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  Jovie was still awake. I let her coax me out of my foul mood. It didn’t take long. She braided my hair while we watched an episode of our latest K-drama and told me a story about a runway show she’d done where they’d made all of the models dress like terrifying clowns.

  Eventually the tension in my shoulders and the clenching of my fists eased enough that I warmed up enough to share. I gave her an edited version of the night. I left out my jerk of a husband’s words and all the things not fit for fourteen-year-old ears. She agreed that my husband’s privileged rich girl friends were all skanky bitches and hoes. Her company was just what the doctor ordered. I reflected, not for the first time, how lucky it was that we’d found each other.

  We called it quits after about an hour. I felt worlds better, courtesy of my newly adopted baby model. Jovie had acclimated to sleeping by herself, mostly, and she gave me a big hug before skipping to my spare room which was now firmly her room. I wondered to myself how long she’d stay with me and secretly hoped it was indefinitely. Sometimes you don’t realize how lonely you are until you find just the right company.

  I went to bed alone and with a smile on my face.

  I woke up in the dead of night, hot and bothered.

  And I wasn’t alone.

  Calder’s large form was stretched out on top of me, his arms bracing tightly outside of mine, bracketing me in. The thin T-shirt I’d gone to bed in was gone. My panties were gone, too. I was completely bare.

  One of his muscular thighs was shoved high between my legs. I was rubbing wantonly against it.

  “I thought you were staying at your own place.” The words came out of me in soft, unwanted pants.

  “I tried,” he murmured into my ear.

  “I thought you needed sleep,” I said.

  “Forget what I need.” His mouth slid along my jaw and down my throat. “Give me what I want.” As he spoke he pressed his palm low on my belly, touching my clit oh so softly with his thumb. I pushed myself against it.

  He fingered my sex with the softest whisper of a touch and purred his approval into my ear. “Good girl. Already wet for me. I could slip my cock inside you right now, but I won’t. Not just yet.” His words were low, soft puffs against my flesh. “First, I’m going to make you come. I need to taste you again. I’m going to eat you out before I fuck you. And not like the first time. This time I’m going to fuck you right. You’re going to be ready this time. More than ready. You’re going to beg me for it. I’m going to show you that you love having my cock buried balls deep inside you.”

  “Oh, God,” I breathed, embarrassed and aroused.

  I opened my mouth to say I don’t know what, but words were not what escaped me as he started to push one of his big fingers into me. It entered me slowly, carefully.

  My eyes shut at the aching sensations pulsing through me. It was sobering, how vulnerable I felt as he invaded me with just that one thick, curious finger.

  He took his time feeling me, testing my cunt.

  “You’re squeezing me like a vise. This is just my finger, Noura.” His breath was ragged in my ear. “Imagine how tight you’re going to hug my cock.”

  I didn’t whimper, but it was a close thing. I didn’t know if it was his dirty talk, his touch, or my name on his lips, but he was getting to me good. How could I let someone who held such disdain for me affect me so? I hated it and loved it all at once. Everything I felt only added to my arousal.

  He tugged his finger out of me abruptly, moving to stand.

  “Lie down on the edge of the bed. On your back.” He paced restlessly as he spoke.

  I sprawled where he’d instructed. A small part of me wanted to shut my eyes in shame, mortified at what I was submitting to, embarrassed at how he affected me.

  A larger part of me, the part of me that won out, couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  He stopped in his tracks. He was staring at my body. He caught his lip between his teeth as his gaze traced over me, avidly and thoroughly.

  He moved back to the bed. He hooked my leg over his arm, hitching it up, spreading my legs wide.

  I was trembling, my nipples drawn tight, everything bared to him. Sensations overwhelmed me, everything inside of me warring with itself. Shame, chagrin, desire, hunger, shock, confusion.

  Desire won. I squirmed. Not in discomfort. In anticipation for the return of his touch.

