Page 16 of Poisoned Vows

Her full lips part, and she moans, softly. Her hips twitch under my hand, her clit throbbing, and my fist tightens around my cock, stroking as my palm rubs over my swollen head.

I’m going to come so fucking hard, and I’m going to leave the taste of it on her lips. A reminder of who owns her now. Who she belongs to—who she’ll submit to.

She might have taken her first pleasure from her own hand, but I’ll be the only man who ever gives it to her. And before the first night is over—

I’ll have her begging for more.

I stroke myself faster, my balls tight and aching. It takes everything in me not to climb onto the bed with her, to push her thighs apart and her skirt up, to put my mouth on that sweet wet pussy and make her come with my tongue before I fuck her hard. If she were anyone else, I would. If she werewilling.

But she’smine. My innocent, defiant bride-to-be—and I refuse to be ruled by my desire for her. I refuse to let her make me do things that will make me hate myself later. That will make me wish I’d chosen otherwise.

This is bad enough. I know that, even as I feel her squirm under my hand in her sleep, her body arching towards her pleasure unawares. But I needsomething. And from the way her body is responding, so does she.

My cock is rock-hard, on the verge of bursting. I slide my hand along it in long, firm strokes, passing over the head with each slide, at the very edge of my pleasure. I’m so fucking close. It’s like I never jerked off in the shower today. Like I haven’t come in months. I think of her arousal on my fingers, of her rubbing herself to her first frantic orgasm, of that same wetness on the shaft of my dick right now, easing my hand as I stroke myself, and I rock forward as I feel the pleasure well up, my cock hardening and swelling as I come in my fist—

—and I feel her come, too.God, I feel her come. I feel her clit throb under my fingers, feel her clenching lower down, and I can imagine what that would feel like around my cock. It sends another jolt through me, my cock spasming in my fist as I feel her pussy flood over my hand, and somehow through it all, she never wakes up.

As far as she knows, she’s having a wet dream. One that she’ll wake up from wondering what happened and what the taste on her lips is.

The thought sends one more jolt through my cock, cum arcing over my hand and hitting the side of the duvet, splattering over her skirt. Another shudder goes through me at that—the sight of my cum streaked over the otherwise pristine fabric of her dress—and then I see something else, too.

A streak of blood over the pale blue.

I reach for her hand again, my half-hard cock still outside of my slacks as I look at her thumb in the dim light where it was cut. It’s scabbed over now, and I know I’m tempting fate, risking her waking up and finding me here.

I don’t want her to know how much I want her. The power she seems to have over me.

If all goes according to plan, I’ll have it out of my system before she ever realizes it.

But I can’t stop myself. I lean down, pressing my lips against her wounded thumb, sucking it lightly into my mouth until I taste her blood.

I wipe my hand against her skirt, more cum streaked across it. And then I take my fingers, still damp with my release, and press them against her lips. I trace my cum over that full lower lip, seeing it glisten in the low light of the room, and I let go of her.

I reach for a soft blanket at the foot of the bed, and cover her up—as much to keep myself from touching her further as out of any sense of wanting to care for her. She already feels like an addiction. Like she could make me do things whether I wanted to or not—overcome my better sense.

She has twice already, in just one night.

My entire body feels as if it’s throbbing. It takes physical effort for me to back out of the room, leaving her there as I walk out, closing the door and locking it behind me.

If only it could keep me out, as well as it keeps her in.

I was supposed to enjoy her and then discard her, nothing more. If I’d been able to do that, it would have made things a great deal easier for me.

But there’s something about her that made me speak out. That made me determined to marry her, instead of only fucking her. And deep down, despite my efforts to deny it, I know it’s something more than just my determination to keep myself from crossing a line that I can’t ever go back from.

She’d displayed strength and bravery in the face of something terrifying. But she’s fragile, too. I can see it. It made me want to protect her, as I’ve wanted to protect very little in my life.

It’s a dangerous thing to want, in a world like mine.

For her and I both.

Lilliana

Iwake up with my head aching, feeling as if I’ve been run over by a truck. My entire body hurts, and I rub one hand over my face, licking my dry lips. They taste oddly salty, and I wonder if I cried in my sleep. I feel—strange.

I remember having strange dreams of being touched—pleasurable, fretful dreams that make me feel hot and embarrassed remembering them. I push myself upright, tossing the blanket that I must have covered myself up with at some point off of me, and I gape down at my skirt as I see the utter mess on it.

Did I touch myself again in my sleep?It’s the only conclusion I can think of, that I’d rubbed myself to another orgasm on account of the dreams—or that that’s where the dreams came from—and gotten my own arousal all over my skirt.

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