Broken Bride

“Do not think I am softening, boy. Not for a minute. Not for a single second where you’re concerned,” I say, my lips inches from his, my eyes boring into his rebellious stare.

“She doesn’t belong here,” he hisses.

“Yes, she does,” I tell him. He needs to absorb that simple fact. He needs to come to accept it in his bones, or I will break every single one of them.

“I…”

Before he can speak another one of those silly, pointless sentences, my mouth descends on his in a crushing, dominant, reassuring kiss. He is still my boy.

He is trapped in my kiss, my fingers tighten on his throat, threatening to cut off his air. I can feel him hard against my thigh, his manhood throbbing with excitement.

I break the kiss as I curl the fingers of my other hand in his sleek hair and pull his head back so I can appreciate the sight of my hand on his throat, the sharp line of his jaw held resolutely high.

“Isn’t this nice?” I murmur the question, searching his face for all the little tell-tale signs of rebellion and desire.

“Isn’t what nice?” His voice is tight, just like my grip.

“Isn’t it nice to have something to fight about again?”

His eyes flash with the sick, dark humor the two of us share.

“Yes,” he admits.

I uncurl my fingers slowly, watching as they leave individual red marks on his throat. Oh, yes. This is very nice.

“Do you want me to fuck you, boy? Do you need me to break you with my cock? Is that it?”

He curses at me. I slap him across the face hard enough to leave marks.

His pants are down, his ass spread for me, that tight star opening to take my cock long, and deep, and hard.

I’m spending my wedding night inside another man. Matilda’s delicate innocence can wait for its ravaging. Bobby needs me, and I need his cries and screams.

“Don’t be jealous. Just because there’s a new girl doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

He makes one of those incoherent animal sounds that tell me he’s been fucked into temporary submission. Bobby doesn't know what love is. He understands domination, though, and cruelty. He craves them both.

I go and get a glass of water. Destroying Bobby makes a man thirsty. Just as I’m about to go back into the bedroom with him, Mark appears. He’s the conscience I never asked for.

“You’re just going to leave her alone? On her first night here?”

Bobby seems like he would be the one causing all the trouble, but Mark is far more of a disciplinary issue. Bobby is a dark-hearted little bastard whose selfish, jealous desires guide his every action. Mark is far worse. Mark tries to be a good person. And that, I cannot tolerate.

“Go to bed, Mark.”

I take my own advice. There will be time to handle the new girl tomorrow. Matilda needs time to rest, and sleep, to gather her strength. Tonight, I tend to my boy.

Chapter 7

Tilly

I spend the night awake. Waiting for my new husband to come to me and terrify me with his no doubt ravenous appetite. When I looked into Angelo’s eyes, I saw a thousand ways to die. I have no doubt that when he claims me, he will ravage me. My virginity will be ripped and torn from me without a second thought.

But he doesn’t come. I lie awake and the hours pass in a slow, numb crawl in which the events of the day play themselves out in my mind over and over again.

Dawn is starting to creep over the foreign horizon when the door opens. The blond man appears. He is wearing blue jeans and a cashmere sweater. His hair is swept to one side in a casual manner. He looks like he stepped out of a catalog for menswear with the way the sweater hangs over his shoulders and chest, emphasizing the planes of muscle beneath.

I do not know if I am capable of feeling a spark of attraction in my tormented state, but I know I feel safer than I did a moment ago.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m Mark.”

I had forgotten his name. It’s one of those forgettable names, but it is attached to a man who isn’t forgettable at all. He has a square-jawed, clean-cut appeal and kind eyes. Not like the other two. They have the devil in their gaze.

He glances at the undisturbed bed, then back at me. “Did you sleep?”

I shake my head.

“You must be exhausted,” he says sympathetically. “Why don’t you get into bed?”

I hesitate, not knowing what to say, much less what to do. What are his intentions? I didn’t marry him, and the man I did marry doesn’t seem like… well, I was thinking he didn’t seem like the sharing kind. But he has two lovers. They share him, though I doubt it goes the other way around.