Chapter 35

35

June

Oh my god, his words are so filthy. And I should be disgusted. And I'm not. Since hearing them, my body seems to be running a fever. The wetness between my legs hasn't decreased at all. I soak in the tub of the massive bathroom that opens onto the equally beautiful room of the hotel we checked into.

It's a suite on the top floor of a beautiful heritage building from which I spotted the Eiffel Tower. My husband showed me the closet, stocked with everything I'd need. Apparently, he chose everything and ordered it while we were in the air. I'll never know how they were able to deliver everything so quickly. He ordered me to settle in and said he was heading to the gym.

I checked my phone, but for once, my inbox was empty. Seems Mary already forwarded the emails from my inbox to hers. I snapped a picture of the Eiffel Tower and messaged it to Zoey and Irene to let them know I was okay.

Then, I separately messaged Harper and Grace, bringing them up to date with what had happened in my life—specifically, my newly married status. My phone instantly started buzzing with messages and questions from both of them, but I tossed my phone aside and decided to take a bath.

After soaking for almost an hour, I dry myself, then step into the closet to pull on the lacy lingerie I find there. The silk chafes against my bottom, and a frisson of heat squeezes my belly. I turn around and take in the reddened fingerprints on my sore butt. My chest grows hot. My scalp tingles. That mark of ownership from him means so much to me. And when I look at the ring he placed on my finger, I feel complete.

My life finally has meaning. I was kidding myself by thinking I could take a stab at independence. It means nothing. It doesn't satisfy me the way serving at my master's pleasure does. The realization sends a burst of anticipation up my spine.

I reach for a lacy robe, then change my mind; the array of dresses is too tempting. Also, while I do want my husband to make love to me on my wedding night, perhaps changing into a robe so early in the evening seems presumptuous?

I step into a blue dress that reminds me of his eyes. It's simple, yet expensively cut, with a sweetheart neckline. The lacy sleeves that clasp at my wrists remind me of my wedding dress. It highlights my curves, so when I look at myself in the mirror, I almost blush at how it cinches my waist and accentuates my hips. But as he's told me, he likes the width of my hips and my hourglass figure. The dress hugs my throbbing arse cheeks, and I welcome the pain. It reminds me of the touch of his hands on my butt. I shiver. I can't wait to find out what he does to me tonight. It's my wedding night. My first night with my husband, and I'm in Paris. Whoa, is this really happening to me?

I walk over to the window and, once more, look out on the Eiffel Tower. The sun had set by the time we arrived in Paris, and it's all lit up and looks incredibly romantic. Exhaustion courses through me. Must be the result of the bath, which relaxed me to the point that I now feel sleepy. I settle on the chaise lounge by the window and lean back against the cushions.

The next thing I know, I'm being lifted and carried. I crack my eyelids open and glimpse his stern jaw. I'm held against his broad chest, and he feels so solid, so strong. I use the excuse of being half-asleep to cuddle into him. His arms tighten around me, and I sigh. "What time is it?"

"Eight p.m. You've been asleep for almost two hours." Then his forehead crinkles. "Are your eyes okay?"

"Huh?" I look at him questioningly.

"You're blinking your eyelids," he points out.

"I fell asleep wearing my contact lenses. I shouldn't have done that." I half laugh.

"Why do you wear contact lenses, when you can wear glasses?"

His tone is curious, a genuine question in his eyes.

I shrug. "I've always tended toward being heavy. And then I got teased for wearing glasses in high school. Once I started working and could afford to buy them, I switched to contact lenses." And then I discovered how expensive they are, so I only wear them on special occasions, like tonight. I wanted to look pretty for him tonight.

"Hmm"—he studies my face—"I prefer it when you wear your glasses."

I blink slowly. "You prefer that I wear my out-of-style glasses?"

"It's sexy." His lips quirk. "I find you sexy in whatever you wear, but especially with glasses on."

Heat flushes my cheeks. "You find my wearing glasses sexy?"

"Would you be more comfortable wearing them now?" He comes to a stop. "You would b e more comfortable wearing them." It's a statement, not a question anymore.

"I guess you're right," I concede.

"Then you should swap out of your contact lenses." He walks into the ensuite, then sets me down on the counter next to the sink where I placed my contact lens supplies and eyeglasses. He watches me as I slide my contact lenses back in their case, then slip on my spectacles.

He scoops me up in his arms again.

I squeak, "Where are we going?"

"I ordered dinner, unless you'd prefer to go directly to bed?"

That sounds good, but before I can reply, my stomach growls loudly.

His lips twitch. "Dinner then."

He carries me out through the double doors near the window and onto a balcony, which has been set up with a table and two chairs. The table is set for dinner, complete with flowers and candles. There are also outdoor heaters, so the slight chill of the September evening is minimized. He places me in one of the chairs and pushes it in. When he's satisfied, I'm comfortable, he walks around and sits in his chair.

