Chapter 34

Vivian

No, it doesn't.The thick rod under my palm feels angry, hard, and eager. It feels too big, too much, too everything. It feels full of life. It feels like it wants to fill me up and impale me with such force, I'll feel it at the back of my throat. It feels… Immense and overwhelming, and also, strong and devastatingly forceful. It feels like him. It feels like it's going to hurt when he tries to fit that monster cock inside of me. And how I"m going to enjoy every bit of that burn. How I can't wait to give him my virginity.

I can't wait any longer to be his completely, and yet—a shiver of apprehension runs through me.

"Make sure you don't give up everything too easily. Keep a little of yourself from him. Nothing like a little enigma to keep the marriage interesting, know what I mean?"Imelda's parting words echo in my mind.

Once I give myself to him, once I submit, will I find myself again? Will I lose my identity and everything I am to him?

I begin to move my hand away, but he lays his palm over mine to hold it in place. The warmth of his fingers bleeds into my skin, and it's reassuring. Which is strange, because the thickness under my palm is anything but. He leans in and, but for where I'm touching his cock with his hand on mine, we're not touching at all. His breath sears my cheek.

I lower my gaze to his mouth—that mouth which is more often than not in a straight line meant to convey his displeasure, that finely sculpted upper lip which hints at an austere nature, the illusion of which is shattered by that puffy lower lip. The one I want to sink my teeth into.

My intent must show in the way I'm staring at his mouth for he lowers his voice to a hush and growls, "Do it."

Constellations of desire pinprick under my skin. Without allowing myself to think, I close the remaining distance and bite down on his mouth. He doesn't flinch. Not even when the coppery taste of blood fills my palate. I look up and into his eyes. Our fingers intertwine, and he moves my palm down the length of his hardness. He grows bigger and wider, if that's possible. Heat sears my skin. My throat dries.

"See what you do to me, Raven?" He rubs his nose against mine. "You make me feel like I'm a teenager who's going to blow his load in his pants."

"But you're not."

"I'm not. Because I'm not letting myself or you come. Not until I've taken you to the edge many times over." His dick throbs as if to punctuate his words.

I swallow. "Sounds painful."

"Oh, it will be." There's an evil glint in his eyes.

"Are you trying to scare me off?"

"Am I succeeding?"

I want to say yes, but honestly, I'm dripping. And his veiled threat heightens my need for him and turns my core into a mass of quivering anticipation.

I shake my head.

This time, his lips twist in a smirk that causes those constellations in my body to glow brighter. Moisture bathes the flesh between my legs. My breasts hurt; my scalp tingles. I"m a mass of burning need. The car comes to a stop—thank God! He pulls his hand out from under mine, pushes the door open, and steps out. He helps me to my feet, then sweeps me up in his arms.

"Whoa!" I wrap my arms about his shoulders and, because I can't stop myself, I bury my nose in the curve of his neck. I should protest, but there's something very romantic about being carried bride-style by my husband up the steps of his townhouse— Wait, it's not a townhouse, it's a Victorian-built manor that wouldn't look out of place in Downton Abbey. I look around the unfamiliar rolling gardens that surround the house. As far as I can tell, there are no other buildings around us for miles. Only a tree line in the distance, and beyond that, the gates through which we drove. He distracted me so well, I didn't notice we were headed toward an unknown location. The car that dropped us off begins to turn down the driveway. "The driver's leaving?"

"He is." My husband reaches the door, where he manages to key in the code while holding me in his arms, then he shoulders it open.

"B-but it looks like we"re far from anywhere."

"That"s the idea."

"Are we in London?"

"We're in the countryside, actually."

The door snicks shut behind us and he stalks across the grand foyer and toward a large double staircase that sweeps up to the second floor. I have a fleeting glimpse of stained glass high above us.

"I thought we were heading to your place."

"This is my place."

"Oh!" This is incredible. I take in the soaring ceilings, embellished with intricate plasterwork, a striking chandelier hanging above, and gleaming wooden floors below. Rich, wood wainscoting lines the walls, lending an air of warmth and sophistication.

Plush sofas and wingback chairs are upholstered in jewel-toned fabrics. They encircle an impressive fireplace that"s almost as tall as him in height. Large bay windows frame views of the manicured gardens outside. On the walls are paintings—all of which, I have no doubt, are originals.

On one side the living room leads to a conservatory, and through an open set of pocket doors on the other side, I can make out a formal dining room with a long trestle table surrounded by high-backed carved chairs.

Whoa! The overall impression is both intimate and sophisticated. There's a feeling of elegance and grandeur, but underlying it is a hint of austerity. This place is so Q. I'm so grateful he brought me here. It's like getting a peek into his psyche without words.

