Page 16 of Coercion

His jaw is angular, his skin is tanned. His eyes seem to hint at what I want to believe is a kindness under all that brooding mass of muscle. I want to indulge in that notion, that this man might be less of a brute, that perhaps even, he might show me softness, gentleness, if I’m careful enough about my own behaviour. If I act the way my mother did with my father.

His hand moves to catch my face, his fingertips brush my cheek and my breath stops for a second.

‘Seduce him.’Gunnar’s words ring out in my head. He was more than clear what he expected me to do, what the consequences would be if I disobeyed.

As I hold his gaze, I move my hands, fumbling with the zip at the back of my dress. The fabric slips, the satin slides down my body and pools at my feet, and his eyes widen just a little.

He swears under his breath, staring at me now I’m fully exposed. This morning I hated the lingerie that was laid out for me because I knew it was all part of this sham but now, now I’ll admit that the look in his eyes, the way he seems to be devouring every inch of me, makes me feel something, makes some part of me want to be desired in a way I’ve never dared to seek before.

I have to put on a show now. I have to act like I want this.

Only, under my fear, under those words that keep repeating in my head I think I do want this. Inexplicably, incomprehensibly, I think I’m less fearful of what’s about to happen, as if I’m the kind of girl that understands pleasure, that knows what it feels like when sex isn’t forced. When it’s wanted.

And if I can control this, if I can make him believe that I’m a person worthy to be his wife then perhaps I might just survive after all.

“You can touch me.” I say, giving permission like he isn’t used to simply taking what he deems as his.

He tilts his head, tangling his hands into the mass of my hair further and as he angles my head back he captures my lips in a devastating kiss. I lean into him, letting his lips ease mine apart and then his tongue slides in, caressing mine as he groans.

I’ve never kissed a man before. Never kissed anyone. I let him take control, let him dominate every moment but I’ll admit some part of me enjoys the way he’s devouring me right now.

He tastes of whiskey. He tastes of danger. He tastes of everything I fear and everything I want to hope might just save me.

His arms wrap around my body and he carries me backwards onto the bed. It feels like he’s stopped caring about who could be watching this scene play out, that he’s so lost in his lust that he no longer gives a damn, and then he seems to come to his senses. He gets up, pulls his clothes off and tosses them, before he yanks the duvet up and over to conceal us both.

I blink, staring at him and his lips curl into an almost cruel smirk before he reaches over and turns off all the lights, pitching us into near total darkness.

Our breathing sounds so much more exaggerated under the covers. I can’t see him but I know he’s touching distance from me and I can feel the heat radiating off him.

I reach out and my fingertips meet the hard, smooth skin of his chest. He’s so warm, like under that skin he’s on fire. It makes me want to snuggle up into him, to seek the safety of his body, as irrational as that thought is. Only, his hand curls around mine, keeping it still, preventing me from doing so.

“Ruby.” He murmurs and it sounds like a warning.

But I lean in closer anyway. Maybe it’s the alcohol making me behave like this, maybe it’s the relief that this man, this stranger who is now my husband clearly isn’t going to hurt me like I first thought. Perhaps he isn’t as much of a monster as the ones I’ve grown up with. At least, not in this moment, he’s not.

He pulls me closer and I can feel it, his dick, it’s hard, pressing into me through his boxers which he’s curiously still kept on.

“Can you pretend?” He murmurs quietly.

“Pretend what?” I reply.

“They can’t see anything now but they can still hear.”

My face flushes. He wants them to think we’re having sex rather than actually doing it. But why?

“I need you to make the right noises. Can you do that? Can you fake it?”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because they’re listening.” He states again, like I’m stupid.

“No.” I say. “Why only pretend?”

That makes him pause. “I’m not fucking you here. Not like this. If I fuck you there won’t be witnesses.”

“If?” I repeat in confusion. What man doesn’t want to fuck their new bride? I’m not exactly ugly, I know that, despite how disgusting I feel inside there’s no visible taint, nothing that shows what I really am, and it’s clear from the way Preston reacted when I stripped that he’s attracted to me, that he wants me.

He cups my cheek with his hand. “You’ve spent almost the entire day crying. It’s clear you don’t want this. Do you really think I’m going to force you?”

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