I thrust again, unable to stop my need to fuck her, my need to come in her. Holding her wrists in my hand, I rock my hips. I slam my cock into her, thrusting in and out, and though her slick juices make it easy, and she rocks her hips with mine, she can’t help a little whimper.
My need to claim her spurs me on, until I’m on the edge of release. She turns her face away from me. I hold her wrists with one hand, but take my free hand and grab her chin. I yank her eyes to mine.
“Watch me,” I order. “Hold my eyes as I take you.”
She closes her eyes, the brat. I slam my palm against her thigh on instinct. Her eyes snap open. She looks at me with nothing short of fury as I thrust one last time. Our heated, furious gazes lock as boiling, blistering ecstasy washes through me. Even furious, she can’t help the way her body reacts. Moaning, writhing beneath me, she comes as my seed lashes into her. And still she holds my gaze, utter hatred in her eyes. I spill every last drop of my come in her.
Spent. Sated. I pull my cock out of her and roll to the side of the bed.
Make me bleed.
Her thighs are smeared with blood when I pull out, bearing witness that I took her.Chapter 8AileenI want to hide myself underneath these blankets and weep. I want to ball up in the corner of this massive bed and sob out my pain. I knew my first night with my future husband wouldn’t be glamorous, that it wouldn’t be the stuff of dreams. I’ve known that since I became a woman.
I witnessed how my mother and sisters were treated, how my oldest sister left our house young and full of promise, and how every time I saw her, she’d grown thinner and more despondent. We didn’t talk of this. I didn’t want to ask questions. But I knew, a part of her died being wed to the man she was forced to marry.
And the others weren’t much better. One isn’t allowed contact with us, and another lives far off in the Middle East now.
But still… a part of me hoped. Dreamed. Longed for a man who would truly love me, who would treat me better than if I were a whore. But no. Not this man. Cormac McCarthy might’ve been a good man once, but he’s caved to the pressure of his clan. Any man who’d whip me, tear me away from my family, then fuck me the way he just did doesn’t have an ounce of tenderness in him.
My body aches. I can still feel where he lashed me earlier, the skin tender and bruised.
Like an idiot, I told him to make me bleed. And he did.
“Come here,” he says, his voice tight with anger. I don’t move, even though I know he’ll punish me if I disobey him. He grabs my shoulder and rolls me over. I don’t bother to hide my tears. I’m so angry I want to hurt him, but so tired I don’t know how.
He takes the crisp white sheets, as pristine as fallen snow, and swipes over my legs. Bright red blood stains them. Not much. I hardly gushed. But it’s enough to give evidence of what we’ve done.
Some girls hope they aren’t the type to bleed when they lose their virginity. Not me. While it’s hard to be fucked by a man I don’t love, I will not subject myself to the invasion of a doctor’s intrusion. That happened to me once, against my will. Mack Martin, clan leader, ordered me inspected by the Clan doctor before he promised me to the McCarthys. Bastard.
It was painful and humiliating. So even though Cormac’s fucking me right now hurt, I’m almost grateful. I told him to make me bleed for a reason. And he did.
I only wish I hadn’t climaxed. I don’t like that he had that control over me, that I didn’t have that control over myself. But he’s hot, the damn prick. Muscled and powerful, his body sculpted as if from an artist’s hand. And when he licked my pussy, I had no more control over coming than I do over my heartbeat.
I watch as he wipes every drop of blood from my thighs, my pussy, and his cock. My stomach coils with nausea, and I turn away, but he won’t let me hide. He yanks the flat, bloodstained sheet to the side, crumples it into a ball, and tosses it to the floor.
I close my eyes. I want to sleep. I want to forget this ever happened. But my eyes flutter open when I feel him step toward me. He’s dressed himself in boxers. What is he doing? His lips set in a thin line of determination, he bends to me and lifts me in his arms. Wordlessly, he carries me to the bathroom.