Page 8

My eyes fixed on his throat as he lined his hardness up against my softness.

“Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?” he asked, voice harsh. “It’s not too late to back out. You can still walk away without a scratch.”

I nodded.

It wasn’t enough.

“I want to hear you say it,” he gritted out, his breath hot on my face. “Tell me that you are absolutely sure that this is what you want.”

“I’m absolutely sure that this is what I want,” I replied, enunciating every syllable clearly. I was proud that my voice held barely a quiver.

I was so dry and tense, he had to spit on his hand and rub it on himself to ease inside. He looked so angry and put upon while he did this that I shut my eyes and kept them that way. I bit my lip until it bled as he made his way in. It hurt much more than I’d imagined, a sort of pointed, raw pain that just felt wrong.

He reached the barrier inside of me, jarring against it. He didn’t stop, not at all. He didn’t so much as pause as he hit the barrier he’d paid so dearly for. Swearing roughly, he tore straight through it. The pain was sharp and sudden, a mean pinch deep inside.

Without hesitation, he drove in to the root. It was too much to take. Too hard, too big, too deep. I was stretched to the limit. Beyond it. I squeezed my eyes shut, biting my lip as I worked through my discomfort.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he gritted through his teeth. “I’m not going to last a minute.”

Then he started fucking, pounding into me with relentless, focused precision.

At least he was right. He didn’t last a minute. He cursed as he started to come. I opened my eyes and our startled, raw, vulnerable gazes clashed.

I wished then that I could’ve known him just a bit better before the wedding. Not that any amount of superficial pain would make me regret the whole arrangement, but I just wished we could have warmed up a bit more first. Enough that I could’ve perhaps felt comfortable enough to ask him—not to stop, of course—but perhaps to slow down.

It was mortifying to even think about, but I’d hoped he would in some way seduce me first. I hated myself for looking at it so emotionally, for even thinking something so pathetic, but I couldn’t push the thought away.

Even at the height of the discomfort though, I didn’t consider actually asking for anything like that. That added humiliation would have been far worse to me than the pain. Pain came and went in life. Shame lasted.

One blessing was that it was mercifully quick. He’d been right. He didn’t last a minute. About thirty seconds (I counted) after he fit himself inside me and begun to move with thick, heavy thrusts, he started coming, jerking in and out roughly, his breath hitting my ear with soft, energetic little puffs that quickly devolved into low, rough curses.

I wasn’t at all sure if the curses were directed at me or himself. Neither seemed like a good sign.

He didn’t linger, dragging himself out of and off of me like I’d burned him, or he was afraid that I would trap him in if he hesitated. I sucked in a breath at the brutal rawness of that swift, long, slick pull.

I kept my eyes shut, but I felt him staring at me after, looming over me and watching.

I don’t know if it was the unaccustomed liquor, the hostility I felt from him, or the nerve-wracking debacle of the day all coming to a head, but I suddenly and horrifyingly became quite ill.

Oh shit, I thought in horror as my body turned on me completely.

I almost threw up right there on the bed. It was a very close thing.

I used my last ounce of energy to drag my limp form off the mattress, stumble across the room, stagger into the bathroom, and dive for the toilet.

I didn’t even close the door behind me. I vaguely realized that I was having the most mortifying, graceless moment of my life in front of my new husband as my body started heaving, bile rising up.

This wasn’t what he or his father had paid for, but I had no control over my body as I started retching, emptying out the contents of my stomach.

My marriage had been consummated, and my wedding night couldn’t have gone worse.

I tried to hold my hair back from my face, clear of the vomit, but I quickly gave up even on that. All of my energy reserves were being used to stay upright, aiming the deluge, and holding myself directly over the toilet bowl.

I threw up until there was nothing left, and then I dry heaved for a good long while after that.

When I felt reasonably confident that my stomach was done rebelling, I grabbed my toothbrush, dabbed toothpaste on it, and started brushing. I shrugged and contorted my way out of my delicate teddy with one hand, tearing it to pieces in the process. When I was finally free of it, I walked directly into the shower.

I turned the water to scorching and stood under it. It was burning my skin, but I barely felt it. Somewhere along the course of the night I’d gone a bit numb.