Light assaults my eyes and they flutter open as I grimace.
Someone turn the lights off.
“Katia…” I groan when a stabbing pain lodges at the back of my head. “Katy, get in here.”
She usually appears at my side in a fraction of a second. What is wrong today? And why is my head on the verge of explosion?
“I didn’t know you swung in that direction.”
The strong voice coming from my right gives me pause. It’s close. Too close, as if…
Oh God.
I slowly stare up, and sure enough, my head is lying on a strong bicep. Kyle’s.
“What the hell are you doing in my room?” My voice strains with the force I exert to get past my headache.
“You are in my room, Princess.” He lifts my hand, making me see the diamond ring around my finger and the band around his.
The rings. The marriage. The attack. Everything slams back into me all at once, causing my head to swing. Oh shit. Fuck. I got drunk in Kyle’s company on our wedding night. What the hell was I thinking?
Closing my eyes, I try to recall what I did last night, but the only thing I can comprehend is a splitting headache. I lift the sheet to stare at my body and find myself in my underwear. That should be a good sign, right?
I sit up, disentangling myself from Kyle’s embrace. His head-turning scent is still all around me, though. I don’t think there’s a way to get rid of the traces he leaves on me anymore.
Licking my drying lips, I try speaking in my no-nonsense tone. “What happened last night?”
Kyle leans sideways on his elbow so he’s watching me closely like I’m his next target. Hell, I might as well be.
He’s only in a shirt and pants. I loosely remember him removing his jacket and pulling the cuffs over his strong, veiny arms before he touched me and…what? Why can’t I remember the following events?
“What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
He raises a brow. “What do couples do on their wedding night?”
“D-did you…?” I hate the stutter in my voice, hate how unsure and confused I sound.
“What do you think?”
I don’t feel any soreness between my legs, so he couldn’t have, right? Unless he did other things to me? Whose brilliant idea was it that I should get drunk? Oh yeah—mine. Idiot.
“You didn’t,” I say, more to myself than to him, but I don’t cut off eye contact. I want him to look me right in the eye when he tells me.
“I didn’t because you were drunk.” He grabs the hem of the sheet before I can properly be relieved, and yanks it off my body. “But you’re not now.”
“Kyle!” I mean to scold him, but his name comes out as a surprised squeal instead.
“What? I was promised that I’d get to punish you today.”
I hold the sheet to my chest as he tries to remove it again. Our warring gazes meet over the cloth. “I made no such promise.”
“Drunk Rai did, and I take her word for granted.”
“You’re lying. I would never ever make such a promise.” Right?
“Your exact words were…” His voice lowers, mimicking mine. “Are you going to punish me, Kyle? Now?”
“Shut up. I didn’t say that.” I couldn’t have. But on the other hand, considering all the things I keep bottled inside, I could have let go of my inhibitions after the shitload of Jack Daniels. Note to self: never drink again, especially when with Kyle.
He runs the tip of his fingers over my cheek. “Why are you blushing then? Are you playing the amnesia game to get out of wanting me last night? You rubbed your pussy all over my dick, urging me to ‘punish’ you, and when I didn’t, you were so disappointed you went to sleep with a pout.”
I can actually feel the flames igniting all over my face at his crude words, at the suggestion of what could’ve happened. A flashback of that exact moment hits me straight in the head.
Are you going to punish me, Kyle? Now?
My voice…that was me.
My headache is forgotten as my eyes widen. Kyle’s right—I nearly begged the bastard for it.
Drunk me and sober me are not friends anymore.
My lips part, but nothing comes out. What am I supposed to say anyway? That I didn’t mean those words? He would never believe me. Hell, I wouldn’t believe me either right now.
Lost for words, I pull the sheet with me and stumble out of bed. I trip on my dirty dress that’s lying on the floor, but I catch myself at the last second and fly in the direction of the only other door available in the room. Thankfully, it is a bathroom.
I lock it from the inside and press my back against the door, screwing my eyes shut and breathing harshly as if I just ended a workout.
You will not get drunk again, Rai. Never again.
A knock sounds on the door, startling me from my thoughts.
“Open up.”
“Go away.”
“You don’t get to lock yourself away from me. It’s part of the rules you have to follow now that you’re my wife.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do. It’s part of the rules you have to follow now that you’re my husband.”
I expect him to shoot something back in reply since he doesn’t like to let me have the last word, but nothing comes. Hmph. He learned his place.
The bathroom isn’t as small as I thought it would be from the size of the room. It’s simple with gray tiles, a black sink, a toilet, and a shower stall large enough to fit three people.
Someone likes black. Like me.
Kyle never told me if this place is rented or if he owns it. Since he disappeared for the past seven years, I’m betting on the first option.
