Chapter 5

Breathe, Alessia. Just breathe.

How could I breathe when I was pretty sure I was having a heart attack? My pulse pounded as I stared at my reflection in the mirror over the sinks, and tried once again to twist my arms enough to undo the buttons on the back of my dress.

Dammit.

Frustrated tears burned my eyes because none of this was how I’d ever imagined my wedding night.

Or my first time.

I was woman enough to admit I was scared. The one time I’d let a guy’s fingers near my lady business, his nails had been so rough and jagged that he’d cut me. Who knew that a tiny cut to the vag could hurt like a bitch for days?

Granted it was the same college asshole who’d left me stranded at a frat party because I wouldn’t put out, but come on. What jerk had fingernails long enough to actually cut a pussy?

I was hoping I’d be able to change into my most grandmotherly flannel jammies in an attempt at warding off my husband, but I was rapidly realizing the man had given me a gown that would require assistance getting out of.

And, unless I wanted to call the beauty team he’d assembled earlier to help me get ready, I was going to need to ask him for his help.

Or Hulk out and rip through the stunning layers of silk and satin.

Why did the idea of destroying my wedding dress make me hesitate? It’s not like I’d picked it out.

But I would have.

The style was me. Elegant, classic, and simple, with just the right amount of sparkle on the dress. It was like Warwick had reached into my head and plucked out my fantasy down to the freaking flowers. Even the diamond band was quietly understated in a way that I adored.

I wasn’t a girl who’d wanted to be the center of attention in front of hundreds, or even dozens, of people. I would’ve picked a quiet ceremony with just my grandparents.

I couldn’t even say there were friends I’d invite, because the last several years of taking care of my grandparents left me even more isolated than normal. The few friendships I’d managed to form at the beginning of college faded as I traded my time at clubs and parties for chemo and palliative care.

And I wouldn’t have had it any other way. My grandparents had stepped up to care for me when they should’ve been able to live a child-free life. They’d raised me, and I was honored to care for them when the time came.

But damn if it wasn’t lonely.

Sniffling, I lifted my eyes to the mirror once more. “Get it together, Sia.”

The soft knock on the bathroom door was polite. “Is everything all right?”

I glanced at the clock on the wall, happily ticking away the remaining seconds of my sanctuary, and realized I’d been in the bathroom for over fifteen minutes.

Knowing I couldn’t put this off any longer, I turned and opened the bathroom door.

Seeing Warwick on the other side of the door wasn’t a surprise. What left me speechless was that he’d lost his shirt and undone the button of his black pants.

I’d seen paparazzi shots of Warwick on different beach vacations—because of course I’d googled him for hours after learning he was the man responsible for the demise of Ice by Winters. The man clearly worked out. But seeing it in the literal flesh?

Damn.

His olive-toned skin was stretched taut over hard muscles, his chest gleaming and solid. I had the stupidest urge to poke one of his pecs to see if it was real. To trace the contours of his abs and test their firmness. The thin trail of dark black hair that disappeared into the waistband of his pants made me ache to see more.

“Alessia.” His tone had no inflection, but it sounded like a gunshot through my ogling.

I pressed a hand to my chest. “I’m sorry.”

His lips barely twitched. “What for?”

Staring at you like the Greeks sculpted you to resemble Adonis? “Taking so long?”

The tip of his tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and why was that simple action mesmerizing?

I shook my head. “I can’t get out of this dress.”

He gave a slow nod. “Would you like help?”

“Yes, please,” I replied in a small voice as I turned so he could see the back.

Warm fingers ghosted against my shoulders, and I sucked in a soft breath at the jolt that echoed in my bones. Gradually, after Warwick undid several of the buttons, the gown started to loosen. I had to clutch the front of the dress to my chest to keep it from slipping.

It was silly and futile, but I was desperate to cling onto the last pieces of modesty while I could.

Warwick cleared his throat. “I’m finished.”

“Thank you.” I started to step away, but his hands landed on my shoulders.

I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. My knees shook when I felt his chest press against my back. His hands slid down my arms, and his breath feathered across my shoulder.

“Wh-What are you doing?” I stammered, certain he’d hear my heart about to gallop through my chest.

He brushed the barest of kisses on my shoulder. “Seducing my wife.” He pressed another kiss to the side of my throat while reaching around to help my fingers release the dress.

With a shuddering gasp, I let go of the fabric and felt it pool around my ankles, leaving me in a strapless white bra and matching lace panties that hugged the slight curve of my ass.

“The dress will wrinkle,” I muttered, grasping at straws to slow things down even as I tilted my head to give him better access.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he murmured, his teeth lightly scraping over my pulse point as one arm wrapped around my stomach. His thick fingers splayed across my lower belly, the tip of one finger dipping just inside the edge of my panties.

His touch was hot, branding my skin as he held me with an intimate sort of possession that left me aching for more.

“Warwick,” I whimpered, biting my lower lip as he slid his other hand up my ribs to palm one breast. His thumb gently stroked across the fabric of my bra, and I felt my nipple pebble in response.

He kissed my jaw. “Wick. My friends call me Wick.”

The rest of his fingers slipped under the elastic band of my underwear, but he stopped any further descent.

