Page 13 of Reckless Love

With a shuddering gasp, I let go of the fabric and felt it pool around my ankles, leaving me in a strapless white bra and matching lace panties that hugged the slight curve of my ass.

“The dress will wrinkle,” I muttered, grasping at straws to slow things down even as I tilted my head to give him better access.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he murmured, his teeth lightly scraping over my pulse point as one arm wrapped around my stomach. His thick fingers splayed across my lower belly, the tip of one finger dipping just inside the edge of my panties.

His touch was hot, branding my skin as he held me with an intimate sort of possession that left me aching for more.

“Warwick,” I whimpered, biting my lower lip as he slid his other hand up my ribs to palm one breast. His thumb gently stroked across the fabric of my bra, and I felt my nipple pebble in response.

He kissed my jaw. “Wick. My friends call me Wick.”

The rest of his fingers slipped under the elastic band of my underwear, but he stopped any further descent.

“Are we friends?” I managed to get out.

His low, rough chuckle rumbled through his chest and into my back. “No, sweetheart. We’re going to be so much more than just friends.”

I wrapped my hands around his wrist, not sure if I was trying to tug his hand out of my panties or push them lower. My mind was buzzing, my skin electrified. And I was becoming increasingly aware that the spot between my legs was becoming slick.

“Alessia?” He squeezed my breast. “I can hear you thinking, wife.”

“I’ve never done this,” I admitted, not sure why confessing my virginity felt like something to be ashamed of. Maybe because I’d seen pictures of Warwick Forrester with a myriad of stunning women. Blondes, brunettes, redheads. Actresses, models, and even a surgeon.

I would have bet my brand new inheritance that my husband had more experience than most brothels, and that made me nervous he would find my lack of experience boring or frustrating.

The fact that I was about to have sex with a man I’d decided was my sworn enemy was barely a blip in the face of the very stark realization that I was about to have sex for the first time ever.

And if I was bad at it, that would somehow be even more humiliating than signing up to be purchased like a mail-order bride from the 1800s.

Wick’s arms tightened around me. “I’m well aware that I’m about to be your first, sweetheart. The questionnaire you completed was shared with me. Every single detail.”

I felt my cheeks turn crimson because I knew exactly what questionnaire he meant. Part of my application to Wife for Hire was a very detailed list of sexual experiences I’d had or would be open to trying.

And, yeah, there were quite a few things I’d needed to look up.

My medical workup prior to the wedding had included a visit to the gynecologist who had confirmed—in writing—my V card status.

“Do you know how enthralling it is to know my cock will be the only cock ever inside your tight cunt? That you waited for me?” His hips thrust against my ass, and I sucked in a sharp breath at the firm outline of his hard cock pressing against me.

“I must admit, I do love that my wife is willing to try so many things,” he added, his index finger and thumb rolling my nipple, “but I think we’ll keep things simple for our first time.”

“Oh. Okay,” I managed, swallowing a cry as I felt the dull thud of my pulse between my legs. My breathing turned ragged as I remembered the lengthy list of sexual activities I claimed I’d be up for trying.

Hopefully he wasn’t planning on crossing out a few this evening, because I was pretty certain that missionary was going to wreck me with this man. There was zero mistaking the size of the anaconda pressing against his pants and jabbing my ass.

Wick paused, then slowly turned me in his arms. One massive hand gripped my hip while the other wrapped around my throat in a gentle, but firm, hold. His dark eyes searched mine. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” I fibbed, my gaze darting away.

His eyes narrowed. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t lie to me. It’s a poor start to a marriage, and you’re not very good at it.”

I glared at him. “Fine. Yes. I’m nervous. Scared. Uncertain.” I hesitated. “I’m guessing there’s no way to put this off?”

He shook his head. “Delaying the inevitable will only make you more uneasy.”

“Or give me a chance to reconcile the reality,” I argued weakly.

“Would you?” He arched a brow, daring me to lie.

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