Page 78 of Bound Enemies
He begins to move, and I know that the pleasure in his eyes he can also see in mine. I can’t hide it from him, and I don’t want to. I want him to see what he does to me, because it feels so good. So good, I can’t bear it. So good, I want more of it.
His control is perfect, and he moves with the same rhythm, slow, relentless, and I’m coming again, my hands gripping his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin, crying out his name.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps going at that same slow, deliberate pace until I’m twisting beneath him, begging him to keep going, and not to stop, don’t ever stop.
It was never like this with Antonio, the only other man I’ve been with. He didn’t care about my pleasure, only his own, but Santiago has apparently made my pleasure his entire focus, using my movements and my cries to either speed up or slow down. Drawing it out until I’m sobbing for release.
Only when the third orgasm approaches does he let himself go, upping the pace and driving harder and faster, until he slides a hand between us, adding to the friction by stroking my clit until, as relentless as a crashing wave, the pleasure inside me breaks and crushes me beneath it.
Only then does he take what he wants for himself, his arms tightening around me as he growls out his release in my ear.
Chapter Fourteen
Santiago
Beatrix and Istand together before a low table in the room designated for marriage ceremonies. It’s been a couple of days since we arrived back from Spain, and now we’re in the town hall, where all legal marriages happen in France, waiting for the ceremony to begin.
I have expedited all the paperwork, so everything is in order, and one of the mayor’s delegates is standing behind the table, ready to perform the ceremony. I’ve been assured it won’t take long, which is just as well, since I want to be able to claim my new wife in a different, more personal way, and as quickly as possible.
Beatrix is standing beside me, her hands clasped tightly together. I told her not to bother to dress for the occasion if she didn’t wish to, but apparently Helene decided that Beatrix needed to mark it in some way, and found her a dress of white silk to wear. It’s form-fitting around the bodice, cupping her beautiful breasts, with frothy skirts that fall to her knees. Her long golden hair is loose and she holds a single white rose in one hand.
She looks stunningly, impossibly beautiful.
It’s a very different wedding from the one she had with my father, who turned it into a big, splashy affair in the cathedral in Toledo, with hundreds of guests. Then she wore an ornate gown with long skirts and a train, a silken veil, and a diamond tiara. And I know this because I looked at each and every press photograph there was, blindly furious. I told myself I had to know as much as possible about the wedding so I could answer any questions my mother had about it, so she didn’t have to look at the pictures herself. But of course that wasn’t the only reason. I wanted to see if Beatrix was smiling. I wanted to know if she was enjoying her wedding day, if she was happy to be marrying the man she’d chosen over me.
I never found out the answer to that question, yet now I’m the one standing next to her, and there is no cathedral, no crowds, no wedding dress costing hundreds of thousands of euros, no press.
There is only us, the mayor’s delegate, who will preside over the ceremony, and a couple of witnesses brought in for the occasion.
We didn’t discuss what kind of wedding we wanted, because there was no reason to. This is happening because she required it, and I agreed. It’s purely legal and not symbolic in any way.
Not that we’ve had a moment to discuss anything. Not when I’ve taken full advantage of her promise to be in my bed, and have been keeping her there every opportunity I get.
That first night we had, where she was fully mine at last, was incendiary. I couldn’t get enough of her taste, her cries, her hands in my hair, and her nails in my skin. I couldn’t get enough of how she came apart in my arms so beautifully, each and every time, and I made a vow there and then that I would ruin her for any other man.
Since then I’ve approached that goal with a single-mindedness that equals my single-mindedness in the lab when testing a new design. Trying different pressures, different scenarios, checking every component to make sure they’re all performing at the optimal level.
She never protests, reaching for me as hungrily as I reach for her, taking everything I give her, then giving back in return. Her passion is electric. I’m obsessed, and our mutual hunger shows no sign of waning any time soon.
That doesn’t concern me, though. She’ll be my legal wife in a few minutes, and then we’ll spend the night together, consummating this marriage in every way possible. Perhaps it’ll take weeks for this need to disappear, perhaps a month. Perhaps it won’t go away until after the baby is born. It doesn’t matter, since itwillgo away eventually—physical passion always does—and then we’ll have to decide how best to separate.
In the meantime, there’s lots of pleasure to be had, and I aim to gorge myself on every drop of it.
The ceremony proceeds and within ten minutes we’re signing the documents on the table. I sign first then stand back to let Beatrix have her turn. Her hand doesn’t shake as she signs her name, a name that will not change even though I have married her.
This irritates me. I wanted everything to be different from her first marriage, yet the fact that she gets to keep his name, that she had it from him first, needles me. That I’m even irritated at all needles me. I should have got past this by now. He’s dead, beyond my reach and hers, and besides, she didn’t marry him because she loved him.
She didn’t marry you because she loves you.
No, but love was never going to be part of any marriage we had anyway. Still, I can’t shake the feeling of annoyance. I didn’t bother with rings, since again, this union is purely legal, but now I’m regretting the decision. At least choosing a ring for her would make it different, because it would bemyring she’d be wearing.
I find myself watching her as she signs the documents, looking for a smile, for a sign that this is something that makes her happy, though why I should want her to be happy is beyond me. Perhaps it’s because those smiles in her previous wedding photos were all fake, and I want something genuine from her. Something that’s mine and only mine.
Her passion is yours and only yours.
Yes, that’s true. Perhaps I’ll have to be satisfied with that.
She straightens and stands aside for the witnesses, one man and one woman, who are waiting to sign the documents too. As the woman finishes signing, Beatrix smiles and holds the rose out to her.
