Page 123 of Broken By Silence
“Because I needed you to see,” I pull her against me, my hands sliding down her back to cup the perfect curves of her ass. “You’re here. You’re warm. You’re mine, and you’re going to prove it. Right here, on top of the fucking plot of dirt I cried over.”
A low moan escapes her, a sound of pure surrender that makes my balls tighten. Her hands come up, not to push me away, but to claw at my shirt. I walk her backward until the back of her legs hit the smooth, cold granite. “Bend over,” I command, my voice guttural.
Her eyes hold mine for a heartbeat before she obeys, turning and leaning over her own engraved name. The sight is the most blasphemous, erotic thing I’ve ever seen. The white dress hiked up around her waist, the bare skin of her ass displayed on top of the monument of her death.
I don’t waste a second. I fumble with my fly, freeing my aching cock, so hard it was painful. I don’t prepare her or tease her. I need to be inside her, to feel her, toreclaimwhat was always meant to be mine.
I guide myself to her entrance, and with one powerful thrust, I bury myself to the hilt in her. She screams, a raw, torn sound that rips through the silent woods. Her body clenches around me, and for a moment, I swear I see stars.
“God, Lottie,” I groan, my forehead dropping between her shoulder blades. I stay there, buried deep, just feeling her, the way her body stretches around me, the way her inner muscles flutter around my cock, trying to pull me evendeeper.
Then I begin to move.
I set a brutal, punishing pace, each thrust slamming her body against the hard stone. The sounds are obscene… The wet, rhythmic slap of our flesh meeting, my ragged grunts, her cries of pleasure with every drive of my hips. I tangle one hand in her hair, pulling her head back, arching her spine. The other hand slid around her hip, my fingers finding the swollen, sensitive nub of her clit.
I rub firm, tight circles there, matching the rhythm of my thrusts. “This is mine,” I snarl in her ear, my voice barely recognizable. “This tight, perfect cunt. It belongs to me. You can marry a hundred men, but you will always remember whoownsthis. Whofucksyou like this.”
“Elijah!”
Her body begins to tighten around me, and I drive into her one last, final time, so deep I fear I might hurt her, and I hold myself there as her climax crashes over her. Her inner walls convulse around my cock, milking me, pulling my own release from me in hot, pulsing waves.
I spill into her, my own groan lost in the sound of her shuddering breaths.
We collapse together over the gravestone, spent and panting. Slowly, I pull out of her, turning her limp, pliant body in my arms to face me. Her eyes are glazed, her lips swollen from my kisses. She looks well and truly fucked.
Mine.
My Wife.
My Lottie.
I look down at her, at this beautiful, intoxicating woman. A possessiveness, darker and more profound than anything I’d ever felt, surges through me. I need one final thing.
The final seal on my ownership. “Open wife,” I command.
I gather a small amount of saliva in my mouth, and my eyes lock on hers. Her breath hitches, her gaze flicking to my lips with a knowing smile. She glares, but there’s no heat in it, and she obeys.
I lean down, my mouth hovering just above hers, and I spit directly into her open, waiting mouth. She swallows, accepting it, acceptingme, in the most primal way possible.
A slow, wicked smile spreads across my face. “Welcome back from the dead, wife.”
Chapter 42
Roman
It’s been two days since the wedding.
Two days since she said ‘I do’ to us idiots and smiled at me like she meant it.
Two days since her name stopped existing, replaced by a single word that feels too small for what she is to me.
Wife.
Reyes is my wife, and that’s all I can bring myself to call her now.
She’s curled by the window when I find her, one of my shirts hanging off one shoulder… one of mine. She’s in my clothes… There’s a blanket draped over her legs, and a cup of coffee in her hand. She looks up when I step closer, eyes still soft from sleep, lips parting slightly.
“Morning,” she murmurs, voice still rough from sleep… but dangerously sweet. I shouldn’t feel like this. Two days married, and I’m addicted to every breath she takes. Every move she makes feels designed to ruin me.
