Don't Hurt Me (14 page)

  
‘Now you’re mine,’ he said with
satisfaction. ‘Aren’t you?’

  
‘Yes.’

  
‘And you want me.’

  
‘Yes.’

  
His smile was wolfish. He drew her
tied wrists down to his erection. ‘Stroke my cock,’ he ordered her bluntly.

  
Far from upsetting her, his sudden
coarseness turned her on. She worked silently with both hands, stroking up and
down the thick shaft and feeling it swell under her fingers. All the time
Marshall held her gaze, a liquid heat between them that left her breathless and
almost delirious with desire.

  
‘I’m going to fuck you now,’ he
told her.

  
She half-expected him to turn her
over and take her from behind, to show her who was in charge. But he made her
wait, then surprised her by being careful and restrained. First he kissed her
mouth, a long and lush kiss that made her toes curl in anticipation. Then he
lifted her imprisoned arms in the air and bent his head to her breast, sucking
it into his mouth. It was incredible. The strong movements of his tongue
against her nipple drove her mad with longing.

  
She moaned deep in her throat. ‘Oh
God, Marshall. Yes, please.’

  
Smiling fiercely, he pushed her
backwards. Wrists still tied, she fell awkwardly to one side, her knees
together, but he swiftly pushed them apart and bent his head to her pussy. His
tongue worked in her with rapid, expert strokes, then his fingers pushed
inside, fucking her forcefully so that her whole body sang with the need to
come. The heat inside her grew and grew until she was moaning and grasping at
his hair with her tied hands, dragging him deeper into her pussy.

  
‘Oh God, yes, yes!’

  
She heard herself scream as her
orgasm hit, her brain temporarily leaving her body and floating near the
ceiling. She saw herself down there on the bed, hands tied together with a
stocking, a powerful male kneeling between her spread thighs, his mouth still
working furiously in her pussy, and she came again, moaning and thrashing.

  
‘Oh God, I hate you, I hate you so
much… ’

  
Did
she mean that?

  
Yes, possibly she did.

  
Marshall gave a harsh laugh, then
raised himself. ‘My turn,’ he said thickly. ‘My turn to “hate” you.’

  
It was about time, she thought. She
spread her legs wide in invitation. He pushed the skirt of her wedding dress
higher about her waist, making no pretence that this was a romantic seduction, then
positioned himself between her open thighs, his erection strong and demanding. She
lifted her hips as though begging for it. They moved together in a tense
silence, his breathing rough as he stroked her clitoris with his thumb. Back
and forth, back and forth, the delicate flesh trembling with excitement. When
she whispered his name, he stopped teasing her and slid inside. His thick cock
entered her with a little difficulty, and she heard his groan as he pushed deep,
driving to the hilt.

  
Her head fell back as she welcomed
him into her body. Her bound hands looped over his neck, clutching at his broad
back below. This was what she had wanted all along. This intense act of
possession.

  
He moved inside her with the rhythm
of a dancer, his movements always smooth and deliberate. His hands and mouth
sought her breasts as she raised herself towards him, bringing her a wild
unexpected joy. Whatever tensions might exist between her and Marshall, this
was where they could finally release them.

  
Dimly, she heard passionate cries
and realised they were her own, almost deafened by the blood beating in her
ears as she came for a third time.

  
He lifted his head to stare down at
her. ‘I knew it would be like this between us. I don’t know how I’ve managed to
keep my hands off you for so long.’

  
‘You’ve hardly kept your hands off
me!’ she countered.

  
His smile was dry. ‘But I never
pushed it this far. I never saw the real you.’

  
‘Is this the real me?’

  
‘If it isn’t, you should show me
who you really are. This is the place to do it,’ he whispered, cupping her
breast possessively. ‘This is where you belong.’

  
She closed her eyes rather than
admit she had understood that, and let him fuck her instead. Wrapping her legs
about his hips, she thought about the unspoken question behind his words and
gave herself to him without holding back. Any hesitation she might have experienced
about sleeping with Marshall had evaporated in the heat between their bodies,
this sweet sliding eroticism of skin on skin.

  
She had not known exactly what to
expect from their marriage. It could all have been a disaster. But now they
were finally husband and wife, those doubts seemed out of place. Suddenly it
seemed possible that he could make her happy after all.

  
Marshall drove inside her like a
man possessed, his gasps of satisfaction sending her temperature soaring. She
too cried out, closing her eyes on another long wave of pleasure. There was no
point trying to hold back now, pretend that she felt nothing for him, that his
possessive and even cruel behaviour did not give her satisfaction. He had seen
her come violently, he had heard her orgasms. She could not escape from this
fiery all-consuming desire, it had already scorched its way through every fibre
of her body.

  
Her bound hands slipped down his
back, urging the powerful body closer as they peaked together. Stretching, she
felt the cruel tug of the nylon stocking biting into her flesh – and
loved it.

  
With a groan, he flung back his
head and came deep inside her, their damp bodies rubbing together like silk in
the final glorious seconds.

  
Julia was unprotected. Dangerous,
so dangerous.

  
But in the madness of sex she did
not care, almost welcoming the casual way Marshall spilled his seed inside her.
She had been flirting with danger ever since she met him. To risk a pregnancy
with this man seemed almost inevitable.

