Page 21 of His Disobedient Bride

The pressure builds in my pussy as the whip sends shards of sensation scraping and tearing throughout my body.

He reaches up a big hand then, up my body to curve around my breasts, then move slowly up my gasping throat to curve around the back of my neck. His fingers clamped onto the back of my neck in a tight, painful grip, his fingers tightening in my hair.

“You need to come for me now,” he growled, throwing the branch away and digging his fingers into the agonized skin of my ass.

I look at his eyes, fiery and barely controlled, and I do, my orgasm exploding in my belly. My head rolls back and I howl, this time with the intense shattering pleasure, the pain and pleasure setting my skin on fire.

I feel him move beneath me, his breath harsh, and his hands pitiless as he fills me with his come, moving his hands to hold my hips exactly where he wants me, to show that my body is his to do what he wants with.

* * *

I lie in the grass and leaves, not caring that various sticks are poking me in the back.

“That was like punching a hole into hell and dragging up a thousand years of lust,” I said. “Fucking amazing.”

Andrei stands up, his body big and tall and blocking out the bright sun.

“Get up, Cerise. I have to bandage your arm properly.”

He reaches out a hand to me and I grab it.

When I stand up, gathering the various pieces of my clothing he has ripped into shreds, the pain in my ass hits me and I howl, bent over almost double.

“I regret my life choices,” I say.

“No you don’t,” my husband replies coldly, as he heads back to the safe house.

Safe house. Pah. As if anything could ever be safe with my goddamn psycho husband Andrei Petrovic around.

But he’s right though.

I don’t regret my life choices.

Not one bit.

15

CERISE

My husband reaches into a cupboard in the well-stocked kitchen and pulls out a box, which he sets down in front of me. Then he leads me to the sink, where he washes my arm carefully off with soap.

It feels so odd to be touched so gently by him, and it sends shivers down my spine.

He carefully bandages my arm up, frowning as he sees the wound open up slightly. He smears it with an antibiotic cream, then swathes me up, wrist to elbow, in what feels like yards of pads and gauze.

I feel his breath suck in as he sees the welt on the palm of my hand.

“That was an accident,” he says angrily, jerking my hand over to wash and bandage it. “I did not mean to do that.”

I say nothing. Even Andrei’s half-apologies are as terrifying as most people’s blows would be.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” I say contritely, and because the power of my orgasm still floods my body.

“Seeing my wife slice her own forearm open is not something I ever want to see again,” he says grimly.

I admire my bandages, turning my arm around to look at what a neat job he’s done, but he yanks my hair, forcing me to raise my head to look him in the eyes.

“I said I never want to see that again, Cerise.”

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