Total pages in book: 230
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
Isabella does not ask the question I know she wants to ask.
“On the bed,” I tell her. “On your back.”
Her cheeks turn a deeper red, and I wonder how long she can hold out before she finally blurts out her burning question: Is the maid going to watch us consummate our marriage?
No. She will not.
However, what comes next will probably shock her more.
Isabella’s knees spread under the pressure of my palms. She keeps her hands flat on the comforter. I run my fingers over her slick folds. Her arousal is obvious and intoxicating. More intoxicating than it has any right to be. I keep my mind on the task at hand. “You’re wet,” I comment. “But not ready. Lila.”
Lila steps forward without hesitation and kneels between Isabella’s knees. Isabella pushes herself up on her elbows. “What is this?” Fear sings in her voice, but her curiosity hasn’t gone away. She does not close her legs. “Sir.”
It sounds so pretty on her lips. “On your back. Lila is going to prepare you for me.” I use the same words intentionally. This is the way my bride will learn the shape of my expectations. The range. “Knees wide. Get her ready, Lila. Dripping.”
There’s a battle on Isabella’s face. Her breathing quickens and hitches as Lila puts a hand on each of her thighs and leans in close. “Wait,” she says.
Lila pauses.
“Yes, my dear wife?” I ask, my tone mild.
“She’s not… you.”
I stroke my wife’s beautiful blonde hair back from her cheek. “No, she’s not me. I tasted you once tonight, and though you were delicious, now your maid is going to prepare you for me. She’s going to make you wet and slick for my cock.”
My wife flushes hard. “I don’t know what to think.”
“You don’t have to think. Only feel. Are you going to be a good girl for me?”
A short, hesitant nod.
I glance at Lila to give her permission to continue.
At the first stroke of her pink tongue, Isabella closes her eyes.
I pinch one of her nipples. Hard. Her eyes fly open. “I want to see you.”
More than that. Lila’s tongue on Isabella’s flesh sends lightning strikes of need to scorch the earth of my mind. Of emotions. Isabella makes a soft sound, her thighs trembling, because Lila has given up her tentative licks and pressed her face into Isabella’s slit. She devours her in hungry strokes, the slip and slide of her tongue loud in the quiet room.
Another moan from Isabella. Her hips move up off the bed, and a small piece of my restraint snaps. “Enough.”
Lila pulls away and stands, her eyes on the floor, her hands behind her back. Her chin is coated with my wife’s juices. Isabella looks from me to her and back again, lips parted and desperate.
“Leave us,” I mutter to Lila, and she exits the room gracefully and silently.
It takes everything in my body and in my soul not to leap over Isabella like a wild animal. The urge is there, and strong. I won’t indulge it, or the sharp jealousy that pierces my chest. I wanted to embarrass my pretty bride, and I did. I wanted to push her toward one of her boundaries, and I did. I might also have pushed us toward one of my own.
Between Isabella’s knees, I use my hips to stop her from closing her legs and unzip my pants. It’s a visceral relief. I’ve needed this since I touched her after our ceremony. Since I kissed her in front of all those people in the church. Since her mouth was on me in the car.
I thought that would sate me, but I’m aching for her.
“I’m going to take you now.” My fist is wrapped tight around my length, and I bring the head to her opening with great care. “There will be pain. You will bleed.”
Isabella searches my face, panting. “And you’ll—like that?”
“Yes.” I’m not going to lie to her.
She’s tight. Her opening grips me at first touch. Isabella inches her thighs apart, her expression determined. Her hands close tight on the bedspread. I sink in another inch.
Isabella arches. I can see the pain in her eyes. The shake in her thighs gives away how much I’m stretching her. An experimental thrust makes her breathe out hard. Giving in to the pain. Mastering it, if only a little.
I don’t let that happen.
I put my hands on her hips and drive myself in to the hilt, tearing through her virginity with all my pent-up want. Isabella cries out, her cunt clenching. She’s mine now. She’s been mine since I met her across the boardroom, but she didn’t know it yet. Her blood streaks my cock when I pull back, stains the insides of her thighs. I loosen my grip on control. Let myself stroke into her in the rhythm that my body wants.