  He reached between my legs with both hands, and parted me oh so softly with his fingers. “You’re lovely everywhere,” he told me quietly. “So tender and pink. Just for me. Say it. Say this is just for me.”

  “This is just for you,” I said, voice thready with need.

  Painstakingly and with utmost care, he slid two thick fingers into me.

  I watched him, eyes dissecting his face with avid interest as he breached me. I loved how absolutely he was focused on me, his lower lip bitten as though in deep concentration.

  “I’m going to make you come so hard, Noura,” he crooned as he pulled his fingers out and thrust them gently back in.

  I clenched eagerly around him, my breath panting in and out.

  He pulled out, dragging the pad of his fingers along every sensitive nerve inside of me, then pumped back in. “You’re even a snug fit for my fingers. I can’t stop remembering how good this hot little cunt felt when it was hugging my cock.” He drew out and shoved back in, this time going deeper, harder until I had to shift, trying to ease the pressure.

  “I’m going to ride you bare,” he bent lower, nuzzling between my breasts as he spoke into my skin. “I’m going to fill you with my cum.”

  His mouth surrounded the peak of my breast and oh so softly bit right as his fingers pulled out. He started pumping them in and out, quick, smooth and shallow.

  I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was keyed up and turned on. I started jerking my hips, trying clumsily to match his movements. My arms were flung out, my fingertips digging restlessly into the sheets.

  I whimpered out a protest when he tugged his fingers out.

  “Shh,” he breathed into my skin, his mouth working soft as a whisper along my flesh. He moved lower, his lips running along my ribs, down my belly, not stopping until his gorgeous face was wedged between my legs.

  He stretched me open with his big hands and touched the very tip of his tongue to my clit.

  My hips jerked and I cried out.

  He nuzzled against me, then started licking, lapping luxuriously from taint to clit.

  “Please.” He wrung the word out of someplace deep inside of me.

  He raised his head, looking up my sweat slick torso, through his thick black lashes at me. “Please what? What are you asking me for?”

  I didn’t even know. Only he did, and he was well aware of that fact. I said it again.

  He smiled, and lowered his mouth back down to my sex.

  He locked his mouth over my cunt, thrusting his tongue into me, over and over.

  My hands were in his hair before I could stop myself, clutching him against me, my hips bucking, shoving myself into his mouth.

  He said something into my flesh, but I couldn’t make it out over the roaring in my ears.

  He latched his lush lips over my clit and started sucking.

  I barely held in a scream.

  One of his hands was at my breast, kneading, plucking, rubbing. The other hand stayed between my legs, two of his fingers shoved into me. He pounded them in and out.

  He did all of these things to me, all at once, and I lost all sense of time and reason.

  I didn’t just come. I was moved. I felt. I yearned. Wanted. Coveted.

  In that moment it was apparent to me that there was some sort visceral, primal connection between us. It was powerful and undeniable.

  The way he touched me.

  Kissed me.

  Held me. Savored me.

  Breathed me.

  Like I was necessary for his next breath.

  It was such a lie, but I needed it.

  I�
��d been prepared to submit for his pleasure, to do whatever was necessary for it, but I had not been in any way prepared for my own.

  I had assumed that since I’d been instructed that I was not ignorant.

  Oh how wrong I’d been.

  Finding my own stingy, small release in private was not the same animal as having it wrung out of me by his hands, his lips, his tongue.

  I was mortified to find that the feelings he pulled from me were somehow more than physical. They messed with my chest. My head, too.

  And they were powerful. I couldn’t reason myself out of them.

  Somehow it was much more of a violation than the act of his body invading mine, this turning of my body and emotions against me. I’d never imagined this part of the arrangement, let alone agreed to it.

  And just as soon as I came down from the high, out of body experience of coming so hard I forgot my own name, I promised myself I’d be resenting the hell out of him for it.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  I was a boneless, thoughtless puddle on the bed. The only thing working were my eyes, and they followed his movements as he pulled away.

