The Accidental Marriage: Chapter 21

Something wet and hot tickles the back of my neck. I burrow deeper into the blankets. I’m too exhausted to move. More sleep sounds heavenly.

Besides, it’s too early in the morning. I’m sure of it.

More kisses. A warm hand on my belly…then slowly traveling up, up, up until it cups my breast. I ignore it and keep my eyes closed.

Gentle kneading.

“I’m tired,” I whine.

“I know.” Ares kisses me on the sensitive spot behind my ear, brushing his thumb over a nipple to tease. Despite the lingering sleep, the flesh between my legs grows slick. “You don’t have to do anything but enjoy it.” His whisper hits me like a darkly seductive promise. Except…

I scrunch my face a little. “Ridiculous. Besides, I’m dirty.”

“I know you can be.” There’s a hint of laughter in his voice.

How can he sound so energetic and well rested? It’s unfair. “I mean I’m not clean. I didn’t clean up down there before falling asleep.” That should discourage him.

“Oh, that. I took care of it. Don’t worry.” His tone is smug.

“You did?”

“Well, there’s no one else around. And who else would do that but your devoted, care-taking husband when it became obvious that you were, you know, too exhausted to walk back to your room afterward?”

“Are you going to hold a grudge?”

“Never.” He gives my breast a squeeze, and my breath catches. “Just stating a fact.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Facts aren’t annoying. They simply are.”

“I didn’t say facts. I said you.”

“Let me make myself less annoying, then.” He rubs himself against my backside. Holy… He’s searing hot. Hard as steel, too.

“It’s too early,” I say, even though the signs of his desire have me wet.

“Let me do everything.” He pushes my hair out of the way and drops an endless trail of kisses on my right shoulder.

My scar! I stiffen and simultaneously twist to stop him before he decides to explore my left side, where the scar is. “No. Not like that.”

“I thought you said you were tired,” he says lazily, probably assuming I’m just being contrary.

“Not that tired.”

A wicked gleam appears in his eyes. “But too tired to do more than just lie there?”

“Well. Yeah.” I put a hand on his chest to ensure he doesn’t try to have his way with me. “Besides, why do you want to kiss my back anyway?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to kiss your back?” A soft laugh. “Back…backside… You’re pretty all over.”

“No.” It comes out a little more decisively than I intend.

He frowns.

“I don’t like it when people see my back.” The deepening scowl on his face compels me to explain, despite my general attitude to offer nothing. “Look. I have a scar I’m very self-conscious about.”

The tension in his brows eases. “Can’t be that bad.”

I jut out my chin stubbornly. “I don’t care. I don’t want anybody to see it. That includes you, too.” Most importantly him. It’s possible he won’t be weird about my scar. But I’m not ready to show it to him yet. At least his scar is sort of cool—like he got it fighting or something. Mine’s just weird, like I was bitten by some kind of mythological fire hound.

“You’re my wife.”

His wounded tone makes me want to soften toward him, but I stiffen my resolve. “Think about it like Medusa’s head. Something you shouldn’t see for your own good.” Or mine. “We shouldn’t cross each other’s boundaries.”

The expression on his face falls further.

“I’m sure a man of your experience can come up with many ways for us to have fun without looking at my back.” I’m flattering him to wipe the hurt look away.

Ares considers me, his mouth flat and eyes unreadable. I don’t like it that he’s unhappy, and I hate it that I broke our languid morning mood, but my scar is too important for me to stay mum about.

So what? You could’ve kept your mouth shut and just shifted around to hide your scar. Now he’s going to just get up and leave. Doris’s voice, judging me. According to her, I can’t do anything right—a true failure of a human being.

Whatever. I’m not giving those years of being gaslit and emotionally abused the power to ruin my marriage with Ares, temporary or not. Later, when he’s had a chance to calm down, I should send him a gift to cheer him up. Although… What’s a suitable “let’s not fight” gift that’s respectfully indifferent yet thoughtful at the same time?

Finally, Ares’s eyebrow twitches. “Yes, I believe I can come up with something.”

“Good. I knew you’d rise to the occasion.”

“Sit on my face.”

“What?” I almost choke on my own spit.

“You don’t want me to look at you from behind, and you’re tired. So just hang on to the headboard, sit on my face and enjoy yourself.”

What he’s saying is scandalously hot. I’ve read about it, but never really thought about doing it. How does it work, exactly? What if I get too excited and accidentally suffocate him? Such an ignoble death.

Worse will be if I have to call 911. My emergency? Oh, it’s just that I was riding my husband’s face and now he’s not breathing. I don’t know if he’s dead. He feels really warm. No, I don’t know how to do CPR, which is why I called you…

Do men still maintain their erections when they’re suffocated like that? I shake my head. I’m from Nesovia, not Necrovia. Just not happening. No way.

“Don’t you want me to soothe the ache from last night?” Ares whispers, like Satan before the tree of good and evil. He runs his index finger over my folds and shows me the glistening fluid. “We wouldn’t want you high and dry.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

He laughs. “Exactly.” He strokes the dripping folds, and I bite my lip to contain the moan welling in my throat. “Come on, baby. Let me live my fantasy. I always wanted to have my wife sit on my face.”

