I think about our wedding night, trying to remind myself of exactly what it is that I don’t want. But I suddenly can’t seem to remember how scared and upset I was to find out that Rossi was forcing him to take my virginity. I can’t seem to remember why I’d told him to get it over with. All I can remember is the way his fingers had felt grazing over my spine as he’d undone the back of my dress, how gorgeous his naked body had been. I’d never seen a naked man in person before, but I’m certain that his cock was the most perfectly made that it could be. Long and thick and straight, nearly pressing up against his belly, he’d been so hard.
Because ofme. He’d wantedme. No matter how much he tries to deny it.
I rarely thought about sex before Luca. I’d only ever gotten myself off a couple times when I’d been so curious I couldn’t resist. I’d been too busy with other things to really make physical pleasure, with myself or anyone else, a priority. But now, alone in the movie room, I forget about the fact that I’m supposed to despise my husband. I forget that there might be cameras, that anyone might see. The memory of Luca stalking towards our bridal bed, his face dark and determined, his body rippling with muscle, his cock rock-hard from the sight of me naked atop it, is making me wet despite myself. I can feel it, how hot and slick I am at my core, the thin cloth of my lounge shorts clinging to me.
It’s easy to slide the fabric aside, pushing the tray away so that I have more room, my legs spreading slightly apart as I tease myself just a little, sliding one finger up the crease of my pussy. I remember Luca calling it that the night he bent me over the couch, telling me how wet I was for him, how much I wanted him.
And I had. But I’d told myself it was because Luca was there touching me, saying those dirty things to me, forcing my body to respond. That was why I’d been so wet, why I’d wanted to kiss him back, why I’d wanted so badly to come when he’d played with me that night on the couch.
He’s not here now, though. He’s not making me slide my finger between my folds, dragging the tip of it through the arousal gathered there up to my clit, making a small circle around that hardened nub until I gasp and my hips arch up. He’s not making me think about the way his cock had felt filling me for the first time, the first and only time a man has been inside of me, that close to me, and the way I’d regretted just for a moment telling him to get it over with.
He’s not making me think about the way he’d kissed me when he lost control, the way he’d shuddered against me, the way it had felt when he’d thrust that last time. I’d known he was orgasming, that only the thin condom kept him from filling me up with his cum, thatI’ddone that. I’d made him lose control, even with all my inexperience, all my protests.
Maybe that’s why. He got off because he knew you didn’t want it.
That’s the worst possibility, of course. But I don’t think that’s the case. I don’t think Luca likes forcing me because he wouldn’t have made me sleep with him on our wedding night. Since then, he’s gone to great pains to make me think that he doesn’t want to again.
But I’m not sure I believe it.
I know that all of this is the product of my feverish mind, muddled with all the alcohol I’ve drunk today and overcome with a sudden rush of desire for a man I know I don’t really want. Even still, I let myself imagine for just a moment what he might do if I gave in. If I said I wanted him.
Would he do the things Ana used to gleefully tell me about after her best dates? Things I hadn’t imagined doing before now? Would he go down on me, lick me where my fingers are stroking right now, circle my clit with his tongue like I am with my finger, keep going until I cried out and came? How would he fuck me if I let him?
I can hardly imagine it. Part of me feels detached, unable to believe that I’m masturbating in the middle of this room right now, my thin shorts pushed aside and my bare pussy on display for anyone who might walk in. But I can’t seem to stop. I push two fingers inside myself, trying to pretend that it’s Luca’s cock, trying to decide if that arouses me, but it can’t possibly feel as big as he had. Still, my thumb rubbing over my clit makes my hips buck up into my hand, my breathing coming faster and faster as I try to imagine his mouth on me instead, his head buried between my thighs.
“Oh god—” I moan aloud, my thighs tensing as I realize out of the blue that I’m about to come. It feels stronger than any time I’ve done this before, the pressure building until I’m desperate for it, almost as good as when Luca teased me to the edge that night that he came all over my ass, his hot seed dripping down the curve of my cheek, over my thigh—
“Fuck!” I squeal with surprise, unable to believe that last thought pushed me over the edge as my whole body starts to shudder, pleasure sweeping over me. I moan and writhe in the seat, feeling the wet heat that spreads over my fingers onto my hand, my clit pulsing under my thumb.
And then, as the waves of my orgasm recede and the room comes back into focus, I realize exactly what I just did.
“Oh my god.” I yank my shorts back into place, my cheeks flushing red. There’s no place in this apartment that doesn’t have cameras except for the bathroom, I’m sure of it. Luca’s mentioned to me several times how much security there is here. What if one of his guards saw me? What ifLucalooks back at the footage and sees me?
My heart is pounding, from the orgasm or the fear of getting caught, I’m not sure. He’ll never let me live it down if he sees it, that’s for sure. And if he finds out that one of his guards saw it—
Will he punish them? Will he punishme? I swallow hard, ignoring the small shiver of arousal that creeps down my spine at the thought.
Without another thought, I grab my drink, picking up my takeout trays of sushi and flinging them into the trash. My appetite is completely gone, my entire body numb now with the realization of what I just did, and I’m horrified with myself.
I just masturbated for the first time in a year or more, probably, and I did it thinking aboutLuca. My husband. The man who forced me to give up my virginity. The man who cut into my thigh afterward when I didn’t bleed. The man who could have come up with that idea in the first place and kept me from having to sleep with him at all.
I feel sick all over again.
The drink is gone by the time I make it to the bedroom, and I set the glass on the dresser, not caring if Luca sees it later. My head feels dizzy with alcohol, my skin flushed and itchy, and I can’t remember the last time I was this drunk. Maybe never.
I manage to make it into the shower and stand under the hot spray of water until I lose track of time, leaning against the wall. I try to push the thought of what I just did out of my head, convince myself that Luca won’t find out, won’t care, won’t do anything if he does.
Even though I know that’s not true.
I feel worn down and exhausted by the day, by everything preceding it. At some point, I get out of the shower and half-heartedly dry off, stumbling into the bedroom. I feel my stomach twist with trepidation and nausea as I climb into the massive bed, sitting awkwardly in the middle for a minute.
Which side is Luca’s? Which side will he want me to sleep on? Does it matter?
The thought seems so ludicrous I want to burst out laughing. I almost do, a squeak of it escaping from my lips as I sit in the middle of the dark grey duvet in the unfamiliar bedroom, in a bed that’s not mine.
Finally, I just pick a side. I crawl under the comforter, remembering the first night I woke up here in this bed, before I knew about any of this—before I knew that Luca would be my husband, before I knew that everything I’d dreamed about was gone.
I wonder what it will be like when he inevitably comes back when he’s in bed next to me. I reach out and place my hand on the cool spot on the other side, where the sheet is smooth and undisturbed, the pillows neatly stacked. At some point, there will be a person here. My husband.
I’d never shared a bed with anyone before my wedding night. Now I’ll share one every night with a man I should loathe, but who I clearly have far more complicated feelings about.
And I don’t have the slightest idea what to do about that.