I notice the damp hair that he's combed back and realize he showered. His chin is shadowed, the way it often is when he works late into the night in the office. I know a lot about this man and yet, very little. He's also wearing a black T-shirt which stretches across his chest and jeans which cling to his powerful thighs in a way that makes my pulse race.

"I like you in casual clothes," I murmur.

He pulls a phone from his pocket, and his fingers dance across the screen before he pockets it again. "And I like watching you sleep."

"Oh,"—I swallow—"how long did you?—"

"For a few minutes. Not that I haven't stalked you before."

My jaw drops. I suspected he watched me around the office but to hear him confess that is… Whoa. "What's brought about this bout of honesty?" I frown.

"Figured since we're here and married, and since I aim to stay married to you, it's time for me to be upfront."

I try to understand what he's implying, but the conclusion I draw doesn't make any sense. "You mean?—"

"I don't believe in divorce, July."

I blow out a breath, "You mean, we're going to stay married, no matter what happens?"

If I'm being honest, it's a relief that he doesn't believe in divorce. It means... One way or another, he'll always be in my life. Goosebumps pop on my skin. My chest feels lighter, and I don't dare examine these sensations too closely.

He regards me closely. "I wanted to keep my distance from you, but it seems that's out of the question."

"What are you saying?"

The door to the suite opens; a uniformed member of the staff leads another, who rolls in a cart. He sets a dome-covered plate in front of each of us. Then whisks off the covers, one at a time.

"For madam, there's coconut ceviche with passion fruit caviar and avocado mousse." He turns to Knox. "Duck à l'Orange for you, Mr. Davenport. Enjoy." He bows, then leaves with the other guy who wheels out the cart with him.

The tropical scent of the coconut, accompanied by the sweeter notes of the passion fruit, teases my nostrils. I'm suddenly very hungry. I dig in and the sweet, delicate flavor is tinged with a subtle nuttiness that causes me to groan with a mouthgasm. I take another mouthful, and another. I'm halfway through the food before I look up and catch him watching me.

"What?"

"You have—" He reaches over, scoops some of the food from the corner of my mouth and brings it to his. He sucks on his thumb, and my entire body feels like it's about to burst into flames. I take another few mouthfuls, and with each, his blue eyes turn a shade of indigo that's almost black. Our gazes meet, and the desire I see in them sparks a heavy pulse between my legs. I point my fork in the direction of his plate. "You're not eating."

"I'm hungry for something else."

There's no mistaking what he's alluding to. An answering emptiness, having nothing to do with food, gnaws at my belly. Heat streaks through my veins. I'm so turned on, I might melt into a puddle right now. I place my fork down and swallow.

"What… What are you hungry for?" I'm proud that my voice comes out sounding steady; my insides are churning like I've swallowed a washing machine.

"What are you willing to offer me?"

I try to read his expression, but it's closed, except for his eyes. His attention is locked on me, reminiscent of a panther stalking through the undergrowth. Another shiver grips me. My panties are so wet, they stick to the insides of my things. Once again, it feels like I'm drawn into the vortex of his attention, like I'm being absorbed into him .

I rise to my feet as if in a dream. Then walk around to stand next to him. He pushes his chair back, and as if we've practiced this move, I step into the space between his massive thighs. With him seated, I'm a little above eye-level with him. It's how tall he is. His shoulders overwhelm the chair, and his arms dwarf those of the chair.

He reaches up and in a gesture that's already familiar to me, he removes my spectacles and places them out of reach and at one end of the table. Then he leans back in his chair. He watches me with a hint of curiosity that zips a ripple of anticipation through my nerve-endings. Does he expect me to tap out? Does he think he can overwhelm me by putting me on the spot, so I'll sidle away and beg off? I bet he'd be relieved if I did. For even though he seems to have decided that he wants me to be his wife, in every sense of the word, I sense hesitation in him, which I can't quite understand.

"Everything." I swallow. "I'll offer you anything you want."

"Careful." He looks me up and down, "I might take you at your word, and where would that leave you?"

"Satisfied and happy, and craving more. I'm not scared of what you can do to me. I want what you can do to me. I want you with every inch of my body. I want your fingers on me, your tongue in my mouth, your cock inside me, your invasion of every hole in my body, Sir."

I want him to realize I'm ready for him. I've been ready for him since I walked into his office and saw him as one with the shadows in his office. I've wanted to feel the intensity of his fucking since I looked at his scarred features and knew my world had changed. I know I've gotten through to him when he draws in a sharp breath. I know I've said the right thing when a vein pops at his temple. The intensity of his blue gaze makes me feel like I'm on show. Only for his gaze.