  I hadn’t even noticed that he’d been fully clothed between my naked thighs until he started to strip.

  He was moving with swift impatience, but it was still a good show.

  He looked down as he worked impatiently at the buttons of his shirt. His hair fell forward, his lashes falling into thick shadows against his taut cheeks.

  He was as handsome as a fallen angel with silky, inky black hair, and deep olive skin.

  He shrugged out of his shirt. It was a sight, the powerful muscles of his shoulders working under his crisp white material as he worked. I drank in the sight of his ripped, tanned torso as he started working on his trousers.

  I’d known that he was large and muscular, but his shoulders were stronger and wider than I’d imagined, hard muscles moving under his skin, jumping and flexing with his every movement. His chest was large and built, his pectorals swollen, his small brown nipples hardened into tight points. The hard ridges of his abdomen were starkly defined, his body arrowing down to hips that were a slim contrast to his wide shoulders. God, he was beautiful.

  He wasn’t just a playboy or a businessman. He’d earned a body like that. He’d worked for it.

  In reality I didn’t own any part of him, but in that moment I felt a keen, perverse thrill that this magnificent creature was my husband and that no one else had that honor.

  My breath punched out of me as he pushed his slacks down over his hips, boxers and all.

  His sex was thick and long, curving up to his navel. He was fully aroused, and it was as intimidating as it was enthralling.

  I felt a primordial thrill move through me. Strange as it was, our bodies were made for each other. One owning the other. His cock was an instrument of power, and he was moments away from claiming me with it. And I wanted him to. Needed it.

  When he was fully nude he paused for a moment, and we took each other in.

  I was sprawled, legs open, still limp from my orgasm, but alive, so alive, and so wet and ready for more.

  His tall form was tensed, looking a second away from pouncing, eyes hungry. His long, athletic legs flexing with the effort to stay in place.

  We watched each other for one pounding heartbeat, two, three, four. He was teasing us both.

  His hand started stroking his rigid length, and my eyes were drawn to the sight. My body went from boneless to rigid with anticipation. I wanted more. I wanted him fully. I wanted a true consummation. I craved having him inside of me.

  Finally he moved, striding to the bed. He lowered himself over me, pressing kisses to my belly, working slowly up to my breasts. He sucked at each of my nipples before making his way up to my neck.

  He lined his cock up to fuck me. I tensed. The first time had been painful, but that had been another world, another dimension, a different copy of me. He hadn’t bothered to tune my body to the music of his touch then. I hadn’t been ready. I was beyond ready now.

  He pulled his mouth away from my skin, looking down between our slick, naked bodies. My eyes followed his.

  He held himself up with one arm. The other reached down. He gripped his thick length and teased me with the tip, rimming my sex. His breath was panting out of him.

  My heart was pounding so hard in my ears that I wondered if he could hear it. If he could see it moving in my chest.

  “Touch me,” he hissed out between clenched teeth.

  I reached for him, and his arousal fell heavily into my hands. I squeezed him. The fingers of one hand barely fit around the thick girth of him. He was so hard, but his skin was like velvet. The contrast of something so hard wrapped in silk was delightful. Thrilling. Intoxicating. I stroked him, feeling all of him with my palms. With hungry enthusiasm I fisted him with both hands, root to tip.

  I was just getting started when he tugged my hands away with a curse. “Too much,” he warned me. “I’m too primed right now, and I want to come inside of you.”

  “Yes,” I said, voice agonized, thready with need. My arms fell back onto the mattress. I could count the seconds since he’d gotten me off, but it wasn’t enough. I was empty again. Aching and I wanted him inside of me, filling me utterly. I wanted it all, and only that part of him was enough.

  He kept himself propped up on one elbow, the tension in his muscles making them stand out starkly in his shoulders.

  His other arm was busy guiding the wide crest of his thick length against my entrance.

  Both of our eyes were trained on his rigid member as it breached me. He let out a tortured moan as he fed his cock into me with utmost care.

