Is that what he wants, then? Submission? Because it wasn’t so terrible, if it means Francisco licking me until I come.
But then—reprimanded.
I’m precise in my commands. Clear in my expectations. And firm if you need to be reprimanded.
I manage to say the right things—Thank you so much, you’re too kind. Of course you’ll be welcome at the chateau. I don’t know if that’s true. It’s Francisco’s home. Not mine. I’ve never even been there, but my clothes and toiletries are being delivered there while I dance. My books are being moved in boxes while I toss the bouquet. My entire life, delivered.
My feet ache by the time we wave our final goodbyes. Then I’m handed into the back of a stretch limo for the long drive. We could have spent the night in the hotel’s presidential suite. Could have had champagne and strawberries and a hot bubble bath waiting for us. It’s just a private elevator ride away, but I wasn’t consulted about the plans. I worked with Natalie on the ceremony and the reception. We picked out the flowers and the cake and the menu, but everything that came after, that was up to Francisco. And he wanted to return to the chateau.
I’d like to pretend it means something sweet, that he wants to spend our first night as a married couple at home. But part of me wonders if he simply does not want the wedding to inconvenience him more than it should. A single day spent in the city and a seven-figure bill. Oh, and a massive investment in Bradley Hotels. That’s all it cost to make Isabella Bradley his wife.
Isabella Castille, now. Tears prick my eyes, but I force them back.
“What’s wrong?” he asks from the shadows of the limo.
How does he know anything’s wrong? It’s too dark to see. “Nothing.”
“You miss your family.”
I’m worried about them, worried about what my father will buy without me there to stop him every day, worried about what my brother will ruin thinking he knows better. Worrying isn’t the same as missing them, though. I could have lived the life of a spoiled socialite forever, perhaps. If my mother hadn’t called me back to save the hotels. “It’s not that.”
“Someone was rude to you. One of the guests.”
“No, everyone was lovely.” I laugh a little to myself because I was introduced to so many people tonight. I will never be able to remember everyone. Though there is one person that made an impression. Francisco’s best man. “Your uncle was especially kind.”
“What did you two find to talk about?”
His voice is dry, but it feels like a deceptive calm. The water’s surface with tiny ripples running through it. “You, of course,” I say lightly. “Actually, he told me all about his farm. He had me laughing when he told me about the silly things the calves do. Including the one who got stuck in an easter basket.”
“He loves those little beasts.”
“I would have thought your uncle was more…”
“Serious?”
“Intimidating.”
He gives a soft laugh. “He’s plenty serious. And intimidating when you’re a little kid with a penchant for getting into trouble. He purchased the veal farm when I was twelve.”
That makes me blink. “Veal farm?”
“Don’t worry, my little vegetarian wife. They were supposed to be veal, but once he took over and saw their beady little eyes, he couldn’t do it. Changed it into a dairy farm. And after my parents died, he moved us into the house there. He thought it was better for me to have a normal upbringing after… Well, after.”
I take a moment to digest this. I knew his parents passed away when he was younger. “So he and your aunt raised you?”
“Yes.”
His tone doesn’t invite more discussion. The irony is that he knows everything about my family. He now owns a controlling interest in our company, but I know barely anything about them. Except that his uncle saved calves from being eaten.
“If you don’t miss your family,” he says, “and no one was rude to you, then why are you sad?”
He’s perceptive, my new husband. And persistent. I’ll have to get used to that. “I guess because I’m… afraid.”
“Of me?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know you. Or what this marriage will be like. What my life will be like. Everything’s changing, and I don’t even know what to expect.”
“I’ve told you what to expect.”
I make a scoffing sound. “You’ve told me that you’re controlling in the bedroom.”
Specifically, what he said was, I’ll keep you so sexed up, so blissed out on orgasms that you won’t care that much about how commanding I get. In fact I think you’ll learn to love it.
And I’ve looked up far too much about that in the three months since we met. Photos. Videos. Books. They make me feel strange, like my skin is too hot and tight. Aroused, that’s what they make me feel, though I’m not admitting that to him. Certainly not admitting it when he’s wearing a tux and I’m in a designer wedding gown.
“I also gave you a demonstration,” he reminds me.
My cheeks heat, remembering the feel of his tongue between my legs. “That wasn’t everything, though. It’s what I don’t know that scares me.”
“You want to make me come.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” My voice sounds choked. I’m embarrassed and...turned on. Why does the idea of making him come turn me on?
“You want to resent me,” he murmurs, as if he sees my internal struggle. “I’m the man who bought you. Forced you into marriage so you can save your family. I’m the villain, and you’re the noble princess. There’s no hero in this story, so don’t wait for someone to save you.”
“I’m not,” I snap, frustrated that he’s mocking me. I’m not a princess. I’m not some noble sacrifice. I’m not some dramatic young woman who doesn’t understand real life.
“Then learn how to please your husband.”
A prickle of warning runs over my skin. “Meaning what?”
“The same thing I did to you at the hotel. Get on your knees.”
It shouldn’t be demeaning. It isn’t. People perform this act in bedrooms around the world every day, at least that’s what I tell myself. And Francisco was on his knees between my legs a few hours ago. He wasn’t subservient to me, though. He was in control every second.
As I push aside my skirts and drop my knees to the carpet of the limo, I know that I’m not controlling any part of this. Here in the center of the floor, moonlight washes across my dress. I’m bathed in pale light. This is more than sex; it’s service.
It should be humiliating, but it only makes me burn hotter.
Francisco takes my face in his hands and looks down into my eyes. The expression he wears is thoughtful. Almost loving. “I’m not going to be nice,” he says. “But you are.”
He releases me to undo his pants, and it’s only in this moment that I understand what this is going to be. He’s huge and hard and slick in the faint moonlight, right at the very tip.
I’ve never done this before. With the way he is, and the things he wants…
My new husband grips his base in one hand and my chin in the other and pulls me inexorably forward until I’m hovering over him.