Page 7 of Owned By her Enemy
I cup her jaw gently in my palm and lower my head to hers. Our kiss is light. A brush of lips.
She draws away with a gasp, and that triggers something in me. I grab her. Crush her to me, and the beast inside me roars. I hold her, my hand a necklace, my thumb over her throat. My kiss this time is brutal, a savage thing that possesses me and claims her. I kiss her like she’s air, as though I could eat her up. There are murmurs around us of polite concern. She makes a muffled squeak and for a second her lips part, soft and accepting, her hand on my shoulder pulling me closer.
Then she shoves, and I release her.
“That’s enough!” she hisses, staring up at me like a disgruntled mouse yelling at an elephant.
Is it?
No. It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough until she is wild with lust and love and begging me to take her. Until she’s mine in every way.
But she’s right, it’s enough for now. And I don’t mind keeping up the facade of a reluctant bridegroom. It wouldn’t do for Tottenham to know how entirely I’ve won this battle.
I give a mocking bow and offer my hand. Applause breaks out as we walk down the aisle to the orchestral version of the first song she ever posted. I wonder if she recognises it?
At the door, we pause as the photographers catch up, snapping from all sides.
My palm on her waist, keeping her close, I lean down.
“Just wait until I get you home,” I growl into her ear. “With all the fluff you’ve arranged it’ll be late, but it’s notenoughuntil I say it is.” There are many things I want to show mywife.
3
LOTTE
I planned it this way, but our wedding day is gruelling. A marathon of eating, dancing, clapping, watching. There is a week’s worth of entertainment. My new husband doesn’t leave my side during any of it.
The wedding ring is unnatural on my finger. Heavy. It’s one link of a chain that weighs me down as my ill-fated husband helps me from the limo outside his house. Unlike Tottenham Tower, Edmonton’s house isn’t open to the street, instead having a short but sweeping driveway, hidden in trees, that leads to the front steps. The glimpse I have of the building is an impression of an imposing, traditional design, with sash windows and stones in lines rather than modern glass and steel.
Edmonton is as refined as Tottenham is brash.
“I’ll show you your rooms,” Nikolai says as he leads me up a sculpted grand wooden staircase, all dark floral wallpaper and plush carpets that soften our footsteps. “My bedroom is there if you need anything.” He indicates a door then walks in the opposite direction. “I suggest you sleep, and we talk in the morning. It’s been a long day.”
He shows me sitting rooms that are all understated luxury. No chrome and hard lines here. It’s all quality and elegance. Different though this house may be, as I follow him down a corridor to yet another sitting room for my use, my skin is too small. I have to get out of here.
So, when we finally get to a bedroom, I halt abruptly.
“Aren’t we going to consummate our marriage?” I blurt out, and he stops walking halfway to another door, and yet another room.
I think in bed, as he’s in the throes of pleasure, his guard down, would be the perfect time to kill him. I try not to think about why I’m circling back around to that idea, rather than just knifing him in the back in the kitchen while he’s eating breakfast. Less dramatic, sure, but usually I’m a practical kind of person. It’s almost like I kind of want him to take my virginity.
It’s not that. Obviously.
Much.
“Do you want us to have sex?” he asks as he turns, then looks me up and down dispassionately.
I can’t say no, because that’s not true. I do want him, almost as much as I want to kill him. But yes isn’t an option either, because I don’t want to seem eager. That’ll tip him off.
“I’ll do my duty.”
He barks out a laugh. “No, that’s not enough.”
“It’s an arranged marriage,” I say with a huff. “What do you expect?”
“I expect you to beg me,” he replies softly, his voice deep and resonating through me like the bass of a favourite song. “I expect you to be desperate for my cock. I want your pussy creaming and so wet you’re dripping with need. You’ll be shaking with desire when I take you.”
Oh. My jaw is slack. Despite the fact that isn’t going to happen and is antithetical to my aims, the way he says it, in a low rumble that liquifies my belly, draws me in.