Floating
back to earth afterwards, Julia opened her eyes to see that dark head nestled
next to hers as if he were asleep, his skin damp with a fine sheen of
perspiration. Oh God. What had they done together? She remembered how he had
come inside her, and reached out to stroke the scar on his throat with fingers
that trembled. Her wrists hurt, still bound with thin, sweat-drenched nylon.

  
‘You’ve got no reason to be
jealous. Richard is just a friend,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘I’ve never
thought of him in any other way.’

  
He turned his head on the mattress,
staring back at her with eyes that seemed darker than ever. ‘But he wants you,’
he said flatly, and it was a statement, not a question.

  
‘Perhaps.’

  
Cupping one hand over her breast in
some gesture of ultimate possession, Marshall surveyed her with a triumphant
expression. Julia stared back at him, wondering whether her face looked as
drowsy and sated as she felt. She lay sprawled on the bed like one of the
spoils of war, the satin folds of her wedding dress still cool against her
thighs, one arm draped lazily over his shoulder.

  
‘That settles it. If I ever catch
that bastard kissing you again, I’ll kick him in the teeth,’ he said bluntly.

  
Surprised by the violence in his
tone, she met his eyes but did not bother to argue about it. He was not jealous
of Richard, she realised with a sinking heart. Like most men, Marshall merely
wanted to protect what was his. That possessive streak did not mean that he
loved her.

  
In the long silence that followed,
they both heard a woman’s voice calling him from below. The hum of the party
seemed to have abated slightly, as though some of their guests had already
left. Shifting guiltily, Julia sat up and met her reflection in the dressing
table mirror. She looked flushed and dishevelled.

  
‘Here,’ he said, gesturing to her
bound wrists.

  
She held out her wrists, and
watched in silence as he carefully picked the knot loose and threw the stocking
aside. She moved away then, and his gaze followed her, hard and searching as
she fumbled with the crumpled folds of her wedding dress. She had hoped that
whatever was causing this basic distrust between them might be resolved by that
intense sexual encounter. But it was still there between them, she realised as
she looked away, left uneasy by the way his eyes questioned her.

  
Sex could not solve everything. Not
even fantastic sex like that.

  
‘We ought to go back downstairs,’
she murmured, tidying her hair. Some of the bridal flowers had come loose
during their love-making and were strewn on the mattress. She picked them up,
fiddling with the yellow silk petals in an attempt to avoid his gaze. ‘I’d
better have a quick wash first though, make myself look presentable.’

  
He hesitated and then nodded
abruptly, swinging his long legs off the bed and shrugging back into the
creased shirt and morning dress trousers.

  
The grey jacket was still lying
discarded on the floor. Marshall picked it up and glanced back at her, his face
unreadable. For a moment, she felt he was on the verge of saying something.
Then the woman seemed to come higher up the stairs, calling his name. This time
she recognised the high peremptory voice and felt her fingers clench on the
silk petals in her lap: it was Sasha.

  
His mouth tightened and he turned
on his heel without speaking, leaving her alone in the empty bedroom.

  
Trying not to dwell on what had
just happened between them, Julia washed and hurriedly re-applied her make-up.
She removed the loosened headdress of flowers and brushed out her chestnut hair
until it shone, falling in smooth glossy waves about her face. Just as she was
ready to leave, she caught a muffled conversation below her in the grounds, a
man and a woman talking in low urgent voices, and realised that the man was
Marshall.

  
Parting the white slats of the
blind, she stood on tiptoe and peered awkwardly down from the bathroom window
to see who he could be talking to. To her dismay, it was Sasha standing there
in the dusk. The flaming red hair was unmistakable, even from this angle, and
that was the elegant green silk dress Sasha had worn to the wedding.

  
Julia could not hear what was being
said, but their body language told her everything she needed to know. Her rival
had one arm linked about his neck, their heads almost touching, while his hand
splayed across her hip, stroking it gently through the silk. Their voices sank
to a whisper, an air of intimacy between them that sent shock waves through
Julia’s body.

  
As she watched, Marshall murmured
something and leant forward. Their mouths met and Julia recoiled at the sight,
dropping the blind with an angry jerk of her hand. She swung away from the bathroom
window, breathing hard.

  
Barely fifteen minutes ago, she and
Marshall had been making passionate love together. Now he was down there in the
dark, her new husband, kissing another woman without any sign of guilt or
remorse.

  
  
‘Julia?
Are you in there?’ Her mother knocked tentatively at the bathroom door. ‘You’ve
been gone ages, darling. Are you alright?’

  
Julia pulled herself together with
an effort, unlocking the door. ‘Sorry, Mum, I’m fine. I was just … freshening
up.’

  
She could not explain their
situation, her mother was old-fashioned about such things and would not
understand how she could ever have consented to a marriage of convenience.
Though at the moment, she thought bitterly, she did not entirely understand it
herself. Because she was twisted inside and wanted to hurt herself, presumably.
What other explanation could there be?

  
She went back down to the reception
party, arm in arm with her mother, pale but with a bright smile pinned to her
face. Her whole world had just imploded. But if she wanted to keep her pride
intact, she had to hide the agonies she was suffering. As far as Marshall was
concerned, he might enjoy using her body, but their marriage was a sham. She
had agreed to marry him and provide a mother figure for Victoria, and it was a
little too late to back out of that arrangement now.

  
She dared not let him touch her
again; her body would always betray her when they were in bed together.
Marshall must never be allowed to know that she had fallen in love with him. Or
he would torment her with it until the day she died.