Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
She’s so tight and warm around me. Her whole body tenses, and it takes barely anything to pull me over the edge after her. Her delicate walls tighten and squeeze around my aching member, and soon I can’t take it anymore. I thrust deeply a couple more times and spill into her, savoring the amazing feeling. I don’t even go soft after, but gently remove myself from her and rub the tip of my still-hard cock against her clit. Even doing that felt like enough to start a round two, but I’m more fascinated by her soft moans and mews as she recovers from the high.
Later, when she’s wrapped around me and her breathing finally evens out, I press a chaste kiss on her lips.
“As long as you’re my wife, I’ll do whatever I can to protect you,” I promise her.
She murmurs something in response, and I realize she’s barely awake. I relax against her and let myself drift off to whatever beautiful world her dreams inhabit.
12
KATYA
The sun kisses my skin with easy warmth, yet inside I shiver. Before last night I would have sworn the chill was pure indifference toward Isaac, but I can’t cling to that lie anymore. Last night proved I’m nowhere near indifferent to him.
The cold feels less like temperature and more like numbness. Now that the adrenaline of the last few weeks has drained away, all that remains is emptiness. I didn’t win. I’m married to Isaac. The papers are signed, the deed, quite literally, done. Yet it doesn’t feel like a loss, and that unsettles me even more.
I hug my knees to my chest and settle in the shade of the stone gazebo as the garden explodes with too much color around me. It’s beautiful, quiet and peaceful in a way that feels almost cruel.
This is my home now, my life. If I want, I can spend every dawn sipping coffee in this garden, soaking up the colors. It sounds blissful, so why does it feel like a prison?
How can a garden be so breathtaking when my life is such a wreck?
I’m married. Isaac’s wife. I tried to stop it, but it was pointless. Yesterday I was still just me, still hoping today would never arrive. Now I sit in this ridiculously lush garden with a ring that feels like a shackle tightening around my finger.
But the game isn’t over. I could still make his life a living hell. Marriages end, and divorces happen every single day. I could turn so unpleasant, so demanding, so cold and withholding that he’d sprint to the nearest divorce lawyer.
But the most unsettling part is that I don’t want to torture him anymore. I can’t stop thinking about him. Last night was so much more than I’d ever imagined my first time could be. He was gentle, sweet, yet unbelievably thorough, worried about me, my happiness, my pleasure, even if it meant delaying his own. I’ve never known a man who wasn’t immediately focused on getting off with or without me.
Isaac was different. He cherished me, and that shook me. Then there was the way he looked at me afterward. There wasn’t any smug triumph, nor a satisfied smirk at conquering a prize. He watched me with tenderness, with something dangerously close to love.
He can’t love me. I’m supposed to despise him. I told myself that from the start of this ridiculous scheme. He’s the enemy. Even if this wasn’t his idea, he still agreed to it, and that makes him just as culpable as my father.
I should hate him for that alone, should hate him for not turning me away when I walked the aisle in that gorgeous black gown, should hate him for being so tender and gentle when we both know that isn’t the man he usually is, which means he shows that side only to me.
And that might be the most terrifying part of all. He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel wanted. He makes me want him. That just can’t happen.
A breeze sweeps through the garden, rustling the leaves and skimming over my bare shoulders, making me shiver.
I wish I did hate him. It would make this all so much easier. I wish I could forget the way his lips ghosted over my skin, making me break out in goose bumps. I wish I could stop thinking about the way his fingers moved so deftly inside me, like he was a musician and I was his composition. I wish I didn’t know how his face looks when he lets himself go.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I don’t want any of this. I don’t want to imagine him that way. I want control and clarity, two things he never gives me.
My phone buzzes on the bench beside me, jolting me out of my thoughts. I reach for it, blinking down at the screen.