Total pages in book: 208
Estimated words: 209645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1048(@200wpm)___ 839(@250wpm)___ 699(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 209645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1048(@200wpm)___ 839(@250wpm)___ 699(@300wpm)
Mars, on the other hand, was able to give that and much, much more.
His hands moving on me, on the lace, on the silk of my skirt, on my skin, he quickly found the slit in the chiffon and put it to use, stroking the inside of my thigh that I’d wantonly flung across his hip.
That felt lovely.
He adjusted us, I felt his hardness press against me and I made another mew, bearing down into it.
He groaned, and his big hand cupped the back of my head, holding my mouth to his (not that I would take it away), as his other hand slid over my thigh, up, and I felt the tips of his fingers glide just under the edge of my panties at my hip.
So lovely.
“Mars,” I whispered against his lips.
He lifted his head from the pillow and took mine again, his tongue surging into my mouth, drinking, dancing, the stud in it teasing, his fingers slid over my behind, still at the edge of my panties, and then slid back.
Even more lovely.
I ground into his hardness.
His fingers retraced their path, going farther this time, farther, and I felt them tickle the wetness between my legs.
I pressed into them, seeking more.
They retreated. They were there, tantalizing, but not there, giving me what I needed.
“Mars,” I begged, our mouths brushing.
His fingers skittered through my folds as he murmured hoarsely, “My wife is very wet.”
“I—”
He rested his head on the pillow, taking his lips from mine, as his fingers went from between my legs and clamped on the back of my thigh, right under the cheek of my bottom. He held firm, locking me on him and against him, his maleness hard, hot, thick and pressing into me.
He then moved my head so my face was shoved into his neck, his beard grazing my forehead.
“Let this be a lesson learned, Silence,” he murmured.
A…
What?
I stared at his neck.
“Tonight you will sleep as I have slept, every night since our wedding, in need of the body so close to mine, unable to have it, unable to find release,” he declared.
I had no idea he slept as such.
I also had no idea why he would make me do it because I already knew it was wholly disagreeable.
“If you want something, my wife, you ask your husband for it,” he instructed. “If you need something, you request it.” His hands at my thigh and neck squeezed in a manner that was a clear rebuke even as his next words confirmed just that. “If something matters to you, you communicate it. I’m understood, yes?”
He was talking about the marital chain.
He was punishing me for having a response to him taking off his marital chain when it was he who had proclaimed we’d take off the other’s every night for the rest of our lives.
This angered me.
But I could not think on my anger.
I needed to squirm.
I could not squirm.
I needed to shout my desires.
I could not shout my desires.
All I could do was mumble, “Yes.”
“Good,” he muttered, giving me another squeeze, this one affectionate. “Now we will sleep with the lamps lit. Perhaps that will chase your bad dreams away.”
I did not think this was a possibility.
The sleeping part, that was.
Mostly because he was hard and ready against me, still. I was wet and ready atop him, definitely still.
And he seemed completely immune to both.
Like he was in the necropolis when the men he’d tortured begged him to stop.
Apparently, torture came in many forms.
And my husband was a master at all of them.
“I must admit,” he muttered, “I do not like your Dellish clothes.”
Well!
My Dellish gowns were lovely.
And they were warm.
I couldn’t very well wear silk and sheers in a Dellish autumn clime, for goodness sake.
“But I do very much like this nightgown, my new wife,” he finished, running his hand along the material at the slit before moving it back to claim my thigh.
I was burning it on the morrow.
After a spell, Mars seemed to relax under me.
I did not do the same even when his fingers at my neck started to stroke its side.
Eventually, he advised, “You need to ease, my Silence.”
“Can I roll off?”
“No.”
I tensed further.
He started to stroke my thigh.
That did not help.
“What did I tell you?” he whispered, his voice gentle.
Which thing he told me was he referring to?
“What did you tell me?” I asked.
“You do not run from me,” he answered, and at that, I blinked at his neck. “You’ve been avoiding me in a manner that is the same as running, my queen, and I’ll not have it. You do what I do not like, there will be consequences. These are your consequences. You’ll sleep right here.” He gripped my thigh again. “Tonight. And every night. Until you give yourself back to me, and after, you will likely fall asleep right here regardless, but due to me exhausting you. But for now, ease, Silence. And sleep.”