by Louisa Trent
She didn't care. She was almost painfully aroused by the element of danger, by her own wanton appearance in the mirror.
In the new clothes and with her hair free, she looked different. Younger, hipper, like a ruca.
Without underwear, she felt the fluidity of her body each and every time she moved; when she left the mirror, and moved to the door, her breasts shifted and her tightened nipples rubbed against the soft cotton. With each step, the tight jeans abraded the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs. Conscious of the inseam pressing into her vagina, excited by how the rough new denim scraped her clitoris, her hips began to roll as she approached her new husband. Amazing what clothes-or the lack thereof-could do for a woman's sex drive.
Hers had always been strong. Though, because of her background, it remained an untapped resource.
Tomas’ eyes darkened, going from dark brown to black, when he saw her. His lids hooded, his gaze lingering in a hot caress, when he said, “My, my. I guess we'll be using the private entrance to the condo today.”
“But the open house! Didn't you want me to meet your prospective clients?”
“ I don't think it's a good idea if any of those stuffed shirts saw my wife looking so sexy.” He stroked along her bare arm and she trembled.
“I could wear one of your jackets,” she suggested.
“Cover up your gorgeous shape with a jacket? No way, baby. Business will just have to wait for another time. Your showing of the condo is gonna be strictly private.”
* * * *
“Oh, Tomas!” his bride gasped, facing him as they rode the freight elevator up to the roof. “I can't believe this building was once an old warehouse! I've never seen anything so spectacular.”
He had. Sera was the most spectacular sight he'd ever seen.
Slouched against the elevator's metal side, two floors away from the rooftop luxury suite, his burning eyes fixed on the two sharp points sticking out from beneath his bride's white cotton top.
With his hands jammed into his pockets, so he wouldn't be tempted to fondle those frisky arrowheads, Tomas used what little spit he had left in his mouth to say, “I'm glad you think so. Your opinion matters a lot to me.”
Her slender arm swung in a graceful arc over her head, which lifted a breast up and out of the tank top's low neckline. “I very much approve of salvaging old buildings like this one.”
And he very much approved of the way her round breast had popped out of that jersey. He was never letting her hook on a bra again. And underpants-he'd have to think long and hard about those.
Sera gave new meaning to the perky definition. At the most, she was maybe a 34B, but every one of those dainty inches counted. Could two nipples get any higher?
Tomas didn't think so.
As to her ass-those two lush fanny cheeks could only be described as mouthwatering. Just knowing her pussy was tucked bare-assed into those tight jeans made him go a little nuts. Not that he needed any additional reasons to lose his mind, because he sure as hell didn't, being that he was loco for her already.
His eyes rested on her crotch. The jeans were so tight he could also make out the indentation of her cleft.
His bride was wet.
He didn't have to finger-fuck her to know it. Just looking at her told him her body needed release. And she was getting it too. There were all sorts of inventive stuff he could do to make her come. He planned on using every one of ‘em tonight.
Just because this marriage wasn't getting consummated, didn't mean his bride was missing out on the wedding night jollies. Sera was getting her fireworks, all right, just not in the usual way.
He was gifted with his hands. His mouth was talented too, or so more than a few rapturous females had told him. And he wasn't only talking about the pussy tricks he could do with his tongue.
He'd never been good with social small talk; bedroom conversation was a different story. Sex talk primed a woman. The turn of a dirty phrase acted as a powerful aphrodisiac. Once a man mastered the fine art of verbal foreplay he could get a woman to come even if he was standing across the room. Pretty potent stuff, words.
His blushing bride was gonna scream tonight without him ever putting his cock inside her.
Not that he didn't want to put it to her, because he did want to put it to her, but he wasn't going to. He just wasn't strong enough to put himself on the line like that.
He wanted Sera, and if Matt were a livin', breathin’ man, Tomas would have given him one hell of a good run for his money in regards to competing for his bride's affections. That would have been the fair and square way of resolving things. But it was tough racing against the memory of a ‘good man', tough to outdistance the recollections of a ‘saint.’
Tomas Ruiz was no saint. As for being a good man...he was still working at it. Thank you, Jesus, for second chances.
Tonight, there would be no second chances. Tonight, he'd do the right thing by his sweet bride or he'd die trying. He just couldn't put the man part of himself inside Sera's body and risk bumping into the memory of Matt there. To avoid the competition, he planned on doing things to Sera that no saintly missionary man would ever think of doing.
“Push that jersey up now, honey, so I can see you,” he said lazily, so as not to frighten her.
Turning her on was his mission, not sending her running. He had to always remember that Sera wasn't used to having a man like him get her off.
Her hand went to her throat. “Pardon?”
“We're married now, sweetheart, and I want to get a look at my bride.”
Her green eyes darted from one wall to the other. “In an elevator?”
“Why not? We're alone in the building and this elevator is private; the doors won't open until we reach the roof unit.”
Damn! His blushing bride's worried glance found the high tech, high definition, surveillance equipment overhead.
If there was a fly on the elevator wall, the camera lens would pick up the veins in its wings; the camera was that good. If the fly farted, the listening devise would pick up the sound, then push up the volume so that the fly fart came out sounding like hurricane force wind. Only the most sophisticated hardware was installed in the building.
