Her eyes widen, and she hesitates, but then she compliantly stands up and starts peeling off the layers of sweater, t-shirt, jeans, and finally the lacy, matching bra and panties. She stands before me, hands clasped at her waist, shoulders subtly rising and falling like she’s nervous, and that causes all of my nerves to electrify with resentment because none of it ever had to be this way.
It never should’ve been this way.
But the reason it is is because she destroyed everything.
I wrap my hand around her elbow and walk her to the bed, where I stand right behind her and growl in her ear, “I have no interest in seeing your face while I do this, so you’re going to bend over this bed. You’re also not going to touch me, so find something to hold onto.”
The pace of her breathing does a sharp uptick, and I don’t need her to verbalize consent because everything about her body, which I am so very familiar with, is raw with want.
Isla complies, albeit slowly, bending forward at the waist until her perfect, plump, apple-shaped ass is presented to me. All of the blood drains from my brain to my cock, causing it to strain painfully against my slacks, and I place my hands on her back, sweeping my palms down the line of her spine and over the curve of her hips.
I slide one hand down her ass and between her thighs, and she draws in a sharp breath. “Do you know what I’m doing right now, Duchess?”
“Yes, sir,” she answers in a quiet, restrained tone.
“No, you have a general idea of what I’m doing right now.” I glide two fingers between the hot, swollen lips of her pussy, and just as I suspected.
Soaked.
My cock gets that much harder.
“I’m doing something very specific right now, Duchess.” I stroke her lips a few more times before rolling her clit between thumb and forefinger, and she whimpers. “You’ll never be able to guess what it is. But I will tell you that I’m going to do it every single night until I accomplish my end goal.”
I add my opposite hand to sink my fingers into her sex to stroke her internal hot spot, and Isla drops her face flat against the mattress and utters a guttural moan. “And you can attempt to deny it all you want, Duchess, but I know better. I know you want me to do this to you every single night, and I’m going to. So, you will prepare yourself for me.”
I stroke harder, circling her clit while simultaneously torturing her G-spot, and the little tremors inside her start to clamp around my fingers. Another moan drains from her, face still buried in the mattress.
I immediately withdraw my hands, robbing her of her release. “No, Duchess. I will not allow you to come unless you’re doing so when I do.” I hastily unbuckle my belt and unfasten my fly, freeing my throbbing cock and giving it a few hard, long strokes. Gripping her ass with one hand, I guide the head to her entrance to tease her again, gliding it slowly between her slick folds, and she is so fucking wet.
She loves this. And that kind of makes me hate her more.
I release her ass and reach forward to grab a fistful of her hair, pulling her face away from the mattress while I continue to stroke her pussy. “Did the worthless filth you cheated with ever manage to make you feel this good, Duchess?”
Isla pants rapidly. “I don’t know, sir. Probably not.”
“No,” I growl, driving my dick deep inside her, and I hold back a groan of pleasure. “Definitely not.” I pull out slowly and then slam back into her, and she whimpers. “They definitely didn’t, did they?”
“They didn’t,” she mewls on a hitched breath.
I let go of her hair and cage her hips between my hands as I fuck her, because fuck her.
My hips slam against the flesh of her ass, causing it to jiggle, and I squeeze harder. Her moans and whimpers grow louder and more frantic, and I piston my cock even faster and deeper. Her small, yet full breasts are swaying from her suspended chest, and I reach with one hand to squeeze one as I lean over her and place my lips to her ear.
“You got yours, Duchess. Now I am going to get mine.” My balls are tight and heavy, and her internal tremors start pulsing around my cock. I’m about to lose all coherent speech, so I spit out the words as though they’re saturated with poison. “I will fuck you every single night until you’re pregnant, and then I will place you on suicide watch, and after you’ve given me an heir, I will send you away, and you will never see that child again for as long as you live.”
Isla sucks in a gasp that I’d venture to guess has nothing to do with the climax ripping through her just as stars explode behind my eyes. I hold her tight against me as I fill her with cum and keep her trapped in place until my cock is completely spent.
After I slide out of her, I step back to close up shop and tuck in my shirt, and her knees buckle beneath her. She’s gripping the blanket, kneeling next to the bed, head dropped low, almost looking like she’s in prayer, and she should be praying.
In repentance for the sins she committed against us.
Isla’s shoulders convulse once, and I honestly have to hand it to her.
In all the times I’ve seen her cry, from childhood on, she never managed to be so silent.
“Tomorrow night, Duchess,” I say over my shoulder as I leave the room. “Prepare yourself.”
NINE
ISLA
Present
MALACHI DID EXACTLY AS he said he would. Every single night. Y Dios ayúdame… I let him. I didn’t fight him. I complied just like I had started doing with everything, but I didn’t just comply. I engaged him all the while I lied to myself and lost myself in memories that hadn’t slipped away from my faulty mind. I pretended that it was the old Malachi placing his hands all over me and burying himself in my body, that this marriage wasn’t a total sham, that I hadn’t done the unthinkable to him, that I still loved him, that he still loved me, and that everything was still as it always should have been.
Every time, he refuses to look at me. He calls me horrible names. He reminds me that he has all the power in this situation, and that he will separate me from the child that I will inevitably bring into the world. The child we used to dream of together that will ultimately be only his because of his power. And I don’t know how I’m going to deal with that. Maybe that’s when I’ll throw myself off my balcony.
It’s now the week of Christmas, and, for the second time in my life, I take a pregnancy test and get a positive result. I leave it on the desk in Malachi’s study and return to my room. About an hour later, I hear the tell-tale pounding of footsteps and brace myself by sitting up straight and perching rigidly on the edge of my bed.
The door flies open, smacking the wall behind it, and I look at the floor as Malachi marches toward me. He pitches the test at me, and it smacks sharply against the side of my arm before tumbling to the floor.
“Do not leave something that you pissed on on my desk,” he snaps.
“My apologies, Duke,” I say meekly, eyes still trained on the floor. It’s the polar opposite of how he reacted the last time we were in this situation, so I focus on that moment from eleven years ago. “I thought you would like to know.”
“I would have liked to know via you telling me. You know, with words.” He huffs, and in my periphery, I see him fold his arms across my chest. “Now, you should be aware that I have security cameras trained on your balcony so you don’t follow through with your petty threat. Additionally, I have arranged for a midwife to begin coming to tend to you. You will also deliver the child here in the palace, not at a hospital. After that, you will be sent to live at the royal estate in Kinsdale. And that is where you will stay indefinitely.”