“Are we friends?” I managed to get out.

His low, rough chuckle rumbled through his chest and into my back. “No, sweetheart. We’re going to be so much more than just friends.”

I wrapped my hands around his wrist, not sure if I was trying to tug his hand out of my panties or push them lower. My mind was buzzing, my skin electrified. And I was becoming increasingly aware that the spot between my legs was becoming slick.

“Alessia?” He squeezed my breast. “I can hear you thinking, wife.”

“I’ve never done this,” I admitted, not sure why confessing my virginity felt like something to be ashamed of. Maybe because I’d seen pictures of Warwick Forrester with a myriad of stunning women. Blondes, brunettes, redheads. Actresses, models, and even a surgeon.

I would have bet my brand new inheritance that my husband had more experience than most brothels, and that made me nervous he would find my lack of experience boring or frustrating.

The fact that I was about to have sex with a man I’d decided was my sworn enemy was barely a blip in the face of the very stark realization that I was about to have sex for the first time ever.

And if I was bad at it, that would somehow be even more humiliating than signing up to be purchased like a mail-order bride from the 1800s.

Wick’s arms tightened around me. “I’m well aware that I’m about to be your first, sweetheart. The questionnaire you completed was shared with me. Every single detail.”

I felt my cheeks turn crimson because I knew exactly what questionnaire he meant. Part of my application to Wife for Hire was a very detailed list of sexual experiences I’d had or would be open to trying.

And, yeah, there were quite a few things I’d needed to look up.

My medical workup prior to the wedding had included a visit to the gynecologist who had confirmed—in writing—my V card status.

“Do you know how enthralling it is to know my cock will be the only cock ever inside your tight cunt? That you waited for me?” His hips thrust against my ass, and I sucked in a sharp breath at the firm outline of his hard cock pressing against me.

“I must admit, I do love that my wife is willing to try so many things,” he added, his index finger and thumb rolling my nipple, “but I think we’ll keep things simple for our first time.”

“Oh. Okay,” I managed, swallowing a cry as I felt the dull thud of my pulse between my legs. My breathing turned ragged as I remembered the lengthy list of sexual activities I claimed I’d be up for trying.

Hopefully he wasn’t planning on crossing out a few this evening, because I was pretty certain that missionary was going to wreck me with this man. There was zero mistaking the size of the anaconda pressing against his pants and jabbing my ass.

Wick paused, then slowly turned me in his arms. One massive hand gripped my hip while the other wrapped around my throat in a gentle, but firm, hold. His dark eyes searched mine. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” I fibbed, my gaze darting away.

His eyes narrowed. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t lie to me. It’s a poor start to a marriage, and you’re not very good at it.”

I glared at him. “Fine. Yes. I’m nervous. Scared. Uncertain.” I hesitated. “I’m guessing there’s no way to put this off?”

He shook his head. “Delaying the inevitable will only make you more uneasy.”

“Or give me a chance to reconcile the reality,” I argued weakly.

“Would you?” He arched a brow, daring me to lie.

I sighed. “No.”

“Is there a specific reason why you’ve opted to remain a virgin?” His question took me by surprise.

“I guess not,” I answered, wishing I could figure out what to do with my arms. They were just hanging limp at my sides. I should touch him, right? I awkwardly placed my palms on his chest.

His full lips quirked. “Why do I feel like you’re still not being honest?”

I huffed. “Fine, my Nonna was a devout Catholic who believed premarital sex was a sin. I sat through several lectures about the value of my flower,” I cringed a little, “and I guess it stuck.”

“Are you religious?”

I gaped up at him. “Are we seriously debating theology while I’m in my underwear?”

His lips curved into a devastating grin. “I’d prefer having all discussions with you in your underwear. In fact, I think it should be a rule that conversations be had while you’re in a state of undress.”

“Why not naked?” I deadpanned.

He didn’t blink. “Fine by me. I didn’t want to come across as rude by demanding nudity right off the bat, but if you’re offering…”

A laugh bubbled out of me as I caught the teasing glint in his eyes. Who knew Warwick Forrester, billionaire playboy and corporate titan, had a sense of humor?

“Maybe you should be naked, too,” I countered, my hands feeling less awkward on his chest the longer they rested there. His skin was soft, the muscles beneath it hard and sculpted, with a strength I wanted to snuggle into when the storms rolled in.

His voice dropped several octaves. “Sweetheart, I’ll be naked anytime you ask.” His thumb rubbed slow circles on my hip bone as the hand around my throat slid to the back of my neck. He leaned his forehead against mine and drew in a slow breath. “I forgot to tell you how stunning you looked today. And how goddamn lucky I am that you’re mine.”

Mine.

Not my wife, just mine.

A shiver rolled through me as I shared oxygen with him, our breaths coming out in shallow pants. The way he simply stated I was his should’ve sent me into a panic, into worry. But it didn’t.

Instead, something darkly forbidden unfurled low in my belly. “Wick.”

His nose bumped mine. “I’m going to kiss you now, Alessia.”

“And then what?” I whispered.

He grinned again, and I felt my legs turn to jelly. “Then I’m going to make my wife scream my name while I fuck her.”