Page 41 of Devour
Untangling myself from her, I slip out of bed and quietly make my way to the bathroom. I strip off my boxers and step under the cold shower. The water glides over my skin, but I barely feel it.
My hand trails down my abdomen to my aching length, and I start to stroke it slow at first, my rough palm dragging over sensitive flesh.
All the while, the woman responsible for this need sleeps soundly in the next room. My pace quickens as I imagine her lips wrapped around me, warm and wet. I come with a grunt, spilling onto the shower floor, my breath ragged as I watch it swirl down the drain. I step out and towel myself dry before wrapping another around my waist.
I walk toward the door separating the walk-in closet from the bathroom and take out a fresh pair of boxers from one of the drawers.
After slipping them on, I head back to the bedroom. She hasn’t moved, still lying in the same position I left her completely unaware of the war raging inside me. I climb into bed behind her, wrapping my arm gently around her waist.
This time, I make sure there’s no contact between my crotch and her body. Eventually, the tension bleeds out of me, and I let the stillness swallow me whole. I close my eyes, allowing the perfection of this moment to wash over me and lull me into a peaceful sleep.
In the middle of the night, I stir. It’s her—she’s moving. I’d assumed she was the kind of sleeper who stayed in one position, but I was wrong.
She shifts a lot. Now, her body is pressed flush against mine, one leg thrown over my waist. The covers are completely kicked off, and her nightgown has ridden up to her waist, leaving her panties exposed.
I shift onto my back, but she moves with me instinctively, like her body is chasing mine in sleep. She ends up sprawled across me, her chest pressed to mine, her breathing warm against my neck.
The feel of her curves against my body is the last thing I remember before sleep pulls me under again. I’m jolted awake by a sharp scream and a searing pain in my balls.
“Fuck!”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Ariel
He looks around, clearly in pain from my knee nailing him when I scrambled away from his chest, searching for whatever might have caused my scream.
“What are you doing here?” I bite out.
He finally looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, realizing there’s no threat.
“What do you mean, what am I doing here? I’m your husband. Where else would I sleep?” he growls, rubbing his wounded, bulging crotch.
I should’ve known Griselda would put me in his room, especially after handing me that damn box of lingerie as a wedding gift. I don’t know what gave her the idea that this is some kind of happy marriage.
“I thought this was just a marriage of convenience.”
“You thought wrong,” he says, his eyes suddenly glazing over, fixated on my shoulder, where one of the thin straps of this nightmare of a nightgown has slipped down, exposing my right breast.
I quickly pull the strap back up, but his gaze turns hungry—almost feral like I’ve just taken his favorite candy. He watches my every move like a predator stalking its prey.
“As long as you’re my wife,” he says, crawling toward me like a beast closing in, “you sleep in my bed.”
I start inching backward, my heart racing—desperate to put space between us as he punctuates each word with slow, deliberate movements.
“You’ll get on your knees and open that pretty mouth,” he murmurs darkly. “You’ll spread those soft, sexy legs and beg me to take your pussy. And when I’m not too pleased… I might take your ass instead.”
Did he just say my ass? I swallow the lump in my throat at his threats but my pussy pulses, clearly not in line with my brain. The bed is so massive I barely reach the edge before he grabs my ankle and yanks me back toward him.
The force knocks me onto my back, stealing the breath from my lungs. A startled screech escapes my lips. He positions himself between my thighs, leaning over me, his hot breath ghosting across my face.
“You’ll do your wifely duties whenever, however, I want,” he growls, before sealing his mouth down onto mine.
I expect a forceful, dominating kiss—so my fists fly to his shoulders, striking in rapid protest. But they slow the moment his lips meet mine… soft. Almost pleading, as if he’s begging me to meet him halfway.
Something inside me cracks. The ice I’ve built around my heart begins to melt, splintering bit by bit as I wrap my arms around his neck. My fingers tangle in the soft hair at his nape, pulling him closer as I deepen the kiss.
He hesitates—his arms braced on either side of me like a push-up, holding himself above me, careful not to touch.
