Page 34 of His Disobedient Bride

I lay there, letting reality seep back into my bones. My whole body is awash with pleasure, and the feeling of my husband’s hard fingers on my head and face are like a pleasurable throb even though he is lying beside me.

“Were you a virgin?” Frederik asks.

“Yes,” I replied languidly.

But I wasn’t anymore. I had had sex.

I laughed suddenly.

Because I was a romance writer and I couldn’t think of any words for it except that it was fucking amazing.

“You could have told me,” my husband said, and I heard an unaccustomed bite in his gentle voice. “I would have gone slower.”

“I didn’t want you to go slower,” I say, amazed at my own boldness, the bite in his voice empowering me. “I want to do it again.”

This time, when he rolls over to me, I’m so sensitive that the drive to my orgasm is an excruciating rip and scrape of rapture, walking the fine line between pain and pleasure as my nails rake down my husband’s back and I convulse around his ravenous dick.

24

FREDERIK

I wondered what the fuck that had been.

I hadn’t expected sex with Mary to be like that. She was so quiet and sweet. I hadn’t expected her to scour my back with her nails so hard that I had deep scratches the day after.

I am horrified at what I did. What happened to my resolution to go slowly, not push, stay gentlemanly? Instead, I had taken her like a savage.

I tried to calm myself down in the shower the next morning. All I wanted to do was go back to bed and fuck my wife again, over and over until she was weak and spent.

But I couldn’t let myself get too attached. Mary deserved more than me. I would let myself fuck her, when the desire got too much for me, but I had to hold myself back from her so I didn’t taint her with my depravity.

That was my plan. But it was tested every single day since our wedding night. I hadn’t realized everything she did would drive me crazy with desire.

She asked if I needed help organizing my office and library. Since she didn’t know Russian, she was not particularly much help, and she spilled books and notes in her clumsiness. But I couldn’t bring myself to refuse her help.

She had always worn long, baggy dresses, almost as if she wanted to hide her body, which made no sense, as she was sexy as fuck. But I noticed, after a day out with Cerise, she started wearing some dresses that were still long and flowy, but fitted her body better. It didn’t matter to me. I wanted to fuck her no matter what she was wearing, but the sight of that clingy fabric on her tight little ass as she stretched on a stool made my cock hard as a rock for her.

I was used to the cold, hard, brutal women of the Bratva, but Mary was different. She was gentle with me, bringing me tea and cakes when I worked almost until dinner. When I talked about my research, she listened with starry eyes, biting her lower lip until I wanted to throw away my books and go balls-deep in her.

I began to feel very guilty that Mary had been forced to marry me, and I told Cerise so one day after dinner. Cerise listened respectfully to me, but when I finished she scoffed at me.

“Get out of your head, Frederik,” she warned me. “I saw how Mary walked the morning after her wedding, and I haven’t seen her walk that way since. Stop overcomplicating things with unnecessary morality.”

Well. That was all very well for Cerise to say when she was married to her brute of a husband. Everyone knew that the vicious Bratva Angel could not be controlled, and that Andrei took Cerise any way he wanted and when he wanted.

But I prided myself on being different. I had more self-control than that. I could keep myself away from Mary. I could behave like a restrained man.

And so I worked to make her an office for her writing in the corner of mine, and I watched as her nipples hardened in the sea breeze that rolled in the window and I did not fuck her. And the feeling of not fucking her sat like a rock in the pit of my stomach.

25

MARY

I could feel Frederik holding himself back from me and it made me miserable. I didn’t want to pressure him and I didn’t want to be rejected. So I lay in bed every night, almost trembling with anticipation and desire. Some nights he didn’t come in until late, so late that, despite my best wishes, I was asleep.

When we did have sex, it felt like he held himself back from me, holding me so gently that it was like he didn’t want to hurt me.

I didn’t want him to be delicate, or gentle. I wanted him to take me like he had on our wedding night. That roughness, that urgency, had made me feel wanted.

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