Page 44 of Claiming Genevieve

Stumbling forward, my hand already moving on my aching length, I grip the edge of the counter as I start to feverishly stroke myself. There’s nothing slow about it—no buildup, no taking my time. I need to fucking come, and that’s the only thing on my mind as I slide my palm over the weeping tip, precum soaking my hand as I white-knuckle the counter and look down at my throbbing length.

I can’t recall ever being this fucking hard. All I can think about is Genevieve in the next room, stripping that dress off, and what she looks like naked. I imagine her small breasts, what her nipples must look like, whether or not she’s bare between her thighs. I think of her long legs wrapped around me, of how fucking good she would feel when I sank into her, and I groan aloud as I grip my cock and stroke faster, desperate for release.

I know she can probably hear me, but I don’t fucking care.Let her hear me,I think violently, moaning again as I pump my hips into my fist, hissing out a sound of pleasure between my teeth.Let her hear what she does to me. Let her fucking listen to her husband jerking off on her wedding night.

“A few days,” I mutter, thrusting hard against my hand. “A few days—and then I’m going to show you what you’re missing.” I close my eyes, gritting my teeth as I feel my balls tighten. “I’m going to fill you up with my fucking cum—god! Fuck!”

A ragged groan spills from my lips as I angle my cock just in time, cum spraying against the sink as it spurts from my tip in hot jets that I’d give fucking anything to be spilling inside of Genevieve right now instead. I moan, thrusting into my hand again as another shiver of pleasure ripples down my spine, and then I sag forward, my hand loosening on my cock as I let out a breath.

I’ve only just tucked myself in and undone my tie, in the middle of unbuttoning my shirt, when a knock comes at the door.

“Are you done?” Genevieve’s voice comes through the door. “I need to get ready for bed.”

She could just be referring to me changing, but there’s a note in her voice that makes me think she’s ribbing me for being in here, jerking off. My jaw tightens, and I let my shirt fall open, striding to the door as I flip the lock and yank it open. “By all means,” I say tightly. “Come in. Don’t let me stop you. We’re married, after all. I think I can watch you brush your teeth.”

The reaction that I get from her is exactly the one I wanted. She opens her mouth to retort, and freezes, her eyes dropping to my bare chest and sliding downwards.

She’s never seen me shirtless before. I see her take in my defined chest, the ridges of my abdomen, the deep cut of muscle on either side leading down into my suit trousers in a defined ‘v’. I see her swallow, watch her throat move as she drags her eyes back up, her cheeks suddenly stained a pretty shade of pink.

“Like the view?” I smirk. “I’d have been happy to show it to you earlier, if?—”

“Oh, fuck off!” She spins on her good heel, limping away toward the bed, and I chuckle under my breath. My amusement is short-lived, because watching her walk away?—

She’s wearing a pair of white silk shorts and a matching camisole top, and I swear I can see a glimpse of the small curve of her ass under the edge of the shorts. “For someone who doesn’t want to be a wife tonight, you’ve sure picked some lovely bridal wear,” I call after her, feeling my cock already starting to rise to the occasion for the second time tonight. “Should I find a pair of white satin boxers, then?”

“Wear whatever the fuck you want,” she snaps, still not looking back at me.

“So nothing at all, then. You’ll like that in the morning, I’m sure.”

“I plan to sleep in, so I’m sure I won’t notice.”

The air crackles in the broad space between us, and I watch her from across the room, aching to cross over to her, run my hands through her hair, and kiss her until she’s moaning for me instead of spitting insults. Instead, I turn reluctantly back toward the sink to finish getting ready for bed, doing my best to ignore the ache between my thighs.

It’s going to be a long fucking night.

—

A few daysfeels like a fucking eternity.

I wake up the next morning with Genevieve on the other side of the king-sized bed. She didn’t gravitate toward me in the middle of the night, and I didn’t make my way in my sleep toward her. I tell myself to take it as a sign that there’s nothing more between us than the arrangement that we agreed to, but instead, I find myself watching her from my side of the bed instead of getting up.

She’s just as beautiful when she sleeps, her dark lashes against her cheek, her hair spilling around her face. I swallow hard, resisting the urge to touch her, and instead swing my legs out of bed and head for the shower—and another fifteen or so minutes alone with my morning erection and fantasies of my wife.

My morning and afternoon consist of telling Rory to get a couple of guys together to start moving Genevieve’s stuff over, and then sitting through meetings with my father. He informs me that now that the wedding is done, I’ll need to meet formally with the other heads of the families in order to prepare for when I’ll be taking over. I listen with half an ear, nodding along, thinking of going home to Genevieve tonight—of what I’ll say to her, of what we’ll do with the hours that we’ll be in the penthouse together, living together now. I’ve never lived with anyone before, and I don’t know exactly how to go about it.

It’s easier than I expected. We order takeout and make idle small talk over dinner, until Genevieve drifts off to read a book while I go over some files that my father sent home with me. By the time I come up to bed, she’s already asleep, and I lie awake for some time next to her, wondering if ‘a few days’ really means exactly three. If so, I have forty-eight hours left to endure before I can finally touch my wife.

Those forty-eight hours seem to last a lifetime. When I come home on the third day after our wedding, Genevieve doesn’t act any differently. She doesn’t throw me any flirtatious looks or make any offhand comments to suggest what we might be doing tonight. We eat, and talk a little, and sip a glass of wine while looking out over the city view from my penthouse, and I see Genevieve glance at the pool contemplatively.

“I can’t wait to be out of this cast so I can use it,” she says, and then hands me her plate as I get up to take the dishes into the kitchen.

I tell myself not to get my hopes up. Not to imagine anything that she might not follow through on. But the truth is that I’ve been half-hard all fucking day, imagining what might happen tonight.

When I walk upstairs, I can hear my pulse beating in my ears. I swallow hard as I reach for the doorknob, and when I step into the bedroom, I see Genevieve sitting atop the bed, wearing that silky shorts and tank top combination that she had on for our wedding night.

I pause in the doorway, feeling all of the blood in my body go south, my cock stiffening instantly against my zipper. Genevieve sets her book down, her expression perfectly blank as she looks at me.

“Well,” she says slowly, “I think it’s time to keep up my end of the deal.”

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