Page 97 of Sinclair Duet

I’d been in this damn hospital for more than a few days before, yet I wasn’t sure where I was leading Ella until I saw the sign.

“Damien?” she questioned as I led her toward a single bathroom.

“Privacy.”

Ella seemed to accept my answer.

As I pulled open the door, the rush of emotions from moments ago raced through my circulation. There was the elation that Ella was now mine in every way. That said, I couldn’t ignore the nagging sadness and worry about my father. Those emotions were far from the only ones coursing through me. There was the continued shock at Darius and Amber’s announcement. Rage that Amber and her mother planned to take advantage of Sinclair during this vulnerable time.

However, as Ella stepped inside the ten-by-six-foot room and I turned and bolted the door, one sensation overtook the others. Control. I needed it. I thrived on it. I’d let it slip away, and I wanted it back. Before Ella could say a word, her chin was in my grasp, my hand lifting her mouth to mine.

Wife.

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 topof 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.

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