Page 55 of His Vengeful Tradwife

His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, across the strong cheekbones, sweat running down his jaw.

"Get up," I said.

"Do it," he countered, reaching up and yanking the protective tip off my saber.

"You want me to stab you in the throat?" I asked uncomprehendingly.

"Take what you need to forgive me," Maverick growled, yanking the blade closer. "I don't care what I have to give up. I will do it, Tallulah. Ineedyour love this badly. Iwantyou this badly."

I only stared at my husband as he yanked his shirt open to show his strong tanned throat.

"Right here," he said, trying to jab the blade into his throat. "Take my blood."

Now this was melodramatic and gothic as fuck and he couldn't possibly mean it. . .

And he drew the blade across his throat in a shallow slice.

"Please," he said. "I'm not going anywhere, Tallulah. Slit my throat if you have to. Only forgive me afterwards. Love me back."

My breath caught in my throat and I just stared at him as the blood sprung to his tanned skin, my fury finally spent and finished.

It felt better out, it feltdamngood for my anger to be fully out of me.

"I love you too," I said, watching at the feral light that shone in his dark eyes and he stood up suddenly, knocking the blade away from his throat with an impatient big hand so it clattered noisily on the ground. Then he tore at my mask and gear, rending through them in his effort to get to me.

Then he was pressing me up against the side of the barn, ripping my pants off impatiently, big, dark, and irresistible.

And he bent down between my thighs, his broad shoulders forcing me wide, and he spread my pussy with one big hand and buried his face between my legs.

I squealed with pleasure, his tongue sure and confident, going instantly to where I needed him, the exact pressure I needed as he growled with the thrill of possessing me.

"I can do it better than forty fucking volleyball players," he rasped, and I said nothing, because one big finger had slipped inside me, curling into my heat, Maverick's tongue circling my clit.

My body had always been his to command, and I didn’t fight it now, didn’t fight the release that would mark me as his.

I buried my hands in his hair, my nipples tightening, stinging with need as his tongue devoured me.

"Oh god, I'm close," I cried, as my legs left the ground and I arched against the rough wood in agony.

He moved up to curve a big hand around the back of my neck as he kissed me roughly, yanking one leg high up in the air and giving me no warning before he thrust into me as I gasped with his size.

"Fuck, Maverick," I groaned, the walls of my pussy stretching with a pleasurable sting.

"Yes," he growled against my mouth. "Say my name again."

"Maverick," I whispered. "I love you."

He practically howled in triumph. "I love you too," he groaned in my ear, his hands tight on me. Dark, possessive, the blood from his cut damp on my throat too as my head hit the barn and his big cock split me open, driving me to an unmistakable shuddering release.

"Making it up to you for the rest of my life starts now," my husband said firmly as he kissed me.

Epilogue

Tallulah (One year later)

"Truly a regal woman," my father-in-law said as we stood respectfully before the Mona Lisa. "Look at the smile on her face. Small, prim, that elusive coy look on her visage that presages the explosive volcanic passions beneath the surface."

"Nonsense, you nincompoop," his mother-in-law retorted hotly. "That's a frown on her face, not a smile. She's clearly irritated by the chauvinistic attitude of the painter, Leonardo da Vinci. The expression on her face is her rebellion against the unfair cultural and social expectations placed on her as a model. She was probably a painter herself. A much better one."

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