“Could you shut that thing off first, Tomas?” she asked, pointing overhead.
No, he could not. There was only one way in and out of the rooftop condo unit and that was through this private elevator. The surveillance equipment that Sera wanted disarmed controlled the alarm system, which in turn alerted his own private security team, a group of men that he'd gotten assembled for the night.
He needed Sera in a secure place, because later on this evening he couldn't protect her; he would be otherwise occupied. So tonight, ‘Rico and his gang members were patrolling the fenced in condo rather than walking the grounds over at the mansion like they usually did. That's why the camera was staying on. If ‘Rico heard the alarm go off, signifying that someone was breaking into the rooftop unit, Tomas’ instructions were for him and the gang to come running, knives drawn
Understanding Sera's reluctance-and her excitement—about taking it all off in front of the blinking light, Tomas gave her the bogus story he had prepared in advance. He would still get what he wanted-namely, Sera's safety-and his bride would still get what she wanted-namely, a titillating walk on the wild side.
“The only one who'll see the film in that camera is me.” He smiled reassuringly. “Consider the photos a wedding gift to your husband.”
“I-”
“Do it, Sera.”
His modest bride raised the bottom of the tee-shirt.
As far as her bellybutton. If Tomas hadn't smelled her arousal, he would've called an end to it right then and there; he wanted her pleasured not frightened. But he did smell her arousal; her womanly musk was scenting the inside of his nostrils. Sera wanted this.
So did he. His balls were aching with how much he wanted this.
“Higher, honey,” he said. “Show me your pretty tits.”
Her eyes drifted back to his. She wanted this, needed this, but he could tell it was hard on her. She was a nice woman. A lady. Damned straight she'd never taken off her clothes in front of a camera before.
That made them even in the first time department, cuz he'd never before played these kinds of games.
For Sera, he would. He'd take that walk on the wild side. Though he preferred vanilla sex, he'd do the kinky stuff for her.
“Shall I take my top off?” she asked in confusion. Eager anticipation too.
“Did I tell you take it off?” he asked sternly, using a severe, dominant voice.
“No, but I thought-”
“You'll do exactly what I tell you to, and you won't question me again. I'm your husband now. Remember? A good wife obeys her husband.”
“I'm sorry,” she said, raising the white cotton, the color in her face high, that first telling flush of pleasure taking over.
“All the way up and over your nipples,” Tomas coaxed. “That's a good wife.”
Eyes downcast, she hiked the white cotton to her chin.
Fuck, he muttered. But under his breath; he had to be real careful not to give his own excitement away. She might be killing him, but he had to stay in control, in charge.
Sera, he suspected, was the kind of lady who liked being dominated. To oblige her fantasy, he couldn't reveal to her how completely she owned him, how totally she could twist him around her little finger.
“Your nipples are very...large. Hard too. Are they always so large and hard, wife?”
“I don't understand what we're doing. Your voice is never harsh-”
He stopped her. “I'm training you to be my obedient wife. That is what you want, isn't it?”
“Well, yes, but-”
“Then, answer my question.”
“No, husband, my nipples have never been this large and hard before. It's you who makes them so.”
He nodded his head in approval. Sera caught on quick. “Do your tits hurt?”
“Yes,” she said meekly. “My...tits do hurt. Very much so. They ache for you, husband.”
“Would it help if I touched them?”
“Yes.”
“Ask me politely, like a good wife should.”
“Please touch my tits, husband.”
He pressed the elevator's stop button, said in a tone that came right out of BDSM central casting, “You may come to me, wife.”
For a woman prone to being contrary, Sera sure flew across the elevator floor. She stood before him, meekly looking up at him from under the fringe of her eyelashes. “I'd like a kiss.”
He cupped the small weight she presented to him, moved his thumb pad gently over the peak, and watched her squirm.
“Good wives do not place demands kisses on their husbands,” he rebuked. “You must be punished!”
He very nearly laughed his ass off over the shocked look that fell over her face.
Man, how did guys ever carry this routine off without pissin’ their boxers? How was it that their women didn't just haul off and slug ‘em for being a first class prick? He could see the BDSM stuff every once and a while, just to spice things up, but who'd want a steady diet of this crap?
Not him. Give him equal opportunity fucking-
“Punishment?” Sera asked, her squeak interrupting his thought flow. “What sort of punishment?”
Her green eyes sparkled with unladylike curiosity...and excitement. “You mean, like a bare-bottom spanking?”
Paddle Sera's ass? Maybe take a chance of bruising her silky flesh? Hell, no!
Unless, she insisted.
“Your punishment is no kisses,” he said, like a smarmy ass-hole.
Her lowered lashes fluttered. “Oh dear, I did so want a kiss...”
It was killing him not taking her lips. They looked so cute wearing a pout.
“You know,” he said weakening, “maybe I could modify the punishment-”
Sera's eyes went from sparkling to disappointed.
