“And I do. And we will. Just not yet. I told you, Camille, you should have walked away when you had the chance.” He squeezed me in his hold in a kind of reverse hug that somehow let me feel every part of him. “Get the pill, the shot, whatever. I’ll decide when we’re ready for kids, and it won’t be when their mother is still strung up on slicing her hands open and her cunt isn’t gagging for my cock.”
He made a disgusted sound at the back of his throat, before he let go, dipped down, then hauled me into his arms, carrying me like a real husband carried his bride over the threshold.
Bewildered, I looked up at him, aghast and astounded, as he carried me down the hall, toward the farthest end where I’d started off last night.
Disappointment filled me, before he walked in and said, “Take one last look at this bedroom, Camille. If I find you in here, I’ll spank your ass until you can’t sit down for a week.” His eyes leveled on mine. “There’s no running from this. Not now.”
My mouth worked, confusion filling me. He was acting like I was a woman he’d been craving for a lifetime, like I hadn’t twisted his arm into marrying me.
He was...
Possessive.
And as I registered the fire in his eyes for what it was, I melted.
I absolutely, one-hundred-percent melted into him.
My bones turning molten, my being just disintegrating into a goo that clung to him as he hauled me out of the room and down toward his.
“You’re not going to like everything I do. You’re going to hate some of it, and sometimes, you might hate me, but that’s fine. I can deal with your hatred—I’m more than used to that,” he said grimly, prompting me to blink up at him.
What was he talking about?
Hate?
Hate a man who barely knew me, but who looked at me like he’d set the world on fire if I dared self-harm again?
Hate a man who told me he wanted my cunt to be gagging for his dick?
None of this was anticipated, but then, I thought Brennan felt the exact same way.
He didn’t look particularly happy, just resolved.
Like something had clicked on in his mind, and when a man like him made a decision, it wasn’t often he went back on it.
There was only one thought that whispered through my mind at that...
Thank God for bullheaded monsters...
Nineteen
Brennan
I wasn’t sure what was going on in my head, was well aware that the brain between my legs was taking control, and because it had been too long since I’d allowed that to happen, and because she was my wife, I saw no harm in it.
She knew why she was here.
I’d given her the chance to leave.
She hadn’t taken it.
Whether she’d come to regret it would be another matter entirely, and something I’d deal with in the future.
I meant it when I’d uttered my vows.
There would be no breaking them.
This was it.
For the both of us.
Having recognized Conor’s ringtone, I knew I didn’t really have time to dick around. He didn’t call unless it was strictly necessary, preferring to text over speaking on the phone, but for the moment, he could wait.
I’d been my family’s fixer for too long if they thought I’d drop everything just because they rang at the drop of a hat.
When I maneuvered her into my, our bedroom, I was well aware that nothing was going as I’d planned.
I was going to have sex with her to get her with child.
Now?
I wanted the exact opposite.
Just the thought of this woman, this fucking Queen, degrading herself with a bunch of dirty bikers fucked me up like little else could.
What the hell had her father done to her to make that seem like the best option out there?
It made no sense to me, but it didn’t have to. I was the one who’d have to revert ingrained behaviors, and luckily for her, I was man enough for the task.
I took her straight into the bathroom, and told her, “Press both those switches.”
She did as I asked, which had the magic window turning on, clearing the glass like it was a smokescreen so we could see straight into the bedroom. Mostly, I just wanted the extra light, because I hated how bright it was in here with the lights on. Next, the waterfall shower turned on. I placed her on the ground, let her get her balance before I started to strip her down.
The evening dress clung to every inch of her too-thin body, and prying it off was like how it would be in a few months whenever she tried to get me off her.
Impossible.
I was going to be in her every which way I could. She didn’t really know what she’d triggered in me, and I couldn’t even tell you what the fuck it was in particular.
The pathetic misery in her eyes when she spoke of her sisters, the fact she’d killed her father with a pyramid souvenir—something I’d gleaned from Maxim—that I had a blood-soaked dress in a shopping bag to take to The Hole, the way she constantly sought relief in pain by squeezing her hands into fists...
Tick them all, tick none.
It could have been that I wanted in her cunt like I’d wanted no other pussy for a while.
It could be that I was fulfilling a promise while also making it my own.
Or it could just be that she was mine.
Mine, like no one else ever had been.
Eoghan had it right—the possessive fucker.
Shit changed when they took on your last name, and even though I’d known her for barely any time at all, I’d known of her for a good long while. I’d seen her pictures when she was a kid. I’d seen her similarities to her mother, and that had been something I imagined would be off-putting. Instead, it showed me the truth.
Mariska was quartz, masquerading as a precious gem, aware of her powers, unashamed of her ability to seduce.
Camille was a diamond masquerading as quartz, unaware of her powers, ashamed of her body, ill-at-ease with it.
I’d been a project to Mariska.
Camille was my project. Except, this project would last until death did us part, which I couldn’t deny shoved shit up a notch.
