He’s pumping himself faster now, his grip intent on forcing release. I’m shaking, so needy, wanting the same for myself so badly.
“No,” I moan as I squeeze my breast. “I don’t deserve it.”
“Spread your legs. Wide. Wider.”
I do. I’m so wet, I can feel the air turning cool against the slick inside of my thighs.
“How’s it feel to have your pussy on display and not have it touched? You want me to touch it, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
His chest rises and falls with hard, shallow breaths. His cock swells in his hand and all I can think about is having that rod ramming into me right now.
“Yes, I want your cock in me, Luka,” I say, locking eyes with him. “I want you fucking me, right now.”
His eyes close and he groans softly as he explodes over his hand. He’s being quiet on purpose, denying me the deep, throaty sounds I love so much.
Fuck, that was hot.
I stay exactly where I am, too consumed by my own desire to move. Luka blinks and rights himself, then grabs my shirt from the floor and cleans himself up. He stretches with a yawn as if we’d just had a leisurely fuck and are preparing to go back to bed.
Then he tosses the shirt at my feet and sweeps me with an indifferent look. My desire immediately fades, the sickening, sour feeling in my gut coming back.
“By the way, thanks for the heads-up on Elite’s plan for a takeover. Now that I have the upper hand, I know exactly how I’ll deal with that.”
My heart is breaking but some part of me is smiling inside at his words. Because no matter what happens between my husband and me, I want Danica Rose to come out on top.
He strides into the bedroom, closing the door behind him with a definite punch of force. Essentially slamming the door in my face.
Hugging myself, I move away from the window and curl up in the chair. It’s still warm from his body, and I cover myself with a blanket, tucking my legs up underneath me.
Still clinging to hope.
Brooklyn
Chapter 5
“Merci et au revoir!” the porter says, wheeling a trolly packed with our luggage to the private car idling outside the hotel doors. “I hope you have enjoyed your stay with us.”
“Yes, we have, thank you,” I lie, forcing a big smile as Luka presses a few euros into the porter’s gloved hand.
The truth is, I’ve never been so happy to see a limousine in my life.
Our honeymoon is finally over, and thank God. I never thought I’d regret spending two weeks alone in Paris with my new husband, but this whole trip has been a nightmare, possibly the worst experience of my life. I can’t wait to get back home to Chicago. Even though I’m not sure what going home means for us anymore.
Luka has been nothing but distant and aloof. He hasn’t touched me since our naughty moment by the window, except for the few times we stepped out to walk around our arrondissement and we had to hold hands to keep up appearances. But as soon as we’d get back to the suite, he’d get all cold again and keep himself out of my way for the rest of the day.
We get into the back of the car and pull away from the hotel. Luka keeps plenty of space between us, his hands folded loosely between knees spread comfortably apart. He’s ensuring no part of him touches me while he does it. Always needing to be in control.
I’m learning so much about my husband’s personality, and not the kinds of things I thought I’d learn on our honeymoon. He looks out his window, saying nothing, but I don’t let it sway the persistent hope that we can fix this somehow. I caress him with a subtle look. He’s always so magnetic, and even with the constant tension, I can’t stop feeling drawn to him. I know he still wants me too, and I need to nurture that and use it to narrow the divide between us.
Despite not touching me at the hotel, he often left his door open just wide enough to watch me dress. One time he made me watch him in the shower, glistening and naked, jacking off into his hand just to torture me. I admit, despite it being intended as a punishment, it was pretty hot. That said, it’s obvious he still wants me. And I may have tried seducing him a little, on my part. Baring a shoulder, moaning with pleasure at our room service meals, walking around in my thong. Slowly unclasping my bra while he watched. Not that any of it worked.
Not yet, anyway. But I know I can wear him down. I’m not above using seduction to manipulate him, if it means fixing our marriage in the long run. My plan won’t be that hard to pull off, really. He loves sex. I love having sex with him. He’ll cave. All I have to do is lure him back with my body. Give him anything that he wants in bed until he trusts me again and lets me in enough so that I can explain myself. Then he’ll remember how good we are together.
The worst part is, I can’t even talk to anybody about all of this—not even my besties. Over the past few weeks, every time I’ve gotten a text from Mateo or a call from Tori or Emzee, I’ve upheld the lie that Luka and I have been feeding the rest of the world: that we’re enjoying the perfect Parisian honeymoon and we can’t keep our eyes (or hands) off each other. Even my parents think we’re madly in love and having the time of our lives. No one would ever guess how far from a fairy tale it’s really been, how fraught our time together has become.
I let out a sigh and glance out the window, perking up at the gorgeous view of the Seine. There are boats out in the calm blue waters, and a picturesque bridge arches over the river. I let myself soak up the last images of the city, and it feels like the first time in days my mouth hasn’t been in a hard line. If only this trip had gone differently. I imagined so much more for us.
Soon we’ll be boarding our private plane. A plan starts to take shape. There’s no reason I can’t start the seduction game once we’re in the air. A blow job at thirty-thousand feet? No man in his right mind would turn that down. Especially not Luka.
I hold my head high for the rest of the short ride to the airstrip, ready for action. My middle clenches with excitement at the thought of stripping off his pants and taking him in my mouth. It’s been an eternity since he’s touched me. I need the release so badly, I could scream.
“Welcome aboard,” one of the flight attendants says by way of greeting.
I barely notice her as I contemplate where to sit, then make my way to the back where we sat on the way here. But Luka doesn’t follow me.
“Candy!” he says, pulling her in for a close hug. “It’s been ages! You look amazing.”
Instead of joining me, he stays near the front of the plane with Candy, his head bent low as they laugh quietly about something. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my gut churns with jealousy. Swallowing hard, I settle into my seat and pull out my phone.
The PA crackles and then the captain chats pleasantly about our flight path and the weather over the speakers. We’re just about to taxi down the runway when Candy finally tells Luka he needs to take a seat and buckle up. He does, his hand lightly slapping her ass as she walks away. My blood goes cold.
What the actual fuck is he doing?
“Luka,” I hiss.
He doesn’t turn to look at me. In fact, he doesn’t acknowledge that I’m here at all. The slow burn of jealousy and hurt starts to heat to pure anger in my blood and I try to temper it by scrolling through my social media pages with my jaw clenched hard. By now I have a million notifications asking about the honeymoon, begging for pictures and details.