Connor says smoothly. He’s within a hand’s reach of me now, and I see his blue eyes darken as he looks down at me. “But do youwantto?”
13
SAOIRSE
BUT DO YOU WANT TO?
The way he says it, the hint of desire rasping his words at last, awakens a glow of warmth in my belly. I lick my lips nervously, not wanting to admit that yes, I do want to, that I’ve wanted more than anything for him to finally fuck me, take my virginity, ease the desperate aching inside of me for weeks now. I don’t want to be that open, that vulnerable.
“Of course I want to do my duty,” I say instead, just as stiffly as before. “I wanted all of this, remember?”
“Oh, I remember very well.” Connor slips behind me, and I feel his strong fingers toying with the top button of my dress. “I remember the girl who came into my warehouse in jeans so tight I could almost see the outline of your pussy through them, your top low enough to give me a glimpse of those delicious tits, looking like a wanton lass.”
I close my eyes briefly. Somehow him saying the wordtitssounds altogether more seductive than anyone else ever could, rough and filthy. I swallow hard as his hand splays over the lace covering my flat belly, pulling me back against him as his hand leaves the top button of my dress to push my hair aside.
He’s hard, thick and straining against the fabric of his suit trousers, and my heart leaps in my chest with fluttering, nervous excitement at the idea that before the night is over, I’ll find out what it feels like to have all that thick hardness inside of me.
“You look like a proper Irish princess tonight,” Connor murmurs, pressing his hips against my ass as he brushes his lips over the back of my neck. “Glowing like a candle all in white, pure and virginal. But I know the truth already.”
His lips nip at my earlobe. “I know how you whimper and beg, how responsive you are, how you’ll come at a touch if I get you properly warmed up. I’ll always be the first one to know all of that, Saoirse, no matter who else touches you. For all your life, this body—” his hand slides higher, cupping my lace-covered breast. “—every inch of it, your precious virginity,everything, is mine.Mine.”
Connor growls the last word, his lips on my throat as his other hand drops from my hair to start undoing the buttons down the back of my dress. “Every first pleasure you experience is mine,” he rumbles, his fingers pulling them free so roughly I’m afraid a few might pop off. “No man will ever touch you without my mark being on your skin first.” His lips brush the top of my spine, pressing, sucking lightly as he starts to pull down the zipper, his lips following it. “Your body, your loyalty, your soul belong to me, Saoirse McGregor.”
A tremor rushes through me at hearing my new name on his lips. “What about my heart?” I whisper, and I mean for it to be cuttingly teasing, but it comes out shaky instead, and I hate myself for it.
Connor ends with his lips pressed to the base of my spine, my zipper all the way down, and then he straightens to place his hands on the lace at my shoulders, the sleeves starting to slip down. “You can do what you want with your heart,” he says carelessly, his lips very close to my ear. “What I want is your loyalty, Saoirse. Your obedience. And your promise to me kept, that you will give me heirs, and expect nothing more.”
“I said I would.” There’s a sudden burning behind my eyelids, tears threatening for no reason, but I hold them back. There’s no cause for it. This isn’t new, this isn’t a surprise. This is what our marriage was always meant to be.