her at ease. It made her body tense with excitement, but not fear. That was the domain of her heart, and that she quickly put behind a wall.
His fingers moved, left her sensitive skin before he stood up and shut the dining-room door. “It’s our wedding day, Marie, time to celebrate it the best way we know how.”
He pulled her up from her seat and she followed him as he moved down the table, to a place that was free of the dishes. “Bend over.”
She wanted to protest, she wanted to ask him for more than a quick fuck in the dining room, but she didn’t question it. She was his now, and he wanted to prove it. Instinct told her that.
Without a word, she bent over the table and gasped at the coolness of the varnished wood. The soft rustle of silk against cotton caught her attention and she wondered if he was undressing.
“Give me your hands.” It wasn’t a question, but a demand. Her body responded with liquid heat that surged in her veins, straight to points she now wanted him to touch.
Somewhere, a part of her wanted to protest, wanted to say it wasn’t supposed to be like this, but another part was excited about the way he’d taken control. A bigger part of her wanted his attention however it came and would drop her to her knees if it meant he touched her.
She moved her hands behind her back and tried to settle on the table comfortably. Something pulsed from her chest, straight down between her thighs, when she felt the silk of his tie wrap around her wrists. The bond wasn’t tight, but she wouldn’t be able to break free if she wanted to.
There was a hint of danger there, in being bound, bent over a table, and at his mercy. Still, she wasn’t afraid. She was… aroused. Curious. Eager for more.
And also, very fucking confused.
Her body was in overdrive and her brain went quiet as his fingers let go of hers and moved down her body. The way she was bent over pushed the crinoline out, her lower half must have been on display to him, but she didn’t care. She was hungry for his touch, suddenly, starving for it.
They’d only slept together once before the wedding, but her body had remembered his touch every day since. In her dreams, he touched her, loved her, made her scream his name, and now he was there. He stepped away slightly, paused, and she knew he was looking at her.
What a picture she must make: her skirt pushed up by the crinoline, her bottom covered in silky lace, the garters that held up her white stockings on display for only him. Only for Matteo. She was his wife, and he was about to make it legally so.
“Matteo,” she murmured quietly, but he shushed her.
The sound of his belt being loosened, the slow way his zipper came down, and the sound as his pants fell to the floor made her want to slide her panties out of the way just enough for him to slide into her, she was so eager for him. “Please.”
That was all, nothing more, just a please, but it held so many other words. Please fuck me, please make me come, please end this torment.
He ignored that plea and knelt behind her. She heard the sound as his knees hit the floor. Felt the way his hands opened her flesh to him, brushed the fabric of her barely-there panties aside. She heard him groan as his lips brushed over her folds, just enough to gather the taste of her on his mouth, to smell her desire.
His tongue came out to taste her more fully, to gather her liquid desire to savor. He sucked at his own tongue for a moment before he moved back in, using his hands to move her thighs wider apart so that he could dive deeper into her flesh. The press of his thumbs on her ass was almost painful, almost too much, but at the same time, that sensation of pain thrilled her, made her want more, and her hips rocked into his face.
She wanted more, needed more, but didn’t dare ask for it. Not when she was at his mercy like this. He might decide to just fuck her and get it over with, and she would die if he did that.
Marie knew she was in no position to make demands right now. Some part of Matteo