I know she has a lot of questions, but I have more important things on my mind right now. For example, the fact that she thought she could hide her sin of not giving me her orgasm.
She thought I didn’t know, that I wouldn’t find out, but she gave herself away the moment she actually responded to my touch in the bathroom. That mirror showed the truth, and I fucking loved every inch of her desperation for more.
But I wanted to let her hang on that anguish for a little longer. Just so she knew how badly she really wanted it and how willing I am to give it to her.
All she needs to do is give in.
Give in to my every need, and I will do the same for her.
Oh yes, I’ll make all the wicked, dirty little fantasies she’s had about me come to life.
Though, she won’t say that she wants it out loud, of course—not now anyway—but I will make her admit it to me someday.
Right now, I want to focus on the pleasure. I can be more than just a devil in a suit. I can be whatever she desires, but I’ll let my tongue do the talking.
I lick her softly and plant kisses on her vulva, enticing her to let go of her fears of being with me. I’m not the bad guy here even though I’ve done plenty of bad things to her. But I’m not in this to be evil to her. All I want is for her to become mine.
So I kiss her and suck at her clit until she’s writhing on the table, barely able to keep it together. I peek up every now and then to admire the view, the look on her face completely in shambles. Even though she says she hates me, I’m beginning to doubt that right now, and I think she is too, judging from the moan that just escaped from her mouth.
“See? Finally, you’re enjoying yourself,” I murmur against her skin.
“Fuck … you …” she says between breaths, making me laugh.
“I will, but first, I want you quivering and begging for more.” I grab her thighs and lick her so hard the wetness begins to pour out of her. I never imagined her being this delicious, this appetizing, but she’s beat all my expectations.
Never once did I fathom getting so addicted to the taste of my woman. She doesn’t easily yield or know how to submit to a man, but I’ll teach her. I’ll show her how to enjoy this world of luxury and over-the-top adoration. Because they will love her … I’m sure they will, once they get to know her like I have.
Every time we come together, fireworks explode, and I just can’t get enough.
My fellow patriarchs call me insane for choosing an unruly girl like her, someone who’s wild and broken, someone who can’t ever become what we need; a true wife.
But I believe in her. I believe in her with all my fucking heart. She can do this.
So I lick and suck and kiss until she’s almost there, until her legs begin to tremble, until her knees buck, until her fingers scramble for whatever she can grasp, until her lungs find it hard to suck in the air while the moans become louder and louder.
“Yes, Natalie, come for me. Give me what you refused to give me. Give me all of you,” I murmur against her clit as it pulses with need.
Her fingers curl around the fabric of her dress, almost ripping it off her tits as she struggles with herself, with the idea of letting go in front of me; the man who took away her everything.
I broke her down, and now I’m building her up again—kiss by kiss, fuck by fuck—until her heart and mind belong to me.
And when she’s nearly there, I shove in two fingers, thrusting as wildly as my tongue is circling her clit. Her eyes roll into the back of her head, and her muscles contract around my finger, a gush of delicious wetness spilling out of her.
I have to admit … that made my dick hard.
When she’s stopped panting, she immediately slides away from me, farther across the table. Her sinful eyes home in on mine and narrow as though she’s suddenly become aware of the fact that it was my tongue that made her come.
I chose to give her that gratification.
It wasn’t hers to take but mine to give, and I did so with pleasure.
But it comes at a cost.
Shame.
I can see it in her eyes. The hatred spilling from them is stronger than anything I’ve ever seen before. And it makes me smile like the motherfucker I am.
She will do. She will do just fine.
I straighten up to stand in front of her, still gripping her thighs. I’m not done yet, but I can tell she’s not amused by any of this, judging from her thin lips and a look that’s meant to kill.
“That was—”
“Amazing?” I fill in.
“Bad,” she says, trying to pat down her dress as if that’ll cover up her disgust.
“Bad, but in a good way,” I muse as she sits up on her elbows.
“Bad because you’re bad. And none of this means anything,” she says.
“But you did like it,” I muse, raising a brow.
She doesn’t say a word, but the blush is all I need to confirm my suspicions.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to admit it,” I say.
“I won’t,” she growls.
“Good.” I smile. I’m not here to argue. “I just want you to know being with me is not the end of the world.”
“I am not with you.” She tries to push herself off the table, but I won’t let her. “I may be forced to be here, but I’m not a willing participant.”
“Yes, you are,” I reply. “You chose me. You want me. You coming all over my tongue just now proves that.”
Her nostrils flare while her cheeks continue to turn redder by the second.
“That … was nothing. It meant nothing. It did nothing.”
Of course she’d say that. Admitting the opposite would shatter what’s left of her soul … That she’s become a willing victim. But eventually, she will have to come to terms with her attraction to me. She can’t resist the pull, and neither can I. We’re bound to one another now.
“Sweet, sweet, Natalie … your nothing means the world to me,” I say, caressing her cheek. “You’re to be my wife,” I say, grabbing her hand to press a kiss on top. “I want you to be happy.”
“Then let. Me. Leave,” she hisses.
“You know I can’t do that,” I say, shaking my head.
