Page 61 of The Unwanted Wife

He goes on as if he doesn’t hear me. “I wanted to be gentler with you. Instead, I couldn’t stop from putting my needs first. This is what happens when—” he firms his lips.

“When?” I scowl. Why is he so upset? It was good—better than good. That was a move-the-earth-kind of orgasm he gave me. I mean, I’m the virgin here. Or rather, was a virgin. If anything, I should be emotionally upset about what happened, but I feel good. Better than good. I feel like I belong here in his bed, with his big, fat cock bringing me to climax over and over again. Instead, he’s the one who’s so pissed off with himself. If I didn’t know him better, I’d say… Naaaah… I freeze. It’s not possible. Is it?

“Nathan?” I rise up to my feet, my skirt still bunched around my waist. That’s what happens when you wear something slim fitting, with hips and thighs that form a natural resting place for the fabric. You have to tug on the fabric to smooth it down, but before I can do that, a drop of something— Blood? His cum? Mine? A mix of all three runs down my inner thigh. His gaze latches onto that and, when I come to a stop in front of him, he reaches out, scoops up the moisture, brings it to his mouth and sucks on it.

It should gross me out, but instead, a thousand little fireflies seem to light up in my blood stream. “Nate, look at me,” I whisper.

Something in my voice—or maybe it’s the emotions vibrating off of me, which communicate themselves to him—makes his chin jerk up. His gaze locks with mine, and it’s like a physical blow to my chest. I’ll never not be impacted by this man’s gaze. “Nate”—I swallow— “when... when was the last time you had sex?”

He glares at me. The hair on my forearms rises, and that giddy feeling in my belly is back, but I manage to ignore it. I rise up on tiptoes and cup his cheek. He flinches but doesn’t move away.

“Tell me, baby, when was the last time you fucked?—”

“—a few days before your eighteenth birthday,” he bites out.

I blink.

“A... A few days before my eighteenth birthday?” I can’t have heard that right. “So, you haven’t had sex for more than five years?”

“Not that I haven’t wanted to.” He laughs in a self-deprecating manner. “Trust me, I tried. But I couldn’t even bring a woman home, not when the only one I wanted in my bed was you. I tried fucking them at their place, but it felt all wrong. I couldn’t bring myself to touch them, let alone, have sex with them. I tried beating off to porn; didn’t work. Not until I imagined it was your pussy I was inside, that it was you I was bending over and taking from behind, that it was your arse I was taking, your nipples I was squeezing, your breasts I was weighing in my hands. And then… I finally find a way to get you in my bed, and what do I do?”

“You make love to me.”

“I shagged you?—”

“You showed me how good it could be. I couldn’t have chosen a better man to lose my virginity to. I couldn’t have asked for a more amazing experience on my wedding night.”

He flinches again.

“And for the record, I found it even more pleasurable when you asked me to run and chased me. It heightened the entire experience?—"

His gaze grows stark.

“—uh… thought I should let you know.”

A vein pops at his temple.

“Just in case you were wondering...” My voice peters out.

The muscle working at his jaw tells me that was not the right thing to say. Huh? Before I can ask, he pivots and stalks off in the direction of the ensuite.

“Nate? Nathan?” I call out, but he doesn’t stop. Or maybe, he didn’t hear me? Is his hearing problem exacerbated only when there’s noise? Or does he always need to compensate for his hearing loss with lip reading? There are so many questions I have for him. So much I don’t know about my new husband.

The one thing I have learned about him is that he wants me to fight him when it comes to sex. He wants me to protest that I don’t want him. When I struggle, it excites him. When I run, and he gets to chase me before he fucks me, it turns him on even more.

I hear the sound of water running, then he returns from the bathroom with a wet cloth. And he’s wearing a pair of grey sweats. His cock is outlined through the fabric at the crotch, and my mouth waters. It’s not fair the man fills out a pair of sweatpants even better than he looks in a pair of tailor-made formal pants. His hair is mussed-up, and with his bare chest, and the makings of a five o’clock shadow, he looks deliciously rumpled.

"It’s called Primal Play." He leans in and presses the cloth to the flesh between my legs.

It’s my turn to flinch… Not because it hurts, but because it’s cold. The slight burning sensation subsides. He looks at the cloth and his features harden more, if that’s possible.

"So that’s your kink?" I survey his scowling face.

He takes a few steps toward the bathroom and tosses the cloth into the sink. "To me, it’s as natural as doing it in the missionary position is for other people. I’m turned on when my woman struggles against my hold and uses the tools she’s born with: nails, hair, teeth, and skin?—

"You want me to fight you?”

He lowers his chin to his chest. "I want you to act on instinct. I want you to get in touch with your base self and express yourself freely."

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