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.
“Good morning, wife,” Kostas says, his voice almost sounding playful. He’s lying on his side, shirtless, with his hand holding up his head. He looks so normal like this. Like a husband. The thought makes me smile, which has Kostas eyeing me warily.
“We’re married,” I blurt out, the reality of yesterday hitting me again. I married Kostas. I am a Demetriou.
“I was there.” He chuckles in amusement and holds up his hand, showing me his wedding band. The one he had engraved to match mine. He reaches over and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is so sweet. So unlike Kostas.
His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and I’m reminded of where that tongue was yesterday. Licking my nipples. My neck. Between my thighs. When my thighs clench together, remembering how good it felt, I feel the dull ache between my legs. The ache that wasn’t caused by Kostas’s mouth, but by his brother.
A cold sense of dread chases away the surprising warmth I’d been feeling. My heart rate speeds up. When my eyes meet Kostas, he’s assessing me closely. I feel too vulnerable under his careful scrutiny. Like if he looks too hard, he’ll see the pain that’s bubbling beneath the surface. His lips are turned down in a frown. He knows my thoughts have taken a wrong turn. I need to tell him. He needs to know what his brother did to me.
“Kostas,” I begin, as he sits up, throwing the blanket off his body, and then stands. For a second, I’m distracted by his hard body. He’s in nothing but his boxer briefs, his full body on display. His intricate tattoos. His rock-hard abs. The trail of hair leading downward…
“As much as I’m enjoying the way you’re looking at me right now,” Kostas says, ending my moment of ogling, “you need to save your eye-fucking for later. I need to get going.” He shoots me a knowing smirk and then starts for the bathroom. I cringe at the word eye-fucking. The same word he flung at me at the wedding rehearsal.
“Kostas,” I yell, flinching when I realize my voice came out louder than I planned. “I need…”
Without looking at me, he says, “Whatever you need will have to wait. I need to get to the hospital to see my dad and plan my mother’s funeral.”
“Wait!” I shuffle out of the bed and stumble toward him. He turns around in the doorway, his eyes meeting mine. Burning fiercely. He’s back to himself. The sweet man from yesterday is gone. The monster is back. He stares at me for a long beat, his eyes narrowing, and his nostrils flaring.
“I need to talk to you,” I croak out. I need to tell you that your brother raped me…please don’t cut off my feet and beat me with them.
“We can talk tonight,” he says, his tone final. “Be ready at seven for dinner. We’ll talk then.”
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
My eyes flutter open when I hear the sound of someone knocking on the front door.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
The knocking turns into banging. I rush out of bed, worried Kostas might’ve forgotten his key. But when I swing the door open and see it’s Aris standing on the other side, I remember the door has a damn code, so Kostas can’t be locked out.
Shit.
Panic swells up inside me like a tidal wave. Fast. Unexpected. Terrifying.
My heart hammers in my chest as I’m frozen in terror.
“Hmm…in my brother’s shirt. Looks like you two have gotten cozy,” Aris accuses with a wicked smirk that sends chills up my spine. He grips the bottom of the shirt, tugging on it slightly, and I slap his hand away. I didn’t even realize I was wearing Kostas’s shirt. He must’ve put it on me last night after I fell asleep. The last thing I remember wearing is my swimsuit. Before he removed it…