Page 20 of The Marriage Debt

I breathe her in for a second and keep moving toward my room with light footsteps. I'm not sure what to make of her now after the way she came at me on the terrace. She obviously liked the way I made her feel, and yet she remains distant, even avoidant—and hostile. She has nothing to prove to me. I'm merely offering her a way to keep her son and stay with him. Though I'll admit the idea of having a wife wasn’t my plan, it may be growing on me.

When I open my door, she's there, seated on my bed like she owns it, legs stretched out and crossed, eyes staring at me. There's a glass of bourbon on the nightstand next to her, open bottle next to it. She's wearing the same nightgown, white satin, spaghetti straps, pink floral pattern. I walk in and shut the door while removing my tie.

All the lights except the one on the nightstand next to her are off. It's just enough to illuminate her face and make long shadows on her cheeks that create a haunting effect. Her eyes trace my movement as I toe off my shoes and begin unbuttoning my shirt.

"Did something happen?" I ask, moving toward the bed.

She shifts and makes herself more comfortable. "No, not exactly." Her eyes shift. A shoulder bobs. She reaches for her drink and sips it cautiously, then sets it back down. "I can hear Lev better in here… Your rooms share a wall."

The justification is weak. I see the way her shoulders tense as I sit on the edge of the bed to untuck my shirt and unbuckle my pants. If Lev wakes, he'll go to her door and she won't be there, and these walls are soundproof. There’s no way she'll hear him better in here, but I say nothing.

"Besides, I didn't feel like being alone. You sleep with someone in your bed for six years, you know…." I glance over my shoulder at her, see the look of fatigue in her eyes.

She doesn't miss Anton. She misses having someone to keep her warm at night. I nod, though I don't know that feeling well. Many women have shared my bed, but none of them long enough to miss now that they're gone.

"So you come in my room without permission?" My head hangs as I peel the shirt off, whip the belt from the loops, and lay it to the side. She says nothing as I stand to remove my slacks and let them drop to the floor, and when I fold the covers back and sink back to the bed to plug my phone in, her hand touches my shoulder softly.

I didn't even notice her wiggle her way across the bed, but she kneels behind me, so close I can feel her breath on my shoulder. Her eyes trace my tattoos and her fingers follow after them, admiring the black ink in the low light. I sit perfectly still, like a hunter hoping to not spook its prey, until her lips press on my shoulder.

"Lila," I growl softly. She doesn't know what she's doing, how things will change if she does this, if she pursues this. She doesn't know how it will change me, how it will change her.

"What?" she moans, hot breath dusting my cheek. Her tongue slides up my jaw, teeth nip my earlobe.

"You don't know what you're asking for," I warn her, though the surge in my cock says otherwise.

"I know exactly what I'm asking for," she purrs, dropping a trail of kisses down my chest and licking her way back up my neck. I grip her wrist when she reaches for my swelling dick, and she pauses, teeth sunk into my pulse point. “Am I doing something wrong? You are my husband, after all…”

"Don't say I didn't warn you," I growl softly, eyes never leaving hers as she backs across the bed and I turn to crawl after her. "And don't blame me if you can't handle what you ask for." I hook a hand around her leg, drag her toward me, and pin her wrists above her head, my lower half pressed against her center. I can smell how wet she is for me. Her darting eyes meet mine, her breathing ragged, and she bites her lip nervously.

"I can take it," she whispers, though her voice is a lie. I tighten my grip on her wrists as I tug the fabric of her nightgown up around her chest, baring her lower half. No panties—more convenient that way. She’s soaked too, moisture glistening between her thighs as she spreads them to me. It dampens my boxers, clings to my dick through them. She’s been thinking about this for a while, and maybe the alcohol helped.

“Good girl,” I praise, releasing her wrists. Then I grip her hair roughly and pull her in for a punishing kiss as I grind against her with one forceful thrust. Our lips and tongues clash as our hips rock together. She tries to pull away, but I maintain my grip, burying my face in her neck and coaxing out those sweet whimpers I love so much. My other hand finds her breast, squeezing and kneading roughly, then I pinch her nipple hard between my fingers.

“Mateo,” she gasps, a strangled cry escaping her parted lips. Her fingers tug at the elastic waistband of my boxers, urging them lower, and I admire her eagerness. Her eyes are wild when I pull away, dark with need as I back out of her reach. She whimpers when I slip off the bed and pull them off, then kneel as I grab her ankles and pull her until her thighs pass by on either side of my cheeks.

“You asked for this,” I growl, then I dive into her center, teasing her folds with my tongue, lapping at her sweetness until she’s writhing and begging for more. Lila’s not alone in this. I’ve wanted her like this too, craved the taste of her on my lips since that night on the balcony. My cock throbs against my stomach, aching to have her again and again until we both collapse in a tangle of spent limbs and sweet exhaustion. But first, I want to make her scream my name.

Her body writhes and arches as I hold her open, running my tongue in slow, torturous circles around her entrance while she moans and begs for more. When my lips wrap around her swollen clit, she bucks against my face, and it opens her up wider to give my fingers room to push into her.

“Mateo,” she pants, then bites her lip when I start thrusting and apply more pressure. Her walls clamp down around my finger, her entire body tensing before she clenches around me and begins convulsing. I love how her hand rides the top of my head, fingernails clawing my scalp, and I don’t back away when she pulls my hair or swears at me.

Instead I keep going, sucking and licking her sensitive bundle to erase every last bit of her self-control until she’s a quivering mess beneath me. When her body finally relaxes, I crawl up the bed and effortlessly flip her onto her belly, angle my aching dick against her slick core, and in one deep push, my hips meet hers.

“Fuck yes,” I growl against her ear as her tight, wet entrance envelopes me whole. “Is this what you wanted, Lila? You want my cock? Say it.” I grind into her moisture while I spank her round ass cheek. She yelps in response but doesn’t reply, so I do it again, harder, eliciting a cry that makes my cock rock hard—and more importantly, drives me mad with desire. “Say it,” I command gruffly.

“Yes,” she grunts, hiding her face in the pillow as I mercilessly pound into her from behind.

“Say it again,” I hiss. I tighten my grip on her hip, drag her back to meet each thrust. Her pussy clenches around me, the walls fluttering as she nears another orgasm already. “Beg me for more,” I almost growl, coaxing her forward with every thrust until I feel her walls spasm around my dick.

“More,” she gasps, panting as she comes around my length, spasms taking over. “Fuck yes, fuck… Harder.”

I reach around and find her clit, applying just enough pressure to send her over the edge, and she explodes beneath me, her nails raking my thighs as she screams into my pillow. I barely make out the sound of my name on her lips, and it makes me lose it.

“Jesus, Lila,” I grunt, thrusting into her until my seed floods her and drains out around her body. My hips slow and my dick continues to pulse. As I pull out, I let go of her, watch her lie on the bed and twitch as the waves of pleasure fade from her body. Her pussy clenches and cum drains from her, then relaxes, and I admire the darkness of her blood-engorged lips.

Afterward, she turns away from me without a word. No glance. No sound. Just rolls to her side and pulls the sheet with her like she's trying to hide what just happened—like it means less if it’s covered. I watch her for a second, breathing hard, jaw clenched, then I get up. My body’s still humming from her, blood still pumping like I’m ready for another round, but I don’t touch her again. I head to the shower.

The water scalds. I let it. I let the sting remind me that I’m still in control, still the one holding the cards here, even if it didn’t feel that way when she was under me, breathing my name like it was salvation and sin all at once.

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