“Then you’re nothing but evil,” she says, and she flicks my hand away.
“I only do what’s necessary. What’s required of me,” I reply.
“By whom? Who would ask you to do this? To take a woman and chain her down?”
I let out a sigh. Of course she’d ask this. It’s no surprise, yet it’s a tough question regardless of the situation. “If I could tell you, I would, but that would ruin everything.”
She sighs out loud now. “I knew it.” She folds her arms. “You want me to do whatever you want, but you give me nothing in exchange. No information, nothing I can use.”
“I will in due time,” I say, leaning in to look into her eyes. When she won’t meet my gaze, I grab her chin and force her. “This is bigger than both of us. Trust me on this. Please.”
Her lips part, the look on her face growing ever more confused.
“How can I trust the man who destroyed me? Who brought me here in the first place?” she mutters, tears staining her eyes.
I hate it. I hate the tears, hate the pain. I wish I could tear it out of her, wish I could reduce it to ashes and never let her feel that way ever again. I never thought I could feel this much emotion when it came to a woman, but she manages to pull something out of me I didn’t even know existed.
A single tear rolls down her cheeks, and I wipe it away with my thumb. I don’t want her to cry even though I know I’m the cause.
“You shouldn’t,” I reply. “But you must.”
Her face turns dark, and I feel as though she’s close to slapping me until I see stars.
Suddenly, the door behind us slides open.
She scrambles off the table, patting down her dress and hair, composing herself as if she got caught in a sinful act, and I glance over my shoulder to see who it is.
Patrick.
And he brought the president.
Of course he did.
A sly smile adorns his face, and I almost contemplate grabbing this knife lying on the table in front of me and stabbing him with it.
But that would defeat everything I’ve worked so hard for, so I let it go instead and sigh.
“Patrick.”
“Noah,” he replies. “The president would like to have a word.”
Natalie
My eyes are turned down at the floor. I don’t know why, but I’m terrified to look the man in the eyes. The president’s mere presence makes me cower.
The doors slide open and close again. Patrick’s gone again. Did he just bring back the president to frame Noah? To expose me and get us punished? It’s the only answer.
Noah hasn’t turned around to face him yet. He’s still looking at me from the corner of his eyes while I’m frozen to the ground.
“We’ll finish this later,” he murmurs to me, and I nod.
“Care to introduce me?” the president grumbles. The man seems far older up close, but I haven’t gotten a good look yet, only brief flashes when I manage to glance at him.
Noah takes a last bite of an apple lying on the table before spinning around. “Natalie, President Lawrence,” he says, pointing at both of us.
I bow like I’m supposed to … how I was trained to respond in front of superior men. But on the inside, I’m screaming.
“Up,” the president barks, and I immediately stand like a rigid rock. For the first time, I’m looking straight at the man who runs this whole show, and he’s looking back at me. He brushes his fingers through the gray streaks of hair that are neatly brushed, his stern eyes still fear-inducing as he postures in front of me. This is a man whose age doesn’t matter. A man who will still terrify the hearts of many even on his deathbed. The kind of man who could rule a country … or become a violent dictator.
He narrows his eyes at me, and for a second there, I almost feel as though I should hide behind Noah for protection. But then he focuses his attention on Noah.
“So this is it? This is what you choose to do with your time?” he asks.
Noah nods with certainty. He won’t back down, even when caught in the act, even when this man judges us with a single stare and Noah will probably end up in hot water. “She’s … special to me.”
President Lawrence rubs his lips together as his eyes twitch while they scour over the food-splattered table … and my food-splattered dress and hair. He takes in a breath and clears his throat.
“You and I have to talk,” he says to Noah.
Noah’s face tightens, and he replies, “Yes.”
He ogles me from the corner of his eye. “Go to your room and wait there until you’re called.”
I throw him a look—one that means a million times “I hate you”—but it doesn’t seem to affect him at all. Begrudgingly, I walk past the president, who briefly glances at me before I open the doors and close them behind me.
My lungs fill with air, and I suck it all up as though I haven’t taken a breath in years.
I can’t believe that just happened.
That I laid there on that table and let Noah lick me until I came.
That the president caught us as I lay there still enjoying the delicious waves of orgasmic pleasure.
That I wish Noah could’ve continued.
I’m sick.
I’m so sick in the head. What’s happening to me? I stumble up the stairs and try to come to terms with what just happened, but my mind keeps spinning in circles. Should I go upstairs? Go back inside? Scream and shout? Throw a fit? Rip off this dress and throw it in his face?
I’m so angry with him, but more importantly, I’m angry with myself.
I shouldn’t have let him touch me, shouldn’t have let myself go at that moment, shouldn’t have … all the things, but it felt so fucking good. He knows how to wrap me around his finger, and I hate it. I hate it so much that I want to scream and throw everything around.
But that won’t do me any good. At best, it’ll get me some time to speak my mind. At worst … well, that hut where they kept me is the last place on earth I want to end up again, but I know Noah would do it. He’d put me there just to make a point.
I am his, and there’s no way to fight it.
That man. This house.
It’s going to be my undoing.
