Page 81 of Unrequited
“My love,” he murmurs. “I thought I explained my expectations to you. When I tell you to do something, I expect obedience.” He pauses. “Is there a problem?”
My lips tug downward into a frown even as my pulse hammers. I swallow hard, the words caught in my throat.
“Another rule,” he whispers, so soft it’s almost cruel. “When I ask you a question, I expect an answer. Doesn’t have to be your life story. Doesn’t have to be much. But one answer, love. Or there will be consequences.”
He kisses my cheek. Gentle. His mouth is to my ear. “It’s our first week together. I’ll let this one slide. But don’t make me repeat myself again.”
I nod, then swallow. Barely a whisper escapes. “Yes, sir.”
His eyes flash, dark and knowing. He likes that. I can feel it.
My cheeks go up in flames. My belly swoops and tightens, and I swallow again.
“I’m going to take it easy on you tonight,” he says, stepping back just a bit. “I won’t punish you. Not on our wedding night. But I did ask a question.”
He tilts his head, watching me closely. “So let me ask again. You seem like you don’t want to go to sleep. What’s the problem, love?”
I can barely get the words out. “It’s our… our wedding night.”
Doesn’t he want me? Shouldn’t we…? I fidget, flushed and nervous. “Aren’t there… rules?” My voice breaks on the last word.
He chuckles, low and dark. Clearly amused.
“Ah, angel,” he says, and kisses my cheek again. “Aren’t you a sight.”
Then he nods, just once. “Yes. There are rules. We’re expected to consummate the marriage. Both the Irish and the Russians will expect it to be official.”
“I… I know,” I whisper. He laughs then, really laughs, and god, my heart can hardly stand it. It’s so rare to see his face light up like that.
“You’re wondering why I haven’t taken you to bed,” he says, his words thick with something unnamable. “Because I saw the way you looked. I saw the fear in your eyes.”
He pauses. That shadow returns. “And I don’t want you to fear me.”
A beat.
“Unless you disobey me. Then? It’s appropriate.”
The heat that swells inside me is terrifying in its own way. It’s not just fear.
It’s something deeper. Darker. Something I’ve never felt before.
“Don’t you want me?” I whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate. Turns me to face him, sits on the edge of the bed, spreads his knees, and pulls me into the space between them.
“My sweet,” he says, so gently it shatters me.
And that’s when I feel it. The strain of his arousal pressing against his trousers. The hard, undeniable truth of what I do to him.
He’s big. God, so big. And I can see now, see it in his restraint, in the tightness of his jaw, that he’s holding himself back.
“Don’t you understand?” he says. “It’s because of the way I feel about you that I’m exercising self-control. You’re the only woman who’s ever made me feel like I might lose all of it, all my control. Every damn thread of it. Understand?”
I nod. Swallow. “Yes.”
“Good,” he says. “I don’t want our first night to be anything but perfect. And by my logic, we’ve got at least a day before anyone comes looking. I’ve got surveillance on every entrance. No one’s getting in.”
He cups the back of my head, presses his mouth to my cheek.