I put up my hair after my bath. Now, I pull the first pin from my messy bun. A strand of hair unfurls down to my shoulder.

His jaw tightens.

Then I pull out the second and third, and each time, another thick coil of hair unwinds and falls down to frame my neck. When I'm done, my hair hangs in a heavy curtain around my face.

The expression on his face is even more inscrutable, but his breathing is definitely shallow. It gives me the courage to turn around and present him with my back.

"Will you unzip me?" I clear my throat.

His fingers touch the nape of my neck, and the hair on my forearms rises. This is it. There's no turning back after this. I should feel scared perhaps, but instead, there's only a sense of anticipation. He's my husband. And I've wanted him from the moment I saw him. And this is my wedding night. And it feels right that he's the man who's going to take my virginity. The r-r-ripping sound of the seams of the zipper parting fills the air. And when his fingertips brush up against the skin of my back, my toes curl. One side of my dress falls down my arm. The curve of my shoulder is exposed to the night air and while the outdoor heaters have warmed the air sufficiently, I can't stop the shiver that oscillates through me.

"You're cold?" His voice is low and hard, and oh my god, I could come from that dark timbre of his tone, surely. That's how close I am to going off, and he hasn't even begun to touch me.

"I'm fine." I shrug my other shoulder and the sleeve of my dress whispers down my arm. I begin to pull it off, but he stops me with a touch on my back. He holds me in place, and when he pushes aside my hair and presses a kiss to the small of my back, his touch is so tender, I shiver. He slides his hand around and flattens his big palm over my stomach. I've never had a flat tummy. Comes from having a plus-size figure. I always felt awkward about it with the couple of men I dated. But with Knox—from the beginning—I've felt small and delicate next to his much taller and broader size.

He slides his hand down to cup my pussy through my panties, and a moan slips from my mouth. He rubs his heel over my already wet pussy, and I gasp. "Knox, please."

In answer, he slips his fingers under the gusset of my panties, and when he brushes my slit, goosebumps pepper my skin. "You're so fucking responsive," he rumbles.

I try to turn to look at him, but he curls the fingers of his other hand around the nape of my neck and stops me. He releases his hold on my pussy and pushes the dishes out of the way.

What is he doing?

Before I can ask, he applies enough pressure that I find myself bending over the table. I push my cheek onto the surface. He kicks my legs apart, and there's a tearing sound as the dress splits up one side.

"My dress," I cry.

"I'll get you an entire closet full of them."

"But this one reminded me of my wedding dress," I protest.

"And I am your husband; that supersedes everything else."

The authority in his voice, once again, pushes all other thoughts from my head. I want to protest and tell him that buying me a new dress is not the same as wearing this one. But the words get lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth.

He must read my mind, for he bends over and places his mouth next to my ear. "I'll get this one mended for you, I promise." He licks around the shell of my ear, and I shiver. And when he bites down on my earlobe, the pain ignites an explosion that rolls over me like a gentle swell after the rain. The climax shudders through me like the tide coming in.

I come down from the orgasm to find he's looking at me with something like awe. "Did you orgasm?"

I blush. "Maybe…"

"It was beautiful," his voice is sincere, almost worshipful, and for some reason, that embarrasses me even more.

I squeeze my eyes shut. "I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing, just enjoy the first of many climaxes I intend to give you." Another hard kiss to the side of my mouth, then he rips my dress all the way down.

I wince at the sound, then cry as he tears off my panties. Bent over like this, I'm aware my large butt must be right in his face. It's stupid, but I can't stop myself from trying to cover my backside with my hand. Only, he grabs my wrist and wrenches my arm up and over my head. He does the same with the other arm, and suddenly, I'm pinned down. I'm at his disposal. At his pleasure. A keening need twists up from my belly. My knees grow weak. Good thing, I'm already bent over so the table can support me.

"So fucking gorgeous." He traces the cleavage between my arse cheeks, and I shudder. And when he slips two fingers inside me, my eyes roll back in my head. He begins to weave his fingers in and out of me, again and again. To my alarm, a familiar emptiness yawns in my core. It's like he's re-opening that black hole inside of me, the one that formed when I orgasmed for the first time.

He picks up the pace, and when he stuffs a third finger inside me, I groan. I feel full and stretched, and yet, I already know I need more. "More, Knox. Please," I manage to choke out. My voice sounds needy and whiny, and when he twists his fingers inside of me to hit a spot deep inside that I never knew existed, my pussy clamps down on his digits. This time, the wave rises up from toes, up my thighs, and curls around my core, before it grows larger and lighter, and bursts up my spine. I shudder and grab onto his hand with both of mine as my orgasm fills me. And when he pulls his fingers out, the sensations fade, leaving me empty and almost fulfilled, but still very needy inside.

Then I'm being pulled up, and he swings me up in his arms.

"Where are you taking me?"