Page 8 of Hunter

“And it’s my duty as your husband to care for you.”

Taking her face in both my hands, I pulled her lips to mine, kissing her deeply so she knew what I felt for her was much more profound than sex. If we had to take our time, we would. If we needed to seek different treatment for her to live comfortably, we would. Hell, if I needed to not have sex for most of my life, I would have done anything so she was comfortable, happy, and mine.

“We will face this together, Bella. You’re not alone in this,” I told her firmly. “I have never left you alone, and I won’t now.”

Over the past few years, she had opened up to me about her struggles with endometriosis. How each month was excruciating when her period arrived. We would sit on the phone for hours, talking or just being with each other as she sobbed with the pain. I hated being unable to reach out and hold her, but I hoped my presence helped somewhat.

Her mother showed little to no sympathy with her plight. Even after her diagnosis, she would pass her painkillers and a hot water bottle for Isabella to retreat to her room with. Isabella’s father had an aversion to his family taking unnecessary medication due to a family member becoming addicted to prescription drugs and dying of an overdose. It took years of calling the family doctor for Isabella’s difficulty to be diagnosed, no matter how raw it became. I promised to make this right now she was mine.

Now, on our wedding night, she was on medication. We hoped we could make love the way we wanted to, but the last thing in this world I wanted was to hurt her. So, if we had to wait, we would. Our first time needed to be perfect, and I wasn’t going to allow a date on a calendar to control that.

After releasing her, I walked over to the silver champagne bucket on the sideboard. The green bottle with a gold label sitting in the bath of ice glinted under the flicker of candle light, and I held it up triumphantly.

“First, we toast in private to Mr. and Mrs. Devane,” I said, and she giggled. Nimbly, I popped the cork and poured the bubbly liquid into the two waiting flutes before passing one to Isabella. We clinked the rims together then sipped. “We are lucky, Bella. So many people in our world experience this night differently. They’re married off to others they don’t know, never mind love. I am honored to be starting our new chapter.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek as the day's emotion came to a head. I took her glass from her fingers before placing both hers and mine down.

“And even if we don’t manage to have full sex tonight, Bella. I plan to relish every inch of you I can. Can I see what my bride has underneath the dress?” She had frozen momentarily, then white teeth had bitten into the plump flesh of her bottom lip as her cheeks flushed red. The tension in the room heightened as we both stood silently for a few moments, waiting for her response. She turned away from me, and my heart sank. Perhaps she wasn’t ready.

“You’ll need to unlace my dress, husband,” she said, her voice so husky, I could have shot my load in my boxers on the spot.

Stepping forward, I pinched the white silk ribbon between my fingers and pulled. The bodice unraveled in front of my eyes, opening wide to expose the lace of her corset beneath. I lifted my hands to her shoulders and helped her lower the sleeves from her arms. The dress fell in a pool of white at her feet. She stepped out of the fabric deliberately, turning to face me. Standing in the center of our honeymoon suite, Isabella grinned and placed her hands on her hips as my hungry eyes drank her in.

Her smooth olive skin and wide curves were accentuated by white lace. Long muscular legs were defined spectacularly by high-heeled red stilettos. Her hands lifted to the pin holding her hair and she pulled, shiny black curls fell down around her shoulders.

“Fuck,” I muttered. “You take my breath away. You always do, but tonight, Bella, you are my goddess.”

“Your turn,” she said, her tone more confident. She felt good, and I loved that. “I want to see what I’ve signed up for.”

Taking her instruction like a good boy, I shrugged out of my tuxedo jacket, removed my bowtie, then began to unbutton my shirt. She took two slow steps forward, her hands coming to land where mine were on the gold buttons.

“I want to,” she whispered, taking each of my hands and placing them at my sides. She removed my shirt, and then her unsure fingers moved to my trousers before slipping them off. We stood before each other, man and wife, in nothing but our underwear. Both so bloody happy and excited to see where the future took us. Neither of us noticed the camera or the fact the door was unlocked. Neither of us was ready for what would happen next.

Chapter six

Isabella’s Residence, Knightsbridge

Isabella

Night has fallen across London. The early winter wind whirls through the trees outside as the last of the brown leaves fall. It’s six in the evening, and I’m already snuggled up on my sofa with a glass of wine and my pajamas firmly in place. A cheesy romantic comedy is playing on the television as I thumb through the divorce agreement again.

“Will that be everything today, Miss?” Ronan asks from the doorway, interrupting my melancholy. I look up to see him already dressed in his winter coat and scarf, ready to leave.What if I said no?I think bitchily, then immediately scold myself for my nasty streak. The man goes above and beyond the call of duty. He has every right to go home.

“Yes, Ronan. Thank you.”

He nods, his face painted with a sad smile. Though we never discuss how lonely I am, I know he knows. Most weekends are spent on my own. I’ve had girlfriends to socialize with in the past, but most are only interested in finding a rich husband. Men have been few and far between; any attempt at a relationship has ended in both parties only satisfying their sexual needs. I can do that myself, without the risk of heartbreak.

The online world I have created from behind the mask I wear is the only place I feel seen. It’s ironic, considering no one knows who I am. My content is a window into the person I could be if freedom were a choice I was born into. Now, at almost forty, it is a chance I must take, though I wish things had turned out differently.

My eyes drop to the documents in my lap. They are a stark reminder of a time that went so wrong. Our wedding night was meant to be one of the most special days of our lives—and it was until other family members got involved in the relationship between husband and wife.

We both stood gazing at each other in only our underwear. Hunter was handsome from the day I met him as a boy, but in his early twenties, he had developed into a striking man. He watched me as I undressed him, his eyes full of hope and love. I have never doubted for a moment that he loved me.

His hand reached for mine and pulled me to him. My arms snaked around his neck as his lips dropped to touch my collarbone. Excitement fluttered in my belly with the intimate gesture, both soft and fleeting. A promise of things to come, but also a signal that he wouldn’t push me.

“Come lie with me, Bella,” he whispered. “Let me hold you in my arms.”

He maneuvered us toward the bed, encouraging me to lie down on the white silk sheets. My hair splayed over the fabric as I gazed at my husband staring down. His cock stood tall beneath his boxers; a powerful hand disappeared below the waistband as he rearranged himself. The tip of his dick appeared momentarily before he covered himself once more.

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