I let the sheet slide to the floor then unclasp my bra and slide my panties down my legs so they join the pile.
Something in the mirror catches my attention, and it’s not only my tangled loose hair that’s framing my face, making it look younger, prettier, in a docile way like Reina’s. It’s the violet mark on the hollow of my neck that’s angry against my fair skin, almost like someone tried to rip a piece of flesh out.
Did…did the bastard leave a hickey on me?
I reach my fingers to it, touching gently as if expecting it to disappear if I press any harder. While it doesn’t hurt, the mark is visible evidence of last night, of when he touched me and I…touched him.
I did touch him. There was a moment where I didn’t want to stop.
Forcing my mind to shut that thought down, I break eye contact with the hickey and head to the stall. After testing the water on my fingertips, I step under the hot stream.
The mark tingles with the water, and I find myself tilting my head as if wanting it to sting more.
My breasts feel heavy, and when I look down at myself, my nipples are slowly peaking. My stomach clenches as if demanding something. What, I don’t know.
It’s the water. It’s only the water.
I close my eyes, leaning my head against the wall to distract myself from whatever is happening in my body. I try thinking about what I will do today to distract my mind: check on home, V Corp’s report, talk to Vlad about the attack and—
A hot body appears at my back and a hand wraps around my throat from behind. I gasp on water, eyes shooting open, but I don’t attempt to move.
I can’t.
It’s like my muscles are locked together and I’m unable to take a single step.
“I’ll barge through any door you lock, so you might as well save your energy next time.”
He pushes his hips forward, and my chest heaves at the feel of something very hard and ready at the crack of my ass.
“Now, about that punishment…how should I start?” He parts my ass cheeks, and I get on my tiptoes as he slides the length of his cock against my back hole. “Here?”
“S-stop it.” My voice is low, insincere, even to myself.
“Why? Are you scared of the pain? Don’t worry, I’ll prep you so you can take my dick up your virgin arse like a good little princess.”
His dirty words are supposed to make me buck and fight him, claw at his chest and hit him in the face, but my entire body is held hostage in his grip. My nipples tighten to the point of pain, and this time, it sure as hell isn’t because of the water.
“But we will start here.” He parts my legs, and they open of their own volition like they were always meant to.
I don’t know why I allow him to do this to me, to treat me this way like it’s his God-given right, but somewhere deep inside me, I think I always longed for the moment Kyle would take from me as savagely as his real self is.
Because the actual person behind the smiles and swift kills? That person isn’t visible to anyone but me, and right now all I want to do is dig my fingernails into that version, provoke it, and let it out in all its full glory.
Reina always told me I’m drawn to danger, and maybe she’s right because I’m salivating for the danger that is Kyle Hunter, despite how much I hate him.
He runs the crown of his cock against my folds, causing friction so deep my legs shake.
He stops at my entrance and I tense.
“You don’t have a condom.”
“And that’s a problem because…?” He nibbles on my earlobe.
“Because you’ve been dipping in God knows where and I’m not ready to catch an STD.”
“That mouth of yours was more compliant when you were drunk.” He continues his up and down motion, turning me hazy. Forget about being drunk—he’s erasing all my thoughts right now. The only thing I can focus on is the stimulation against my sensitive folds and the unrelieved ache deep inside me.
He squeezes his hand around my throat at the same time as he replaces his dick with two fingers, plunging them into me. I gasp on water, a moan tearing from my throat and echoing in the air.
Holy. Shit.
“This is only the preparation for your punishment.” He speaks against my ear, nibbling on the shell and the earlobe. “This cunt will belong to me.”
He thrusts in and out of me, and I close my eyes in mortification at the sound my arousal is making.
“Hear that? That’s how much you crave what I do to you. It doesn’t matter whether you’re drunk or sober.”
Can’t he shut up? The more he speaks with that raspy British accent, the more I’m sensitive and burning for his ministrations.
His dick continues the delicious friction at the crack of my ass, syncing it with his rhythm at my pussy. “This arse will be mine, too.”
I don’t know if it’s because of the double assault or because it’s him, Kyle, the only one I haven’t been able to kick out of my fortress, but the overstimulation turns me boneless. It’s like all my nerve endings are about to explode at the same time.
The merciless hold of his hand around my throat adds to the unbearable stimulation.
His thumb teases my clit as he quickens his rhythm, plunging in and out of me like he’s a man on a mission to destroy me.
And he does.
“Ahhh…Kyle!” I whimper as the orgasm hits me with a wrecking force. My body falls slack in his hold as my legs tremble so intensely they can’t keep me standing.
It’s Kyle’s strong body that does. He holds me against the wall and removes his fingers, but not his dick.
I gasp as he thrusts his length between my legs, almost like he’s going inside. With his hold on my neck, I strain to look back at him for the first time since he ambushed me.