Still, if there was a woman to lose your head over, it was your wife, wasn’t it?
Dragging off the dress and the boxer briefs she’d borrowed, I stripped her down until she was bare, then I undressed myself too.
Moving with her so that we were both under the spray, I grabbed the bottle of soap and began to clean her. Making suds with it, I smoothed it along each of her limbs, letting her feel my touch everywhere. Her head stayed bowed, from shyness or appreciation, I didn’t know, but she acquiesced to my touch.
When I cleaned her tits, she peered up at me through a mop of wet gold hair, and when I slid my hand between her legs, she bit her lip, her fingers moving over my chest, the tips and the edges of her nails digging into my pecs.
It was the wrong thing to do.
Feeling those nails against my skin, I realized she shaped them in a way that would turn them into pincers against her cut palms, and the red mist that overcame me was something that ashamed me just as it pissed me off that she could do this to herself.
When she was cleaned up from the cum I’d drenched her in this morning, I grabbed the chrome accessory that was the detachable shower head, turned it on, then I pressed it between her legs.
She leaped up onto tiptoe, her eyes flaring wide as they caught mine.
“When you were a teenager, did you have a boyfriend?”
She’d said she was a virgin until she chose to whore herself out to the MC who I had to force myself to remember were fucking allies, but had she fooled around any?
“No. Father wouldn’t allow it. Didn’t want to risk my sale price,” she said bitterly.
“Did you sneak around?”
Shadows of the fear she’d felt back then drifted into her gaze. “Are you being serious? And get him killed and me whipped? No way.�
�� Her mouth twisted into a sad smile. “Anyway, I was a bitch back then. No guy wanted me.”
I snorted at that. “Guys don’t care if you’re a bitch. They just look at your ass and want between your legs.”
“Well, evidently not. I didn’t have to fight them off.” She shrugged. “I had small tits.”
“So? Not everyone’s a tit man.”
She peered up at me. “Are you?” Before I could answer, a sharp gasp escaped her. “Oh, God!”
My grin, I’d admit, was smug. “Just started to feel it, huh?”
Her nails dug into my chest once more. “Christ, yes.”
The pain of her touch had me seeing red again. I watched as her focus started to drift to what was going on between her legs, and just when she started to rock her hips, I moved the flow of the water away.
She peered up at me, and her beseeching glance, however faint, had me pressing a kiss to her temple.
“You’re clean now,” I rumbled. “Don’t get dirty today.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she rasped.
“It means, keep your hands away from your pussy. And while you’re at it, I want you to file your nails down or cut them off, or whatever the hell it is you do with them. I want them flat.”
She scowled at me. “Are you being serious?”
My lips curved into a smirk. “You’ll find I’m never not serious.” With that, I tapped her on the ass and said, “Dry off. I need to shower and change.”
Her mouth worked, and I watched her gaze drift down to my dick. “But—”
“But nothing.” I started to wash myself, and when she just stood there, watching, I murmured, “What is it?”
“Are you—” When her cheeks tinged pink, I arched a brow at her, and that turned the pink into red. Christ, I loved how she reacted. How the hell had she stayed like this after living at the MC compound?
I refused to believe this was all an act. I’d seen her at her lowest now—killing your father tended to do that to a person... so I had faith that she was as sensitive as I’d come to believe. Still, she wasn’t a kid.
Thank fuck for that.
“Am I, what?” I replied, grabbing my dick, washing it, and watching as she licked her lips.
This time, I almost dragged her to her knees and told her to suck it, because it was without artifice. She wasn’t trying to entice me. If anything, she just stood there, dripping wet.
That was the power of her though.
Which made her dangerous.
“You’re not going to—” She winced. “I’ll gladly... I don’t want...”
“Spit it out,” I rasped, even though I knew what she was asking.
“I’m not unwilling,” she blurted out. “You don’t have to see your mistress today.”
“I’m not going to,” I informed her briskly. “I’ve got business. Our little situation got in the way of that.” She blanched, but I ignored that. “I have shit to do. I’ll be back when it’s done. That’s one thing you need to get used to, fast.”
“I’ve spent a lifetime in training, Brennan,” she whispered. “I know how to blend in with the furniture.”
I scoffed. “Nothing about you blends in with the furniture.” I reached over and cupped her tit. “Nothing. Now, I told you to dry off.” The last thing I wanted was her coming down with a chill.
Her mouth tightened, but she nodded, twisted around and stepped out of the shower.
The stall was a long one, with a stone base and no curtain or separator, so I had an unimpeded view of that delicious ass of hers. When she reached for a towel, I watched the play of her muscles, the way she stretched, the plump curve of her tit bouncing as she dried off, but I also saw her ribs. The narrow indent of her waist.
“Camille?”
She stilled, but peered at me over her shoulder. “Yes, Brennan?”
“Eat something today. I’ll be pissed if you forget.”
Her mouth tightened. “I don’t need to be told to eat. I’m not a kid.”
“No? Then you’ve been starving yourself for fashion, have you?” I retorted.
