Page 7 of Rekindling Desire

Husband.

We’d both promised our ‘I dos.’

Fuck yes.

She was mine.

With my world crumbling beyond the bolted door, Ella was the sun, the giver of light and life. More than that, Ella filled me with warmth. No, stronger than that. Extreme heat.

Embers that were nearly extinct since the news about my father were now a raging inferno.

My tongue sought entrance between her lips as our kiss deepened. In a matter of seconds, my hunger for this woman intensified. I was ravished, famished beyond reason. Snaking my arm around her waist, I pressed against her, flattening her breasts and grinding my growing erection against her. Small mews and moans echoed within the tiled room as our breathing hastened. Her fingers wove through my hair.

Our surroundings no longer registered.

Ella was my bride. She’d sacrificed her independence for me, for my position at Sinclair.

My future had been slipping through my fingers, and now I had a tight grip.

Tugging her top from her jeans, my hands roamed over her velvet flesh. Without thinking, I pulled the shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor. Pushing the cups of her bra down, I tweaked one nipple and then the next. Each ministration earned me a whimper.

“Wife,” I growled, allowing the word to sink in.

“Damien.”

With my fingers on the button of her blue jeans, I paused, lifting my gaze to meet hers. “Are you sorry?”

Ella was a vision, her blue eyes wide, her cheeks flushed, and her lips pink and swollen. Her answer began as a shake of her head until finally her verbal reply filtered through the air. “No.”

“You’re fucking mine, Ella. I need to be inside you.” Before she could protest, I laid my finger over her perfect lips. “In some cultures, consummating the marriage is required.” I bent down, sucked a pert nipple, pulling it between my lips.

Goose bumps swept over her exposed flesh.

“I’m going to show you what you do to me.”

“Your family…”

I turned us toward the mirror, the one over the sink. Within the reflection, I was far removed from the man on top of a wedding cake. Hell no. I appeared crazed. Derangement gleamed in my eyes and adrenaline coursed through my circulation. By contrast, Ella was a vision, her dark hair loose around her shoulders and her breasts on full display. “Look at us. We are the only family that matters.” Reaching around her, I unclasped the button of her blue jeans and lowered the zipper. “Hands on the sink.”

For a split second, Ella hesitated. My lips went to her sensitive skin behind her ear. Each word blowing a puff of warm breath onto her neck, I lowered the tenor of my voice. “Don’t disobey me, Ella.”

I needed this.

It wasn’t an admission I could make aloud; nonetheless, my silence didn’t lessen that need.

Control.

Dominance.

I craved them.

Watching Ella’s reaction in the mirror, I witnessed her submission. A nod. A visible shiver coating her skin in more goose bumps. Her nipples tightened, and her areolas grew a deeper red. The golden band on her left hand glistened in the artificial illumination.

“Hold on tight. Don’t move your hands.”

Her knuckles blanched as her grip of the porcelain tightened.

Crouching down, I removed her shoes, one at a time. Tugging the jeans to her ankles, I pulled one leg from the pants. It was as I lowered her panties that I knew she was as willing to give me control as I was to take it.

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