Page 159 of My Ruthless Husband

Before he can respond, I take him back in, my mouth hollowing out as I press forward, the tip hitting the back of my throat. I swallow around him, feeling him shudder at the sensation.

“Keep going,” he urges, voice gravelly.

I don’t need to be told twice. I quicken the pace, my mouth working him skillfully, picking it up quicker than I thought. I’m already mastering it. I love the way he throbs, how he surrenders a little more with each passing second.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the sound of his voice driving me wild. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

I respond with a moan, pulling back just enough to catch my breath before diving back in, taking him deeper, sucking hard, the sound of my mouth gliding against him echoing in the otherwise quiet room. I feel him twitching, sense the way he’s on the brink, and I push harder, my tongue flicking against his sensitive spots as my hands work faster.

“Enough,” he grunts.

Out of breath, trembling, I glance up at my towering husband, his powerful frame makes me feel small, utterly owned. The sight of his tight muscles and labored breathing has me on the edge.

I can feel the heat radiating from him, so close, ready to come down my throat. I continue moving my mouth on him as my hands stroke his thighs, gripping the jeans that’s still around his knees.

“I need to be inside you,” he grinds out but I refuse to listen. I close my eyes and keep sucking, gagging a few times but don’t stop.

Abruptly, he shoves his hands under my arms and yanks me up. I can hardly process the shift as he pushes me against the wall, yanking off my trousers and panties like they’re nothing but an obstacle.

“I was winning,” I grumble then cry out in surprise when he cups my ass and lifts me off the ground.

“You’ve already won,” he says as he lowers me onto his hard cock. I wrap my legs and arms around him as he starts to fuck me.

His thrusts are hard, relentless, driving me into the wall with each powerful stroke. I can feel the pleasure coiling tight in my belly, building with every thrust, every movement sending shocks of ecstasy through me.

“God, yes,” I moan, lost in the sensation. He drives deeper, hitting all the right spots until I’m crying out, coming against the wall, my body trembling with the force of it.

But he’s not done. He pulls out, lowers me to the floor, ripping my bra off before forcing me onto all fours on the cold, hard ground. The chill against my heated skin only heightens my desire.

Soon he is kneeling behind me and plunging back into me, his hands gripping my hips as he fucks me hard from behind. I rock against him, both of us loud, voicing the pleasure we are drawing from each other. He grabs my hair, yanking it hard, my scalp stinging as his fist tightens. But I take it. I fucking want it.

The roughness, the urgency, it pushes me over the edge again, and I’m gasping, tears running down my face.

He pulls me up again, taking me to the bed, and I barely have time to catch my breath before he’s on me once more. This time, it’s slow, deep, as he fills me completely, taking me to heights once again.

Each thrust drives me wild until I’m screaming, and I’m coming apart, my whole body shaking.

After that, he quickens his pace, pounding into me hard and fast. He finally chases his own climax, his body tensing and then he’s coming inside me.

He buries his face in the crook of my neck, breathing hard. Then after a few minutes, he lifts his head. “Are you okay?”

I nod, wincing as he pulls out of me. Suddenly cold, I yank at the sheets from under me and settle inside. I wait for him to go take a shower and forget about me like he always does. He’s not the one to cuddle or pillow talk. Which is fine by me as I’m used to it.

As predicted, he turns and heads in the direction of the bathroom. But before entering, he stops suddenly and then without turning says, “For his sake, you’ll stay away from him.”

I frown. “Stay away from whom?”

He turns then, his eyes hard. “Matthew Lane.”

Chapter Forty

Past

Rejected. That’s the only word that can describe what I’m feeling as I slowly wipe the last smudge of makeup from my face. My reflection stares back at me, stripped bare—not just of the look I spent hours preparing, but of every hope I had to make things better between us tonight.

I change into the new satin nightgown and sink down onto the edge of the bed, suddenly too tired. He said he didn’t regret marrying me. Then why is he behaving like this? Did my father’s disapproval, the world’s judgment really break him? The man I married was strong, powerful... but maybe even someone like Damian has limits.

Tears sting the back of my eyes, but I swallow them down. Crying won’t change anything. It won’t make him come back or explain why he’s been so distant since yesterday. It won’t make him look at me the way I crave—like I’m worth the sacrifices, like he didn’t make the biggest mistake of his life by marrying me.

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