Page 42 of Darling Nikki

“I got you,” he croons, pressing me until my face is buried in the seat cushions. Pulling out, he says, “Remember what I said about that mouth?”

He covers my mound again, his long fingers scissoring my slick clit. I don’t even remember what he’s talking about. It doesn’t matter because when he slams home, I can’t speak. I can’t see when he withdraws and his hips thrust. I can’t do anything but take it as he drives inside me again and again. Pleasure ripples through me.

“You’re my gotdamn wife. Mine. This is my pussy,” he chants as if in devotion.

“Yes, Thi—” I cry, absently wondering if he’s going to tell me not to call him that, but it seems not to matter while he’s taking my pussy to church. We are one in our lust despite the animosity raging between us. At least we have this, but even as the words cross my mind, I know that it can never be enough. In that moment, though, it is. He is. He’s my husband. I don’t care how it came to be. In that moment all I care about is how deep he is inside me, filling me up until we are one in the truest sense.

“Nikki.” Calling my name, he draws me close, his heavy body covering me, his dick pistoning like he can find the answers to life’s mysteries if he can get deeper inside me. “Be a good fucking girl and come with your husband. I can’t hold on. I’m about to come in your hot little pussy.”

His words, fingers, and hard pounding dick take me over the precipice. Ecstasy explodes around me as my husband’s seed bursts in hot ropes, filling me to the brim.

Panting, he stays, my walls pulsing still gripping with the aftershocks. I realize to cause me less discomfort. After he softens, he slowly pulls out, falling back on the sofa, tugging me with him until I’m half on top of him. “Wait. Hold up.” After pulling my iPad from beneath him, he hands it to me.

He grabs the champagne from a nearby ottoman, then tilts it toward my lips. “Drink.”

With my eyes never leaving his, I take long pulls from the bottle.

His gaze narrows on the way my throat works. He pulls the bottle back, shaking his head to himself.

“Ew,” I say, feeling my body push his come out of me.

“What?” He looks down at me quizzically.

“I feel icky.” Making an awkward gesture to my lower parts, I shrug, embarrassed.

“Lights,” he calls out, and the room is immediately shrouded in darkness as the lights switch off; the windows must be synced with the light command because they darken a well.

Seconds later he pulls his T-shirt off, then presses it against my sore, messy pussy.

“Better?” he asks, sounding distracted, tucking me in the crook of his arm.

“Yeah,” I say against his chest, thinking my body isn’t the biggest mess. Our marriage is.

Heavy pressurein my tummy wakes me. I’m alone. It’s still dark, but it won’t remain so in a few minutes, if the pink band on the horizon is any indication.

As soon as I get up and start walking, more of Mathias slips out of me and down my thighs. Speed walking, I hurry to the en suite.

He’s in the shower. Paying him no mind, I rush past the shower, heading to the toilet. Closing the door of the little room, I hurry to sit, easing the pressure in my abdomen.

I hear the shower stop as I marvel at the quiet flush of the Tekmoto toilet. I have to tell Krie her husband’s company makes cool products.

There’s no point in thinking I’ll get away with trying to get more sleep. I might as well go ahead and bathe. Heading straight over to the shower, I try not to bother him, unsure of which Mathias I’ll get—the guy who is coolly polite and distant, or the one who is cool, cruel, and distant. I’ve given up hope of ever getting the man with the ready smiles and kind words. He’s gone forever. Lost to me thanks to Joi and whatever her agenda is.

I still can’t fathom why she’d do this to me. No one has seen her since she dropped that little bomb. When I see her, I’m going to beat her ass. If anyone in my family mumbles a word about it, I’m going to remind them she had it coming. I still want to know how she found out about us.

Just as I step into the shower, I freeze. Mathias has his back to me. Why he never took off his tee shirt is answered like a vicious punch in the gut.

His entire back is scarred. He looks like he’s been beaten repeatedly within an inch of his life. I don’t know how long I stand there looking at his back.

He’s paused in his shaving, his gaze locking with mine in the mirror. His face is perfectly blank as he watches my expression. I don’t know what he expects from his look—it must be revulsion or pity.

I swallow the scream of anguish bubbling in my throat. His daddy did this to him. I know it just like I know my own name. No one else could have gotten away with this kind of abuse.

My feet move of their own volition until I find myself standing behind him. He doesn’t turn. Up close the injuries are worse. Deep raised scars crisscross his back from the top of his butt to his nape. They wrap around his shoulders like a hug of horror.

“Oh, friend.” Getting on my tiptoes, I kiss the scars at his nape. Symbolically I kiss away his hurt. With my kiss, I push away the cruelty. “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” I whisper too softly for him to hear against his skin, nudging away the pain. No wonder he doesn’t trust. Taking my time, I kiss every twisted line. Kissing him becomes my ministry. He didn’t deserve this. I can only imagine the small boy he must have been, crushed under his father’s depravity. Following the path down his body, I don’t stop until my lips have touched every part of him marred by the person who was supposed to protect him most in the world. Still he doesn’t turn; he’s gripping the sink counter like the fate of the world depends on him hold it up, so I wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his scarred back.

I don’t know how long we stand with me draped on his back, nor do I realize I’m crying until he disengages my arms from around his waist. “Don’t cry over me,” he mutters, wrapping his strong arms around me.

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