I let my fingers find her clit, stroking it gently until she started to squirm, her breathing no longer deep and peaceful. Then I delved a finger inside of silken folds and was rewarded with the drenched embrace of her cunt.
She soaked so easily for me, it was a wonder she'd managed to put up so much of a fight before finally caving. I smirked at the knowledge that the prim and proper psychologist who had thrown me out of her office for asking for a fuck was as attracted to my body as any other red-blooded female I'd come across since hitting puberty. Perhaps even more so, if her pussy's slick welcome was any indicator.
I slipped another finger into her while keeping my thumb busy on her clit, and this time, her response was a full-throated moan. Seemed like she was coming to. I pumped her slowly, aching to bury my tongue between her thighs, but ego made me hold back. I wanted to see her face fall apart when I sucked on her clit, and she'd have to be fully awake for that to happen. Maybe after the first round.
I curved both fingers in her tight heat just so, hitting the spongy flesh nestled behind her pelvic bone firmly.
"Blaine."
I popped my mouth off her nipple to look at her at the breathy sound of my name, but her eyes were still closed even though a frown marred her face. I rubbed against her G-spot while watching her, and nearly came at the fine tremor playing across her pretty features as she breathed shakily. Slowly, her body began to move under mine, the rhythm of my hand transferring to her hips as I brought her closer and closer.
Nope, couldn't keep watching her face or I'd end up fucking her before she woke up fully. My cock was hurting from the need to be inside of her, and watching her slowly come undone made it unbearable. Instead, I busied my mouth at her breasts again, licking and sucking at her pert nipples in time with my fingers' thrusting.
Her moans and whimpers spurred me on until her pussy clamped up tight, squeezing my fingers to a halt for two long seconds before erupting in a series of fluttering spasms. Her body seized underneath mine, and she gasped her pleasure out as I lifted my head just in time to see her eyes pop open.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
I gotta be honest, that wasn't exactly the response I'd expected. Nevertheless, I gave her flustered and panting face a smirk and thrilled my fingers over her undoubtedly hypersensitive G-spot. "Getting you off."
Mira jerked underneath me and grabbed at my wrist to still my teasing movements. "Get off me!"
"I would rather get off in yo-uff!" I hadn't been observant enough, and paid for my cheek when she dug a knee into my gut and pushed.
For a relatively small bird, she had a lot of leg power.
I rolled off her, pressing a hand to my now pretty sore abs, and narrowly avoided getting kicked in the dick by her flailing legs as she scrambled up to the headboard of the bed, duvet wrapped around her like a virgin hiding from some tentacled hentai beast. Her hazel eyes were large and unfocused, but the anger in them was unmistakable.
Great. Seemed like we were gonna go right back to hating each other before I'd gotten as much as a thank-you wank. I rubbed at my sore stomach and gave her an irritated glare. "What the hell was that for?"
"What was that for … ?" Despite her obvious trouble with seeing me clearly without her glasses, she managed to look both astonished and absolutely furious at the same time. I might have been impressed, if my flagging cock didn't mean I now had enough blood left in my brain to properly feel my hangover again.
"That was for molesting me, you absolute twat!" Apparently, she'd had enough of not being able to focus all that anger at my face, because she reached out for her glasses on the nightstand, and managed to knock over the near-empty bottle of whiskey she'd placed there the night before in her efforts.
"Molesting you? You just came all over my hand! While moaning my name, I might add. Jesus fucking Christ, what about a ‘thank-you' instead of kneeing me in the gut?"
"A ‘thank-you'?" Her voice turned shrill, and I winced as it went right through my brain. She leveled a glare at me through the black-rimmed glasses that could have turned a more easily intimidated man into stone. "Right! Then thank you for taking advantage at me while I was drunk and emotionally fucked up after the worst week of my life. Which, I might add, is a pretty goddamn bad week. And while I'm at it, thank you so much for marrying me against my will and ruining my life! Now kindly get the fuck out of my bed!"
Awesome. We were back to this, then.
Something that seemed an awful lot like disappointment nestled in the pit of my belly. I had no idea why-perhaps the first-class fuck had given drunk-me some half-baked hope that this arrangement wouldn't be so bad after all.
Drunk-me was a moron.
Letting the bizarre sense of disappointment be washed away by my general annoyance-at her, at my father and most definitely at my once again hard and hopeful cock-I got out of bed and stretched, rolling my shoulders to ease some of the irritation out of my body.
"Fine. If this is how you want it, this is how you'll get it." I shot her a dark look over my shoulder, letting her know exactly who she was dealing with. She might know I had a weakness, and her body might draw me in like a moth to a flame, but I was still Blaine Steel. And like it or not, she was going to have to deal with being my wife. My unwanted wife.
"Get dressed and pack your things. I'll send one of my men up to get you after exactly forty-five minutes. He will help you get your stuff down to the lobby. Do not be late. If I have to come get you myself, you're going to be sorry. We'll discuss the rest of the rules you'll have to live by once we're home."
Satisfied with her dumbstruck expression, I bent to snatch my clothes up from the floor and left the bedroom with as much of a door-slam as my head could handle.
If she insisted on making life hard, then I could certainly play that game too. No one bested a Steel, and the sooner the obnoxious little shrink learned that lesson, the better.
*
Chapter 8
Mira
Don't leave the house without an escort
Don't go into the shed
Don't invite anyone over
Don't ask questions about visitors
Don't speak to visitors unless spoken to
Don't open the door without permission
Stop sulking
I glared at Blaine from behind the kitchen counter, where I'd been watching him write down the "house rules" in big, black letters on the fridge. My ire had grown for every line, but the final one pushed me over the edge, my irritation finally overwhelming whatever fear was left from the drive here. Being surrounded by goons was such a sharp reminder of exactly what sort of family I'd gotten married into, and Blaine had been quiet and broody ever since our confrontation in the morning. On top of how the morning had started out, I'd been too shaken to feel anything but the return of my anxiety.
That is, until the arsehole started making The List.
"Maybe I'd stop ‘sulking' if you stopped acting like I'm your prisoner. What's number eight going to be? That I have to ask before going to the bathroom?"
Blaine rubbed at his neck as if he was trying to work out a particularly bothersome knot, but he didn't turn around to look at me. In fact, he hadn't looked at me all day, since he left our bedroom in a huff. "I don't give a fuck about what you do when we're alone, as long as you do it inside the house. These rules are as much for your sake as they are mine."
"Go on. I can't wait to hear how it's for my own sake that I can't have visitors." I was pretty pleased with my dry tone.
He finally turned around then, and looked at me with one eyebrow cocked. "It's been a while since you've lived in this world, hasn't it?"
"You mean, since I've had to live among criminals? Yeah, it has."
Blaine capped the black marker he'd been using to write on the American-style fridge, crossed both arms over his chest so his muscles bulged against the strain of his T-shirt, and leaned a shoulder against the appliance. "My family has a lot of enemies, and you're a soft and squishy target. I can guarantee you that every single one of those enemies is trying to find a way to get to you as we speak. So say you invite a friend over, and someone watched them walk in the door here. You think many of the men who are out to get me would hesitate to snatch them off the street to find out anything they might know about us?"
I paled at that implication. No, I knew that sort of men all too well. They wouldn't hesitate to use torture if they thought they could gain an advantage.
"Want to order a pizza? If it's not checked by one of our guys, you have no guarantee it's not delivered by a hitman in disguise. Feel like taking a wander around the neighborhood? Those same men who would snatch up your friends in a second would do much, much worse to you. So you might think of yourself as a prisoner if that floats your boat, but I'm sure you'll agree it's a lot better than the alternative."