I cuddle into his chest as he takes the steps two at a time. Whoa! He's carrying me, and I'm not particularly thin.

I tend toward the curvy side, but the way this man carries me, I might as well weigh nothing. His biceps tauten under my touch, and his heart beats steadily. He reaches the landing and walks down a corridor. We pass a few rooms, and when he reaches the double doors at the end of the corridor, he shoulders them open. He steps inside and into a large, carpeted room. He walks toward the center of the room and sets me down.

I take in the soaring fireplace, which takes up a big part of one wall. There's a rug in front of it and a sofa on one side. On the opposite wall are French windows, beyond which is the view of the sweeping countryside.

"The view's amazing."

"It is."

I glance sideways to find him staring at me.

"I meant the view from the window." I blush.

He watches me with interest, and that turns my cheeks fiery. "Stop looking at me like that." I brush past him and head toward the windows. I can't help but sneak a peek at the massive bed which dominates the room. The sheets are white, as are the pillows and the duvet cover. There are iron rings set into the posts… and into the wall above the headboard. Also, are those ropes wrapped around the posts? Huh? I realize I've stopped and am staring. He walks over to stand next to me.

"The number of times I've dreamed of having you here in my bed, tied to those rings, so you"re spreadeagled, with your pussy bared for my ministrations, you have no idea."

The pussy in question squeezes in on itself. Tingling sensations run up my spine. "I wish you weren't so unfiltered in your words."

"When you've seen what I have, you learn to speak your mind."

I turn to him and find he has a pensive expression on his features.

"Was being at war difficult?" I hear my words and wince. What a stupid thing to ask. Like he"s going to tell me, no, it was fun. Not to mention, it"s not quite the conversation I envisioned on my wedding night—and with a plug up my butt—but the bleakness in his eyes hints at a vulnerable side of him. One I haven't seen before, and I don't want to miss this opportunity to find out more about my husband.

I'm sure he's going to brush me off, but to my surprise, he answers me.

"Seeing friends blown to bits and being unable to do anything about it was."

I wait for him to say more, but he opts to walk past me and to the windows looking out. Of course, this must be a difficult topic for him. I don"t want to push him; he can tell me when he"s ready. His spine is stiff, his shoulder muscles bunched. There's a sadness etched into every sharp angle of his body I didn't notice before. He's hidden it well… Until now.

I reach him and, sliding my arms about his waist, press my cheek into the firm wall of his back. Closing my eyes, I breathe in that pine and woodsmoke scent of his. He places his palm over mine.

For a few seconds, we stand there. I soak in the strength of his presence, the resilience of his muscles, the way I feel so delicate in comparison, the sheer security of being with him. Something coiled deep inside of me loosens.

When he turns and pinches my chin, I'm already rising on my tiptoes. He lowers his face and closes his lips over mine. His mouth is hard, but the kiss is tender.

I melt into him, and when he licks into the notch between my lips, I part them. He slips his tongue inside my mouth, and heat suffuses my lower body. My toes curl; my fingertips tremble. I dig them into his shoulders as he ravages my mouth.

The kiss seems to go on and on. Then suddenly, he wrenches his mouth from mine, sinks to his knees and, pushing up the skirt of my dress, he presses his nose into my pussy. He draws a deep breath, and I gasp.

Something warns me that if I follow his lead, it's going to be a long time before I come to my senses again. This entire experience with Q has been intense. It's making me feel emotions I haven't felt before. I need time to process it. I need... just a moment to regroup. "The science of kissing is called philematology." I burst out.

My stream of consciousness has the intended effect, for he freezes.

"Kissing can burn up to twenty-six calories per minute, depending on the intensity and duration," I add.

He looks up at me from between my legs, and there's something very erotic about seeing this powerful man on his knees with his fingers gripping the tops of my thighs. I snapshot the moment and store it away, sure it's going to inspire a painting. I continue to scan his features, committing the expression in his eyes to memory.

"What is it?" His tone is tinged with impatience. "Do you want me to stop?"

I shake my head. "No, but I'm aware you're deflecting."

"Deflecting?" His features are devoid of emotion, but his eyes flash. "What do you mean?"

"You started telling me about your past, then stopped yourself. And now, you're running away from your demons by focusing on giving me orgasms."

"Damn right, I'm going to lose myself in your tight, hot cunt as a way to escape my memories." Without taking his gaze from mine he licks up my pussy lips.

"Oh…" I breathe through the anticipation that bubbles up my throat.

His lips curl. "You mean, "Oh Q," don't you?" With that, he urges my legs further apart, then thrusts his tongue inside my weeping slit. My heart seems to drop to the space between my legs, until it feels like my entire body, my life, every part of me and all I am, is concentrated in that throbbing triangle of flesh. Then, he closes his mouth around my clit and sucks, and I cry out.