His sinfully beautiful face appears right out of a photoshoot as water glues his dark hair to his temples and forms rivulets down his neck and chest. I’m temporarily distracted by the hard ridges of his muscles and the ink that peeks out from over his abdomen.
Since he’s fully covering my back with his chest, I don’t get a full view of his tattoos. That little disturbance brings me back to the reason I turned around. “W-what are you doing?”
“I won’t fuck you,” he grunts as his pace picks up.
“Then what…”
I trail off when he jerks his hips forward, and the sensation nearly brings me to orgasm again. He thrusts between my thighs and against my core once, twice, before he groans, his chest tensing on my back. His cum covers my inner thighs before it’s soon washed away by the stream.
“Fuck! Bleeding hell,” he curses in a strained tone, and even though I’m barely holding on by a thread, I recognize that he just spoke in a different accent than his usual one.
It still sounds British, but it’s not English, more like…Irish? Northern Irish?
That’s the first time I’ve heard him speak in such an accent, and for some reason, it doesn’t feel like he did it on purpose, more as if it came out on its own.
“What did you just…ooh…” My words end on a moan when his lips latch onto the hollow skin of my nape.
Holy. Hell.
Is that spot supposed to feel this good?
Kyle sucks on my skin while he rides his orgasm, and I remain still, as if any movement will ruin this moment. He releases my throat and holds my hair in a fist on the side to give him better access to my neck.
His other hand holds me possessively by the hip as his teeth nibble on the same mark he left yesterday. The sting starts at my throat but ends straight between my legs.
“K-Kyle…”
“What, Princess? You want more?”
I don’t speak, not wanting to admit the effect he has on me. Because, yes, I do want more. It doesn’t matter that I just came or that everything seems too much.
“Say it.” He pulls on my hair.
“Say what?”
“Say you want every deranged fucking thing I do to you. Say you like being at my mercy when it’s only the two of us.”
I clamp my lips shut, refusing to acknowledge how true his words are.
“Are you or are you not going to say it?” He nibbles harder on the sensitive spot, making me wince and whimper at the same time.
Why does he get to make me feel all these polar opposite emotions all at once?
He tugs on my hair so that I’m staring back at his eyes. They appear icy, even though they’re heated. He’s a fucking paradox, I swear.
“Say the words, Rai. Admit. It.” He enunciates the last words.
I meet his gaze with my defiant one, refusing to budge. He must see the determination on my face because he narrows his eyes. “I’m going to make you scream it.”
“Never,” I mutter.
He releases me and I stumble from the loss of his weight, my body suddenly feeling empty and barren. I turn to face him, but he’s already stepping out of the shower.
Kyle stares at me over his shoulder and roams his hungry eyes over my naked form like he’s engraving it to memory.
It takes everything in me not to fidget. I never thought being naked would make me this exposed in front of him, and yet the stupid self-consciousness won’t disappear.
“Come out. We need to go.” And with that, he completely steps out.
I get a full view of his fit back with the broad shoulders.
A dagger tattoo is inked in the middle, dripping blood into a pool underneath it. It’s both beautiful and gruesome and so much Kyle.
The killer whose origins are unknown to all, along with the identity of who taught him to be a perfect killing machine.
The only time I allowed myself curiosity and asked him, he disappeared for seven fucking years.
I shake my head and focus on washing my hair even though my body still tingles from the orgasm he wrenched out of me.
After I’m done, I wrap a towel around my torso and another one around my hair.
While I’ve always prided myself on not being intimidated by men, Kyle obviously screwed that over like every other rule in my playbook.
I find him standing in front of the window, the morning light forming a halo around him.
He’s dressed in black pants and a white shirt. His fingers glide over the cuffs, buttoning them with firm movements. Those same fingers were inside me not too long ago and—
I try not to focus on him and busy myself by picking my dress up off the floor. He turns around that instant, and I freeze as if I’m a kid caught stealing from a jar.
“Don’t put that back on. It’s dirty and bloodied.”
“Do you suggest I go out in a towel, genius?”
“My wife wouldn’t go anywhere in a fucking towel.”
I want to curse him for the possessive way he speaks, but my insides liquefy at the way he said ‘my wife’.
Stay down, insides.
He opens a closet that I thought was filled with sheets and brings out a plain black shirt and sweatpants. “Wear these.”
I release the cloth and step in front of him. They’re a few sizes too big, but they’re better than a bloodied dress.
He holds the clothes out of reach at the last second. “Not so fast.”
I give him a bemused stare. “What?”
He grabs me by the waist and tugs so he’s sitting on the bed and I’m right between his legs.
I have no clue what’s happening until he throws the clothes behind him and opens the nightstand, producing a small gadget. “Punishment first, Princess.”
