Page 17 of Vintage

His fingers hooked on the band of my panty, carefully gliding them down my thighs, down to my ankle, and slipped away from my toes.

He swept my legs wide, air kissing the most intimate parts of me, and I shuddered visibly, breathing deep in that electricity charging my body, only to feel his hands and a cold metal slashing against the air, and slowly but certainly, my nightdress was no more on my body.

I was bare, stripped down to nothing, and left on his mercy.

"I always dreamt of showing you the wild side of the wicked me, not just in wrath, dripping from greed, but soaked in lust and every speck of it meantfor you, Mrs. Rowan. Only. For. You." The validation of that cruel being in his words was true, and I believed it.

It was a different wild from the crazy he and I indulged in. I knew better than to question. He was different in this moment, unlike himself, the person I recognized.

His mouth was on my nipple, and his hands were fondling my left breast, torturing under his touch.

"Ahh..." I screamed, and he thrust two of his fingers inside my mouth, rubbing on my tongue, and pushing deep down my throat.

I choked, coughing, and spluttering the saliva, but he didn't bother looking out for me like he used to.

I opened my eyes, crying, and watched him sucking on a nipple, his mouth stuffed, and teeth marking the soft skin.

My hands on his shoulder tried pushing him away, but I was paralyzed when he kissed the valley of my breasts and moved down, dipping his tongue in my navel and kissing his way down to my thighs.

I panted, a mess of snot and tears, but he showed me no mercy.

He didn't let go even when my nails dug into his back, scratching his flesh to bleed. Ro only hissed, cursed under his breath, and roughly placed my legs over his shoulder.

Each time I attempted to extend my hand beyond the cruel grip of the cuffs, a sharp twist would seize my wrist, sending waves of agony coursing through me.

He didn’t care. My cried didn’t bother him, anymore.

His fingers pried apart my folds, while his mouth descended on my clit, taunting me with every flick and swirl.

He retrieved his fingers away from my mouth and thrust them into my dripping hole, scissoring them and stretching my walls; the squelching sounds were loud in the not-so-silent room anymore.

He took a long swig across my slit, warm breath caressing my sensitive flesh, and I flinched, but his hands on my thighs held me down.

The sensation of his fingers on my skin was everything I had craved for weeks—a sweet torment he had kept from me. But this—this was not the fantasy I had painted in my mind! No, it was a chaotic eruption of his pent-up rage, unleashed upon me in a way that felt like a betrayal of everything I had ever desired.

Tongue, fingers, lips, teeth—everything of his stimulated me to the point where I gave in to that acidic pleasure. Every bit of my scream melted into that powerless moan, which I had no control over.

I watched him grinning when he kneeled in between my legs; his lips and chin smeared with the hot arousal he forced out of me, and resentfully, I let him.

He licked his lips and groaned in excitement.

My lips wobbled; fear and pleasure were both a lethal concoction mixed together.

"You just taste like fucking mine, Mrs. Rowan." That smile of his was a dangerous promise, pulling me closer until our faces were mere inches apart, the world around us fading into nothingness. And then, in a whirlwind of desperation, his lips seized mine, a fierce and insatiable kiss that sent shockwaves through my very core, leaving me dizzy and reluctantly craving more.

His tongue plunged inside my mouth, playing with my tongue, while his hands over my hips angled me in the position, and in one swift move, he thrust deep inside me, filling me up to the hilt, and I chocked on my saliva.

Nothing mattered to him. Not that it did before; he liked it rough, and I liked everything that had to do with him, but this moment was different for both of us. Unlike anything we have ever encountered.

He was a man consumed by passion, yet tonight, all I could sense was a chilling void where that fire once burned. It felt primal, almost savage. Animalistic—yes, that’s the only word that defined his actions.

I moaned, taking his deep, powerful thrusts. My back pressed against the mattress. Every cry, ugly as he moved, was swallowed by his lips.

He went down to play with my breasts. A pained yet affectionate sound rumbled from his chest, "My precious wife."

Was I really?

My love felt like punishment.

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