Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I’m not on birth control because the one thing I’ve got going for me, that’s not gonna piss him off? I am a virgin. I don’t do sex. Never have, anyway. Doesn’t mean I’ve never been touched, or that I haven’t experimented with a few things here or there. I’m not exactly a saint, but he’ll find what he’s looking for.
“Okay, so I’m not ready for babies yet,” I say with what is probably the lamest comeback possible.
He’s kneading my ass with his rough, thick palms, and I shiver. This should be at least fourth date status over here.
“We will not use protection. There will never be a barrier between me and you. Do you understand that?”
Whoa. He’s certifiable. And yet… and yet, any woman this man really truly did love would be the very center of his whole world.
But still… “Never? How many kids do you wanna have?”
And what if I told him no, I don’t want to consummate this marriage? No, I don’t want sex?
Would he force himself on me?
The ice stabs my chest again, and a hopeless sort of panic clouds my mind.
“I don’t know exactly how many children I want, but we’ll talk about what we need to do when the time comes. Are you on any birth control? I know you’re a virgin, but some women use it for medicinal reasons.”
I shake my head from side to side, still stunned by how crazy and intense and new this all is, how unlike anything that I would have expected, or anything I ever experimented with or experienced before, it is. Or… Anyone’s experience before?
“What do you mean, you know I’m a virgin?”
His hand tightens on my neck. “You have to ask me that?”
Uh, I just did, but I know it’s probably stupid to snap at him, so I don’t respond.
“Your father may be an idiot, but he isn’t so stupid to break the code. A virgin daughter was his only playing card, wasn’t it?”
I feel suddenly as if I’m going to cry. I feel so alone. So very, very alone. If I can’t get away this very minute, at least I hope we do get to his castle soon, I hope we get to meet with his family, and I hope that there are some women there that I can talk with. I don’t wanna be alone with him and his brothers with their scary eyes, their guns, their bodyguards and their rules. It’s too much.
But I will not cry in front of him. Not now, not ever.
I should be braver than this. I’m mad at myself for even getting emotional. I was raised by a single father who did terrible things because my mother overdosed when I was an infant. Didn’t stop him from selling that shit. But he never mistreated me. He did stupid things. He didn’t take care of me, but he never abused me. He never really hurt me. Neglect, however…
“I’ll ease you in,” he says, taking me off guard. I don’t know if I can trust the gentle side of him that shows itself when I least expect it. “I know that you’re new to this.”
Oh no he doesn’t. Oh no he does not go all gentle on me. My husband, the made man whose shoulders barely fit inside the frame of this door, whose hands are as big as my entire head, cannot go all surprisingly gentle on me now. Because the only thing that’s holding me back from crying is knowing that I’m doing this for my friend. If he shows any compassion at all…
He kisses my cheek. I blink, and a tear rolls down my cheek. Fuck.
He freezes; I feel his whole body tense over me. “Why are you crying?” I can’t read the tone of his voice.
“I’m not crying,” I lie.
He slaps my ass so hard that I come up onto my knees, and swear I feel like the sting went straight to my clit. What the hell is that all about?
“Ow! Are you trying to make me cry?”
“If I want to make you cry, I have other methods, Elise.”
Shit. Of course he does. Visions of whips and chains and torture chambers flit through my mind. I squeeze my eyelids shut to compose myself.
“The air’s dry in here and you’re not the only one who’s tired.” I swipe up my cheeks, swallow, and make a vow right then and there that I will not cry another time.
“Good,” he says. “There’s no need to cry. I’ll take care of you.” He says it so matter-of-factly, like, “I’ll pay for dinner.”
“As long as I’m the perfect little wife, right?” My voice breaks on that last word. I hate that it does.
“Perfect? No.” He shakes his head. “Sounds boring as fuck. I don’t want you perfect. I like a little fight. I like the idea of teaching you what I want.”