“Eat, don’t masturbate, cut my nails... anything else you want me to do today?”
I wanted to laugh, but managed not to, just in time to tell her, “Yeah, the doctor’s appointment, remember?”
Her eyes narrowed at me as she clenched her jaw, pissed at being ordered around just not brave enough to counter those orders with sass, but before she stormed out of the bathroom, she nodded.
And that was all I needed from her.
Compliance.
Stay strong. Just because it’s hard today, doesn’t mean that next week it won’t get easier.
Twenty
Camille
Since my teen years, I’d never touched myself before, not without it being a sex thing. As in, Nyx asked me to do it while he was fucking me. That was pretty much it.
It had just never interested me after I’d tried it a few times when I was still in high school, which had always made me wonder if that unoriginal ‘Ice Princess’ title was actually more apt than I’d have liked.
Frigid, Brennan had described me.
After my childhood, who’d blame me?
But after this morning, after the way he’d made me aware of my pussy, I wasn’t going to lie—my attention was very much centered between my thighs, and it wasn’t helping that I’d managed to squeeze in an emergency appointment with my doctor.
One shot later and I was protected for three months. One pill later and I was protected from pregnancy. Even though he hadn’t come inside me today, I’d been drenched in his cum. I figured it was prudent to take the morning after pill just to be on the safe side.
I wasn’t ready to be a mother yet, not with a man I knew so little. Who knew me so little too.
We were stuck together; there was no evading that, and I didn’t want to. I was quite happy to be stuck with Brennan.
First off, I’d never had an orgasm before, for God’s sake, so that made me be pretty taken with him. Not only that but he hadn’t forced me to do things I wasn’t comfortable with—hadn’t forced me to do anything, period, other than climax. Who was going to complain about that?
He’d come to my rescue, and he’d let me sleep with him, had held me too... as far as I was concerned, he was Prince goddamn Charming.
Still, I was glad he’d made this suggestion. I’d never have had the balls to take this step without his say so—and yes, I needed to grow a spine worse than a worm did—so now, I didn’t have to worry about it.
We had time.
That was what mattered.
Even if he was only interested in fucking me for a month before he went to his regular mistress, that would be more of a relationship than I’d ever had before. When he lost interest, that was when we’d probably try for a child, and that was when I’d focus on them. I’d be happy. I’d be a mother, and I’d be with a man who would protect us all, who wouldn’t hurt us, and who thought family came first.
Heaven.
So even though my attention kept veering off to the nagging ache at my core, my day brightened up further once the appointment with the doctor was over.
With one thing off my to-do list, I decided to be brave and texted Inessa over the next task at hand:
Me: I’m going for a manicure. Do you want to come?
Inessa: Which nail salon?
Me: The one on West 46th St. and 11th Avenue.
Inessa: What time?
Me: Now.
Inessa: Great. Google says there’s a coffee shop next door. Want to meet there for a coffee first? I’d like to talk about Victoria.
Me: Sure. Is she okay?
Inessa: As well as she can be.
Me: Figures. I’m a few minutes away so I’ll wait for you in the coffee shop.
Inessa: See you there.
Sending her a thumbs up, I turned my attention to the road. Not unlike my father, Brennan had assigned me a guard. Bagpipes. I wasn’t sure if he was h
appy to be doing the guarding, but I knew how men like Brennan worked.
Even if my father hadn’t given a shit about his daughters, in our world, treasures were protected. If they weren’t, then they were no longer treasures, which wouldn’t do as it lowered our value.
We were commodities, after all.
Always had been, and always would have been.
Even after we left the nest and made our own, because escaping the Bratva was impossible.
It was shameful, really, how happy I was the day after I’d murdered him. The day after I’d spilled blood, but if anything, I just felt free.
Liberated.
And now I was Brennan’s wife, that sensation was compounded to the point where it was like I could breathe again. All my life, I’d felt much as I had this morning, when he’d rested his weight on my chest. As Bagpipes drove me toward the Upper East Side, I felt lighter. So much lighter that a smile kept popping up from nowhere.
I was safe from everyone apart from him.
But I could deal with that. Would gladly deal with that.
For the moment, anyway.
I hadn’t just left one cage to be trapped in another with a more wicked beast than the one I’d clawed my way free of.
Speaking of which... if Brennan was going to take away my real claws, then I needed to start finding other ways to defend myself. And having access to a set of car keys was the first step in that plan.
“Bagpipes?”
“Yeah?”
“When we return to Brennan’s building, I need to drive.”
He arched a brow at me. “Why?”
“Because I get car sick.”
As we pulled up at a stop light, he shot me a dubious look. “You ain’t puked yet.”
“Yet being the operative word,” I told him just as dubiously. I knew an expensive car when I was sitting in one. “If you want to be the one cleaning up vomit from between the creases in the leather, well, that’s on you.”
He scowled. “You bullshitting me?”
Filthy Sex: The Five Points’ Mob Collection: Four Page 20