Shit! Wouldn't you know it? She liked him in the Dom's role. Maybe he'd created a monster; maybe Sera liked the BDSM stuff just a little too much-
But he was doing this for her, not for himself, so he slipped back in character.
“No kisses!” he said authoritatively. “Ask me again and I will have no choice but to spank you.”
He really might die trying to please Sera tonight.
“Now for your nipples,” he said, sternly, “do you need a hard or a soft touch?”
“Hard,” she replied.
Figured.
Tomas took the end of Sera's distended nipple between two fingers and squeezed.
She raised a hand to his chest, as if to touch his nipple too.
“You may not touch me during your training, wife,” he chastised. “If you do, my touch will be withdrawn.”
Her hands went behind her back. “Sorry,” she said prettily.
“You're learning,” he praised. “Your tits are small-”
“I'm sorry, husband. Would you like me to cover myself?”
“Before you interrupted me, wife, I was about to say that your tits are small beauties, perfect in every way.”
“Oh, Tom-I mean husband. What a romantic compliment.”
Too romantic, he thought glumly. He needed to get tougher with her, harder on her.
The jeans were low-riders, hanging so low slung on her flared hips that he could almost see pink. He fully intended to see pink before the elevator made it to the top.
“Take off the jeans, Sera,” he ordered.
Her fingers rushed for the snap, only to stall when she remembered the overhead audio-video equipment.
“Do it,” he said firmly.
As if in a daze, she kicked off her shoes, then unzipped. Her hand, however, remained on guard duty at her crotch.
“Are you hiding your succulent pussy from me, wife?”
“Not from you, Tomas. It's the camera,” she said, tremulously.
“I will have wedding pictures of my bride,” he insisted. “Do it, or I will do it for you. And if that happens, I will hang the photos on the walls of my office.”
Yeah, right. Like he'd ever do that.
Oh, he'd get the photos printed up all right, in his own private dark room. The pictures, however, were strictly for his private pleasure.
Sera, given an excellent reason for compliance, pushed the black denim down and off.
His bride's pretty pussy was weeping. Her golden-brown pubic hair glistened with sex tears, her upper thighs slick with her juices.
Tomas felt his chest constrict. Oh, Sera, baby! You gotta be hurtin’ so bad.
It had been too long since she'd been fucked.
“Open it,” he said.
“Ex-excuse me?”
He'd have to use the V-word; anything else and Sera would go catatonic.
“Open your vagina up for me,” he growled savagely.
Making a vee with two fingers, she pulled up on the swollen lips of her pussy.
“More, baby,” he ordered. “I want this one blown up.”
Panting, she widened the slit.
His hand went between her slippery thighs, his index finger gently going up and in.
Head thrown back, Sera convulsed with a scream against the wall.
One down, many more to go.
“Again,” he ordered, two fingers working slowly up inside her pussy.
She was so tight! How was it that she was so damned tight?
As soon as he could manage, his fingers moved in and out; his thumb moved to the top of her sex.
“How do you want me to do you?” he asked.
“I-I don't know what you mean.”
“Your clit. How do you want me to do your clit?” he spelled it out. Some women liked direct stimulation; some women preferred an indirect stroke. He wanted to pleasure Sera, not hurt her.
To show her what he meant, he slid his thumb over the little nub.
She went off like a ro
cket.
When his tuckered-out baby sagged against him, Tomas scooped her into his arms, and hit the elevator release button. When the doors opened, he carried his lady-bride into their honeymoon suite, her beautiful loosened hair trailing down her back like a bridal veil.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Yep, Sera thought, a big goofy grin on her face, she had Tomas right where she wanted him.
Annulment indeed! She mused, her neck lolling against her husband's solid chest as he carried her down a hall.
He was easy-pickings now. A stallion like Tomas Ruiz could never go without sex. He wouldn't break his vows either. And that made her his only available option.
Bye-bye platonic arrangement, hello honeymoon.
Her husband was between a rock and a hard place, and she was his only port in the storm.
Okay, so her metaphors were mixed. It was the imagery that was important. Regardless that she wasn't his usual type of woman, there was a sexual attraction buzzing between them, and if Tomas wanted sex, he'd have to settle on her. By hook or by crook, this marriage was getting consummated!
“I didn't realize you were such a traditionalist, Tomas. Carrying me over the threshold just like your bride...”
“You are my bride,” he said, dumping her in the middle of a king-sized bed.
Her rear end bounced on the comfy mattress. Giddy after two hard climaxes, everything was looking pretty darn rosy.
Or maybe that was the rose petal strewn coverlet.
“Oh, Tomas,” she said softly, picking up a handful of red petals, careful not to crush the delicate flowers. “You gave me roses. That's twice now.”
“A bride should have a wedding bouquet. Since you didn't want to carry flowers during the vows, you can wear them now.”
Opening her palm, she released the petals, letting them drift over her prone, practically naked, body.
They tickled as they drifted over her bare bosom like the softest of kisses. One petal landed on an upright nipple, and she giggled.
When Tomas palmed her breast on the elevator, his brown fingers closing around the tip, the contrast of their skin pigments had fired her blood, as had the size of his hand. If hand size translated to the rest of his body parts, then...