“Oh, God,” I panted. “That hurts in the best possible way.”
He kissed me, darting his tongue between my lips. Even his tongue f*cked my mouth. The massive bed creaked a little with every push, the headboard banging against the wall with every thrust.
Wild. Possessed. Abandoned.
And it turned out that was all I needed, to twist and writhe again under him. I felt the familiar sensation of losing control over my muscles and tried pushing him away, because this time, the orgasm threatened to tear through me.
He held me in place, nailing me to the bed with the firm hand that played with me. “Fuck, you’re beautiful when you come.”
And I came again, this time harder, screaming his name to the sky and back. I don’t think anyone ever felt more intoxicated from another person as I was intoxicated from Troy Brennan. The scary stranger turned cruel husband.
It was only after my second orgasm that my husband started pumping harder into me, losing control himself. It was wild to see him letting go for once as he thrust deeper and deeper. He swelled inside me, filling me completely, and strangely, not only physically.
He was coming. His forehead rested on mine, his black strands of hair sticking to his temple. Our sweat mixed together.
Damn, it was sexy.
Hell, I was done for.
It wasn’t him taking my virginity that made me feel vulnerable. Not the fact that I was lying in a pool of our lust and my own blood. It was what I felt for him that horrified me. I wanted to step away from whatever I was feeling, put some space between me and Troy, gain some control over my heart. I was spiraling down, fast. Drowning, sinking, free-falling. I was defenseless, helpless, completely exposed. A sitting duck waiting for him to fill me with a buckshot and strip my feathers clean.
He flopped down next to me, pulling me into his arms, my ass against his body. The sheets beneath us were so wet, the thought of Maria finding them made my face heat with embarrassment. I would change those sheets tonight and do the laundry myself. Tomorrow, it’d look like nothing happened.
We lay there in silence while he drew letters and patterns on my skin with his finger. He wrote “God” and then “Troy” and then “Red.” Drew a house, raindrops and a pair of wings.
We weren’t kidding anyone.
This was not just sex. It was more and it was scary. A good thirty minutes passed before one of us spoke. Surprisingly, it wasn’t me.
“Tell me about your mom,” he asked out of nowhere, me still in his arms. His tone was lazy, like we were familiar with one another more than just physically. And that was a lie I was tempted to believe.
My body must’ve stiffened, because suddenly, his fingers stopped stroking my back and his lips no longer pressed against my hair.
“I don’t have a mom,” I clarified. “The woman who gave birth to me ran off long before I was able to remember anything about her.”
“Have you tried looking for her over the years?” The softness in his tone was rubbing me the wrong way. He was not supposed to care. He was a sorry douchebag who cheated on me, forced me into marrying him and broke the law for a living.
“Are you auditioning for Dateline? What the hell is your problem, Troy?” I wiggled out of his touch, pulling myself up from the bed and standing up in a hurry. I lifted items of clothes that weren’t even mine from the floor and dressed in his shirt and my underwear without making eye contact. Tonight was not supposed to end this way.
He was still lying on the bed, his head supported on one of his arms. Naked, he watched me. “Just trying to be a good husband,” he said.
“You’re good for only one thing, Brennan.” I pulled my panties up my legs in swift movements. “And that’s for what happened between your sheets not too long ago.”
“They’re your sheets, too, Red.”
“Thought I was supposed to be lovebird from now on?” I turned my back to him, already making my way out of the room.
I heard his laugh, and my heart twisted in anticipation and sadness.
“I changed my mind.” His voice had a hard edge. “I’m not letting you fly away. Ever.”
SPARROW
“CONSIDER THIS…” Lucy’s hands were quick as she peeled potatoes at the speed of light at my kitchen sink. “You told him to fire Connor and he did. You told him to quit f*cking around and it looks like he did that too. I think it might come as shocking news to you, but honey, your husband has feelings for you.”
Standing next to her, I stirred the Alfredo sauce for the rotini, dunking my finger and having a taste. I added a dash of salt, stalling. She was no longer concerned for my safety. Now, she was more interested in my love life.
“Mmm,” I said, not really eager to tell her about the part where the so-called loving husband dragged me on a plane with a fake passport against my will and screwed another girl in our bedroom.
On the same day.
Yeah, Disney wouldn’t be calling him for tips on how to play a credible Prince Charming.
“Yeah, well, we’ve been married for three months, and he’s still bottling up all these secrets, not letting me in on anything. Why did he marry me? Who did he refer to when he said ‘they’ that night before we went to Rouge Bis? He won’t even tell me what happened with Catalina.”
We were making tons of food for a charity event for the homeless shelter down the road. Over the past few months, I’d gone to the shelter often, bearing tasty donations. The volunteers who worked there were all too happy to ask me if I could help cooking for their little gathering.