Hidden Truths (Truths and Lies 1)

“I meant what I vowed,” I tell her when I finish up my food and set the plate down.

She frowns and hands me her plate. “Why, though?”

“Because marriage, to me, isn’t what they told me it had to be.” I know I sound like a pouting schoolboy, but I don’t care. I make my own destiny, not my father. Not Niles. Me.

A hotel staffer walks over to us with a chilled bottle of chardonnay. He pours us a couple of glasses. I instruct him to bring something a little more stout. I’m going to need it to get through today. After handing Talia her glass, I clink mine to hers.

“To us.”

She acts like she wants to say something, but in the end, she utters out, “To us.”

We spend the entire day eating, drinking, and swimming. Talia doesn’t say much, and frankly, I’m not in the mood to talk. She allows me to touch and kiss her, but always freezes up when she thinks I’ll do more.

“You’re drunk,” I state when she stumbles slightly on the way back to the daybed.

The sun is setting and the breeze has picked up. I smell rain in the air.

“No, I’m not,” she sasses as she pours more ouzo into her tumbler. Someone really likes her ouzo.

I climb out of the pool, prowling after her. This time, when I touch her hips, rubbing against her from behind, she doesn’t flinch. She simply sucks down her ouzo instead. I pull the drink from her lips, not allowing her to finish, and scoop her into my arms. She lets out a shriek, clawing at me, but then relaxes when I settle us on the daybed.

This time, when we kiss, she puts more effort into it. Her fingers explore my wet chest, and her breaths come out unevenly. Needy almost. I kiss her hard, twisting her until she’s pinned down on the cushions. She moans when I kiss along the column of her throat. Another sound of pleasure resounds from her when my lips meet her nipple over her suit. I kiss her and then bite at the hardened nub over the fabric.

“Ohhhh,” she cries out, her back arching up.

Taking that as permission, I peel her suit off to the side. She mewls when I lick her bare nipple.

“Kostas.”

I smile against her nipple. She’s drunk as shit. It’s nice seeing her so relaxed, though. Trailing my kisses south, I linger at her belly button for a moment. The thought of filling her up with my kids is thrilling. A possessive need courses through me. She makes a garbled sound when I tug at the strings of her bikini bottoms. With a few short pulls, I reveal her pussy with trimmed, golden-blond hair.

“You smell good,” I murmur, inhaling her scent of arousal.

She lifts her hips up. “I do?”

I lick her slit, causing her to groan and her fingers to latch onto my wet hair. “You taste good, too.”

“Oh, God,” she whispers.

“We left him back at the church,” I growl. “It’s just us now.”

Using my thumbs, I part her lips so I can find all the delicate pink she hides beneath. Suddenly feeling starved despite the fact I’ve eaten all day, I lick and suck and nip at her sweetness. It doesn’t take long before she detonates. Loud, explosive, without warning, like a bomb. I lick at her clit as she rides out her orgasm. When she’s down from her high and can’t take any more teasing, I kiss my way back up her body.

Her eyes are closed, a serene smile on her face. My pretty, drunk wife. She’ll hate herself when she sobers up. Hate that she gave up control to me. I smirk, imagining how her face will turn pink. The same color as her needy cunt.

I pull her to me and drape the towel over me. Within seconds, her soft breathing evens out. My dick aches for attention, but I ignore it for now. I’ll wear her down eventually.

It might take some time, but we have the rest of our lives.

She’s stuck with me now.

Talia

My eyes are closed, but I can feel the light flooding in through the window. I’m no longer outside on the daybed with Kostas. I can feel the cool air in the room. The soft bedding wrapped around my body, and the plush pillows under my head. The last thing I remember was Kostas’s mouth on me. Bringing me to orgasm. Making me scream in pleasure. It was the first orgasm I’ve experienced by the hands—or I guess I should say mouth—of a man. Why was he making me scream in pleasure? And why was I letting him? Oh, God! Because I married him. I’m his wife. I’m Mrs. Freaking Kostas Demetriou.

And he was unusually sweet. The vows he spoke, telling me he’s mine as much as I’m his. Promising to protect me until the day he dies and even then after. His eyes when he spoke were warm. Sweet. Determined. Honest. As if he was a different man. Not the monster who kills, but a man capable of loving. A man I could see myself falling in love with. My chest tightens at the mere thought. A choked sob escaping past my lips. A throat clears, and my eyes pop open, realizing I’m not alone.