Quentin

Her cry arrows straight to my groin. All the blood has drained to my crotch. My cock is weeping to be let out of the constraints of my pants, but not yet.

First, I need to devour my wife's sweet pussy. I lick up her slit, and she shudders. And when I stab my tongue inside her wet channel, she groans. "Q, please, please, please—" She bites off the next word, for I've shoved two fingers inside her cunt. "Quentin," she screams and writhes, and I weave my fingers in and out of her, in and out. She tugs at my hair, throws her head back and pants. And when I hit the button on the remote controlling her butt plug, her body jolts.

"Omigod, omigod," she pants and warbles.

When her legs tremble, I rise to my feet. Holding her upright with one hand on her shoulder, I turn her around and undo the buttons on her dress. It falls to her ankles in a pool of white. I pull out the pins in her hair and the blonde strands fall in a cloud of gold around her shoulders. I shrug out of my jacket, undo my bow tie and toss them both aside. Then I walk around in a slow circle surveying the dip of her waist, the curve of her hips, the fleshy thighs which I can't wait to mark, the wiry hair on her unshaven pussy lips, which I adore.

This is the first time I"ve seen her naked, and she is everything I imagined. And more. Without taking my gaze off that triangle of flesh between her legs, I undo the button of one shirt sleeve and roll it up to my elbows, then the other. Something prompts me to look up at her face. She's staring at my forearms with something like fascination. I flex one, and she draws in a sharp breath.

"Everything okay?" I smirk.

She nods slowly. "Do you think I could make love to your forearms?"

Of all the surprising things to say— I plant my palms on my hips. "Let me get this right, you want to hump my forearms?"

"They're freakin' sexy, is all."

"If I'd known all I had to do was show off my forearms, I might have done it a long time ago."

"Specifically, your forearms with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows." She sighs.

Warmth suffuses my chest. A rush of pride engulfs my veins. One compliment from her, and I'm floored. I've got it bad, all right.

I want to say something blithe to deflect from the fact I'm halfway to blushing. A first for me, because... As much as I want her to submit and gain my approval, it seems… I want hers, too, and that's never happened before.

She flushes under my scrutiny. "Ignore me. Clearly, I have a forearm fetish."

It's too easy an opening, and I take it, because the alternative would be that I deal with these awkward feelings, the kind I've never faced before. I jerk my chin in her direction. "Time to find out what other fetishes you have. On your knees."

"What?" She jerks up her chin.

"On your knees, baby."

She hesitates, then complies.

I walk over to sit at the foot of the bed. "Now crawl to me."

"What? Why?" There's a note of horror in her voice. Yet her pupils dilate, and a ripple runs through her body. Her breasts seem to swell, the nipples hardening into pinpoints.

"Are you saying you're not turned on by the prospect of obeying me?" I drawl.

She swallows, then shakes her head. I confess, it"s a test to find out how willing she is to submit. And when the pulse at the base of her neck kicks up in speed, I know she's ready. So ready. She needs that push, that permission to give in and enjoy her proclivities.

I glare at her, and the color slips from her features. She places her palms on the floor, then moves forward.

My blood thrums in my veins. Satisfaction fills my chest. "Good girl. You're perfect," I praise.

As she crawls, the globes of her breasts sway, the flesh of her thighs jiggles in a manner that makes me want to squeeze them and put my mark on the creamy flesh. And when I touch the app on my phone controlling the butt plug, a full body shiver grips her. She reaches me, and when I widen the space between my legs, she comes to a halt between them. "Do you want to suck your master's cock? Do you want me to fuck your face and use your mouth for my pleasure?"

A moan bleeds from her lips. Her pupils are so dilated, there's only a ring of green around the irises. And when she nods, fire zips down my spine. My shaft expands further, and I take several deep breaths to stop myself from coming in my pants. "Unzip me," I order.

She does it at once, and since I'm not wearing boxers, my cock springs out. She swallows. Her eyes grow round as she takes in the length, the vein running over the back of my shaft, the drops of precum that dot the crown. I squeeze my dick from base to crown and she licks her lips. "Want to taste it?"

She nods.

"What do you say?" I growl.

"Y... yes Sir. I want to taste it, Sir. Please."

"Such a good little submissive, wanting to suck her Sir's cock." Satisfaction crowds my chest. "Greedy, aren't you, little girl?"

She nods again, almost panting in her excitement. "Yes Sir. I am, Sir. Please, please, I want to take you down my throat, Sir."

The satisfaction in my chest grows until it resembles a tsunami of desire, which hardens my groin and extends my shaft further. "Open your mouth," I snap.

When she does, I wrap my fingers around her neck and press hard enough for her breath to falter. Then I urge her close and slide my cock over her tongue. When I hit the back of her throat, she gags. "Relax your jaw," I order. She does. And then, without being told, she hollows her cheeks.

