Page 88 of Antiletum
“I do love how you say my name,” he says, marching us dutifully to the open door.
My mouth drops when I feel my husband’s warm lips plant a soft kiss to my hip. Sweet. Almost chaste—if I wasn’t naked, disoriented, and squirming in his strong arms after he yanked me out of a bath.
My mind is thrown deeper into a vortex by the sight of black ink covering his back right in front of my face, those intricately placed feathers and lines crawling deliciously across his body. I could push out my tongue now, trace the tattoo with its tip. Taste his skin.
I hadn’t even noticed we made it to my bed until I sense that Val is about to drop me on top of the dark grey covers. I gasp. “You’re going to get my bed wet!”
It’s a ridiculous observation. With everything happening at this moment, the dryness of my sheets should be the very least of my worries. Especially when my husband ignores my concern, tosses me on my back, and throws a leg over my hips to straddle my body. Sure and graceful. Giving me no room to move.
He settles on my hips, nice and heavy but not so much weight that it’s uncomfortable. On the contrary, it feels alarmingly pleasant.
“If you’re worried about this bed being wet, you can always sleep inourstonight. Or I could stay here with you. Make a proper mess of things and then retire to our warm, clean sheets. Together.Doesn’t that sound nice?”
I gape at him, outraged. Frozen. Swallowed by soft down at my back and the heat of my husband at my naked front. “No! It doesn’t!”
“Very well then.”
Val is oblivious to my complete shock over the sequence of events over the last minute. My instincts waiting for him to come back to me today weren’t at all wrong. The denial I anticipated last night has come fully to fruition. Stronger than what I had expected.
I buck my hips, push at his legs, my wet hands turning the fabric dark, trying to throw him off of me. And it’s painfully exhilarating when he strengthens his stance, pinning me down further as he leans forward to wrestle my arms into his grasp.
For a moment, I succeed in keeping myself free, thanks to how wet and slick my skin is. But in no time, Val has my wrists pinned in one hand, raising them above my head—firm but careful, and his controlled dominance has me delving into a puddle of liquid warmth beneath him, practically arching my back for more.
His other hand disappears into his pocket. I half expect to see the same habit of Val clutching the mystery item he’s always reaching for. A wave of excitement hits me, suspecting that I may finally learn what it is, but instead, he withdraws a white, nearly sheer ribbon.
I can’t imagine that a scrap of spidersilk would be what he holds so dear. No, I’m certain that it’s purpose has everything to do with him barging into my en suite and the way he has my wrists held in his hands right now.
“What are you doing?” I scream. But I can’t bring myself to say any of the little words that I know I should. The ones that would match my physical fight. That might actually make Val pull his perfect weight away from me.
Instead, I revel in how my pussy clenches hard when my husband tightens his hold on my wrists and leans over my body. His bare chest rubs against my hard, bare nipples. I’m taken by an involuntary image of him holding me down, just like this, while he pushes my legs apart with a knee and slides his big, heavy cock right on inside of me.
Deep. Hard. Owning.
I’m getting hotter, wetter—I barely stifle a shameful, needy little moan when Val confirms my suspicions of the ribbon by quickly wrapping the spidersilk around my wrists in a complicated pattern and then expertly weaves it through the slats at my headboard, tying me down. Putting me in my place.
Completely at his mercy.
I like it far more than I ever should. Especially with all the misery he has hand delivered me since we’ve begun haunting each other’s lives. I can’t decide if this increasing want is in spite of or because of all that he’s done, completely driven by his unhinged devotion.
“You know,” Val says calmly, pushing my wet hair behind my ear. “I nearly crafted your earrings out ofvinculum, same as mine”—hegestures at his own black earrings that I lovingly placed in his ear—“since they will need to be one day when you are able to shift. So you may never lose them.”
But of course, hemadethem all himself.
“Val!” I scream, getting an inkling of where this scenario may be leading.
I knew the removal of his wedding gift would cut deep, but it seems I struck a nerve I hadn’t fully anticipated the repercussions of.
I yank at the tie around my wrists, a pleasurable ache pulling at my upper back, my hearing muffled and strange with how my shoulders rest by my ears. But the fabric wrapped around me doesn’t chafe. It’s so soft, almost delicate; it’s almost like there’s nothing there at all.
But no matter how I move or twist, my tether doesn’t come free. It only increases the pressure wound around my wrists and the traitorous ache building between my legs. Spidersilk keeping me captive in my own bed. A very expensive, indestructible, thoughtful shackle.
Val sits back on his heels, still straddling my waist, smiling down at me and his handiwork when I finally sit still.
I glare back at him.
He cocks a brow: an obvious challenge. Waiting for me to say something. I could. Ishould. But I just can’t make my tongue work past the lovely heaviness gathering between my thighs. It’s too wanted. It feels fartoo good.
And I need it. I need him to stoke this raging fire so it may finally burn out.