  I tried to suppress my own moan as he slid in oh so slowly. His long, hot, velvety shaft stretched me with every bit of progress. My tender muscles clutched at him, my breaths coming short and fast.

  He was still looking down between our bodies, his features slack with desire. I knew instinctively that he was too far gone to slow down, let alone stop. Good. Stopping wasn’t an option. I needed more.

  I took his thick length all the way to the root. There was no pain this time, just a delightful, overwhelming, racking stretch.

  It was almost too much and exactly enough.

  “God,” he said, his deep voice hoarse with delicious agony. “I’d convinced myself that I’d imagined you felt like this.”

  His heady words, the way he spoke them, were undeniably flattering. And a shock. It was news to me that he’d enjoyed any aspect of our wedding night. I tucked the knowledge away for later consumption.

  He started to move, not pulling out but shifting around, feeling me, massaging a sweetly tender spot inside of me that I hadn’t even known was there. But he knew. He navigated his way inside me like it was second nature, like he’d been there a thousand times instead of once.

  My nails dragged into the sheets, my legs curling naturally around his hips.

  “You ready?” he panted into my skin.

  “Yes, keep going,” I huffed back.

  “Keep going? I haven’t even gotten started.”

  And with that, he started fucking me. It was only my second time, but he didn’t go soft or easy on me.

  Exactly and precisely the opposite.

  His rigid cock nailed me straight into the mattress.

  It was devastation.

  It was heaven. It was hell. I was overcome.

  Turns out, I loved fucking. Took to it like a natural whore. Oh the wonderful, bitter irony.

  Once he started, he didn’t let up at all.

  He had me in a tireless tempo. In a perfect, strident battering of body and wills. A giving and a taking of flesh pounding flesh.

  There was a brutal, concentrated focus to the way he fucked that got to me. It was art. It was poetry. It was creation. Perverse chaos done in explicit order. It was the wonder of nature and the debasement of humanity.

  Oh my body. I said goodbye to it then. It was his. H
e really did own me now. In law and in fact.

  Was it always like this, or was this all him and I? Something that we owned alone. A private piece of paradise just for us.

  He grabbed my hips, tilting me into an angle that had the plush head of his shaft rubbing me just right with every drive home.

  His hips churned as he rutted in and out, in and out, his thick length pulling out until his blunt crest rimmed me before slamming back in, balls deep every time. And fast. Urgent. Frenzied.

  Every single plundering lunge was satisfying and complete.

  He called me a whore, but he was the one who fucked like it was his job. His very purpose in life.

  I kept my eyes closed the whole time.

  I never pictured his face when he was inside of me. I never said his name. I did those small things right.

  Still somehow I lived and breathed for his touch. His possession.

  He drummed in and wrenched out of me with a desperate, masterful rhythm, his hips oscillating in and out, drawing back and driving in, again and again with increasing tempo.

  The pressurized tide inside of me built and built, finally letting loose on an upsurge right as he hit the end of me with a soft, desperate grunt.

  I came in a torrent. In a deluge. My anxiety, my fear, my anger, my soul poured out of me. I tried to keep my eyes shut tight like that would keep some of it in.

  My sex gripped his thickness in beating, milking pulses, sucking him deep and holding him there.

  My eyes opened somewhere in the middle of it in spite of my efforts. Our gaze clashed. It was a raw, aching moment, vulnerable and naked. I wasn’t alone here. He was going through some earth shattering of his own.

  I was too shaken by the moment to feel even an ounce of self-satisfaction at the reveal.

  He swore harshly, yanking out of me with one sudden, savage wrench.

  I looked down between our bodies and for one fleeting moment I saw that he had pulled out mid-climax. Cum was still spurting out of his tip.

  In a flash he rolled me over and up onto my hands and knees then started pumping into me again, hips slamming against my ass with each forceful plunge as he rubbed out every last twitch of his orgasm, rooting his cum out deep inside of my sensitive flesh.