The hot, tight suction on my cock lights a fire in my veins. Her mouth is sheer heaven. And the fact that she's my wife, flashing green sparks at me from under her lashes as she lets me stuff my dick down her throat, elevates the experience to something nearing nirvana. My heart rate accelerates. My pulse drums at my temples, at my wrists, even in my fucking balls. I increase the pace, begin to pump into her mouth.

Watching my cock disappear between her lips is something I've fantasized about since the moment I laid eyes on her lush lips, but nothing could have prepared me for how incredibly perfect it feels.

Tears squeeze out from the corners of her eyes, drool drips down her chin. Watching her fall apart tightens the knot at the base of my spine. "I"m going to wreck you," I promise her, meaning every word. "I'm going to break you down and put you back together, and every cell in your body is going to have my name etched into it."

I pull out, then reach down to slide a palm between her legs. "You're drenched. Even more, if that's possible."

I rise to my feet, forcing her to rise with me, then grip her hips, turn around, and drop her on the bed. She bounces once, then lays there, her hair in a golden halo around her face. The creamy skin of her neck is exposed, her breasts, the valley between her parted legs—all mine for the taking.

I reach behind me and pull my shirt up and over my head. When I step out of my pants and straighten, her breathing quickens. She stares at my upright cock, slight fear mixed with fascination on her features.

"Talk to me; tell me what you're thinking, baby."

"I..."—she swallows—"I was thinking that's too big to fit."

"You let me worry about that," I murmur. Doesn't stop me from preening a little and squeezing my dick from base to crown. I am human, and that look of trepidation mixed with anticipation on her face is enough to make me feel like a god.

"What if it hurts?" she croaks.

"I'll make sure it does."

"What?" She jerks her chin up and locks her gaze on my features. When she sees the humor in my eyes, she pouts. "You're an asshole."

"Guilty as charged." When was the last time I played around with a woman before fucking her? When did sex become as much about having fun as about domination?

Since I met her. Since this gorgeous woman came into my life. Sex with her is not casual. I can tell myself it's about making her submit to me but really, it's about my wanting to take care of her needs. To ensure she has the most incredible experience ever.

A hot sensation squeezes my ribcage. The slanting rays of the setting sun kiss her skin and turn it into burnished gold. Everything feels real and true, like I‘m on the verge of something important.

I can't be falling in love with her. Can I? Nope, that can't be it. It's because she's my wife and I'm about to consummate our marriage. That's the reason for this melting sensation where my heart should be.

"Touch yourself, baby."

She instantly slides her fingers between her pussy lips, and a whine spills from her mouth.

"Now thrust your fingers inside."

She works three fingers inside her cunt, then moans.

"How does it feel?"

"It... it's not enough." She squirms. "I... I need more. So much more."

"And I'm going to give it to you. It"s going to feel so good; I promise." My heart feels like it's going to burst out of my ribcage. The need inside me balloons until it weighs down every part of me. I climb onto the bed and between her legs, forcing her to part them wider to accommodate the width of my shoulders. I lick my way up one inner thigh, then the other before licking the crease on either side of her pussy. She writhes and pushes her pelvis up, and I laugh. "Not that soon, baby."

"Fuck you," she pouts.

"I intend to."

I pull her fingers from her pussy and lick them off, then replace them with three of my own, and she cries out. And when I curl them inside her, she bucks, squeezes her eyes shut, and lets out a long, low groan. As she continues to writhe, I reach over and loosen one of the ropes tied to a post and hook it around her ankle. Then replace the fingers with those of my other hand while I reach over and hook the rope from the other post to her other ankle. Then I squeeze her thighs apart and work out the butt plug. "How does that feel?"

"I feel stretched and empty there." Her eyelids flutter down.

"Not for long." I throw it aside before I slap her pussy.

"Jesus," she yells, and her eyes fly open. "What was that for?"

"Making sure I have your attention."

I slap her pussy once more, and she throws her head back and groans. She pants, and when she opens her eyes and stares at me, her gaze is heavy with lust. She tries to sit up, but the restraints around her ankles make it difficult, and she subsides. An expression of apprehension touched with excitement fills her features.

"All right, baby?" I run my fingers down her thighs and squeeze gently.

She nods, her throat moving as she swallows.

"How do you feel?" I scan her features closely.

"A little scared; but also, excited."

"You're a natural, and I promise, you're going to enjoy every moment of what I'm going to do to you."

Her shoulders relax.

"Anytime it becomes overwhelming, you only have to ask me to stop," I say in a soft voice.

She jerks her chin, and when she raises her gaze to mine, her eyes glitter with anticipation.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Now?" I allow myself a small smile. "I'm going to eat you out."