“You’re lying.” I aim for stern, but it comes out breathless.

“Never.” He says the single word with such exaggerated solemnity that it feels more like a lie than the truth. “I thought you wanted to be a good wife.” He dips his finger shallowly into my pussy, sending a small ripple of tingling sensation through me.

“I am a good wife.”

“There you go.” He looks at me. The good humor twinkling in his bright blue eyes is a relief. He isn’t upset, and that makes it impossible to say no. “Just imagine how good it’s going to feel. Doesn’t your pussy ache a little from last night?”

“A little, maybe.”

“Right. You’re wounded, sort of. And you know animals lick their wounds to feel better.”

I chortle, even as his hand is doing a great job of stoking my need. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I swear it on the Bible.”

I gaze into his eyes. And to be honest, I’m a tad curious, too. But giving in feels like…a surrender of something far more than I’d like to give up, even though I can’t put my finger on it. I sniff daintily. “Well…just this once.”

“Yes. Just this once, unless you want to do it again.”

“Like I told you before—if it sucks, there’s no second time.” The moment the words leave my lips, I flush.

“Oh, sucking is definitely going to happen,” he says with a dark laugh.

I grip the headboard and position myself, a knee on either side of his stunning face. My cheeks flame at how lewd I must look—my legs spread and my clit and pussy visible to his unblinking, fiery gaze. All the moisture in my mouth dries, and I lick my lips. Then, carefully and slowly so I don’t crush him, I lower myself.

“Good girl,” he says with satisfaction. “Now, just a little more.”

“But—”

“Come on, baby. You want to be a queen, right? My face is your throne.”

He runs his hands over my ass, cupping it and leading me lower, encouraging me. His hot breaths fan against my inner thighs, and my muscles quiver.

“Ah yes,” he groans—and strokes my wet flesh with his tongue.

I throw my head back as a shocking jolt of pleasure shoots through me. He continues to lick leisurely, like he’s enjoying an ice cream cone. My thighs tremble as I resist the urge to lower my hips. Can’t—kill—my husband—

His tongue flicks a couple of times over my clit. My back arches and my knees almost buckle. Oh my God. I didn’t know they could do that when they’re already supported on the mattress. He traces the curve of my ass with his hand, sending delicious shivers up and down, then pushes a finger into my pussy. But only slightly, to tease.

Devil man.

If it weren’t for the scar, I’d turn around and tease him back. Pull his cock into my mouth and return the torment. He thrusts deeper into me, but retreats before I can really enjoy the sweet invasion. I wish I could draw in enough air to tell him to stop teasing, but it’s impossible as I hang on to the board and try to not grind myself into his face like I want to—need to.

I vaguely sense him moving his arm down his body. His breathing shifts to something a bit tense. Is he touching himself?

The picture of him gripping his cock and thrusting into his hand while eating me out boils my blood until I’m hot all over. Even my toes tingle.

His free hand grips my pelvis, guiding me to ride his face. My inhibition whimpers surrender at his silent encouragement, and I rock against him. He doesn’t hold back anymore, either. He devours me, his lips and tongue working over my hypersensitive flesh, his other arm moving harder and faster.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” I pant as I crest higher and higher, my body taut with mounting pleasure. When the orgasm hits, I scream, my knuckles white on the headboard. Somewhere far away, hot fluid hits my lower back and hair, and I struggle to breathe.

My brain is barely functioning. But the part of me that wanted to go crazy over his face crows, See—he’s not dead, while another triumphant voice that sounds suspiciously like Ares says, You definitely can’t walk back to “your room.”

Ares’s hands are busy running the sheet over my back, wiping up the cum from his cock. I didn’t realize it could shoot so far. He gently helps me lie down and recover.

“What do you say?” His question breaks my post-orgasm haze.

“Thank you?” I whimper, wishing I could rest for a while. Human bodies aren’t designed to be tormented this much within a twenty-four-hour period.

“You’re welcome. But no. Do you agree that you can’t walk back to your room?”

I blink. Did he actually say that? I didn’t imagine it? “Yes,” I say, since I can’t prove him wrong, and he seems very determined to get an honest answer from me. My legs feel like jelly.

Laughing with satisfaction, he places a kiss on my forehead. “I have to go to work now.” Then he hops off the bed with a spring in his step.

Damn, he looks good. All that lean muscle rippling. His butt is perfect. The Renaissance masters would weep if they could see it. Still, it’s unfair he’s so full of energy. Is he an incubus sucking all my life force out through sex? Although… Well. Sex with him is amazing, so I can’t really complain about his performance. I’m just not sure what to make of the fact that I’m so languid and lazy afterward.

Just as he’s about to enter the bathroom, something pops into my head. “What am I supposed to do to keep myself busy?”

He looks at me over his shoulder with a shrug and a masculine smile that makes my belly flop. “Whatever you want. You have my black card. Be a good girl, rest and spend my money.”