Read Part One HereHer breath hitched as his hand settled just above her ass, in that smooth surface of skin just above the swelling curve.
He hit her in the fast rhythm they both enjoyed. Kat bit her lips and arched her back into the ruler’s bite, trying hard not to beg. But she couldn’t hold back her cry when the thin edge of wood struck the soft skin of her labia. Oh God. The sting was shocking and so good as it burned through her, making her knees buckle beneath wobbly weight.
His hand gripped her hip, the ruler pressing into her side while his other hand stroked her back. “Shh,” he cooed. “Calm down. Breathe, Katherina, just breathe.”
She did, gasping as she shook in his grasp. Setting down the ruler, he pressed himself tight against her burning ass, the rough material of his pants scratching her tender skin. Kat rocked back, rubbing up against his hard erection.
“I got you a gift today,” he said almost absently as he stroked her back, her hips, her ass.
“You did?” she replied, practically purring beneath the gentle yet rough touch of his strong, calloused, scarred hands.
“Mmhmm,” he murmured before he gave her ass a swift swat with the back of his hand, making her moan. “But I don’t know if you deserve it now.” He leaned in close to kiss her spine. She shivered.
Kat turned her head to face him and playfully pouted. “What can I do to deserve it?”
“Get on your knees.” Peter grabbed Katherina by the waist and helped turn her around.
God, he couldn’t explain it, but he needed to get inside her. Not just his cock in her waiting, open mouth. But deeper. Needed to be in a more visceral way.
The need to make her his—to dominate her, to make her submit—rode him as he guided her head close so her tongue could slip like slick silk over his dick.
His eyes shuttered closed. Once buried deep in her wet, sucking mouth, he groaned and gripped her head between his hands, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pushed and pulled her on his dick, his hips thrusting while he fucked her face.
He couldn’t stop himself. God help him, he knew he should—should be gentler, sweeter, with her but he didn’t want to. His pleasure-hazed mind marveled at her moans, rumbling hums deep in her throat, that stroked over his senses, driving him crazy. Driving him right to the edge.
But it was her hand, crawling up his thigh to cup and cradle his balls, to stroke as she sucked him, that pushed him over. With an agonized groan, he held her still while he came, spilling his seed down her throat.
For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t for the life of him pull out—pull away—from her. But, drained, he felt his legs give way. With a shudder, he slipped out of her mouth and fell to his knees to hold her close. “Katherina.” He sighed before he took her mouth with his.
He always loved her taste, the sweet warmth of her kiss. But, when she tasted of sex, tasted of them both combined, it was almost enough to make him hard again. “Katherina.” He dragged them both down onto the plush rug, wrapping her tight in his arms.
God, when was the last time he had called her that? Had really thought of her like that?
Far too long.
“Thank you, Peter.” Kat yawned and cuddled close.
“I should be saying that to you.” He wiped the corners of her lips. “I came. You didn’t.” He’d change that as soon as he could move again.
“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered against his shoulder.
“Of course, it does.” He snorted. Silly girl.
“It was still the best—” She stopped suddenly, her relaxed body suddenly going tense.
“What?” He twisted to look down at her. “What?”
She bit her lip.
She turned away. “Nothing.”
“Katherina,” he warned.
She shook her head again.
“Kat,” he said—pled—softly before he stroked her shoulder and arm. “Please.”
She shrugged, before saying very quietly, “It was the best sex we’ve had for a while.”
“Excuse me?” He straightened his glasses on his nose.
She shrugged again, burrowing closer to him. No matter how he turned or tried to hold her so he could look at her face—look into her eyes—she hid from him.
And it pissed him off.
“Hey,” he said, holding her away from him by the shoulders so she met his gaze, “talk to me.” He frowned when her eyes widened with anxiety before she shifted her gaze downward. “What is that supposed to mean?”
First they weren’t having enough sex and now the sex they were having was bad.
“Have I not been—” He shook his head, not sure what he wanted to ask—wasn’t sure what he wanted her to answer. “Have you not been satisfied? Have I not been good enough for you?”
“No, you’re always good,” she said, biting her lip and shrugging, “enough. Of course, you’re good enough.”
Enough. Good enough? Why didn’t that sound like a compliment?
He winced. Probably because it wasn’t.
“It’s just,” she sighed, sitting up, curling her arms around herself as if she were taken by a sudden chill, “we don’t really...”
“Really what?” he asked, his tone acerbic as he fought hard not to pout.
She cringed and looked up at him, her black eyes pleading. “Play,” she answered, her voice quietly apologetic. As if it were her fault. Even though they both knew it wasn’t. “We don’t ever really play anymore.” She shook her head. “Not like we used to.”
He sat up too, staring at her dumbly. He gaped, at a complete loss of words.
“We don’t go to Donovan’s,” she said. “We barely see our friends anymore. And this,” she said, gesturing to the bed and the array of toys spread out around her, “we never use any of this stuff anymore.” Her gaze—desperate and ashamed—met his for a moment before dropping, a furious blush climbing her cheeks. “I miss it.”
He did too.
Didn’t even really realize it until she’d said something. But, yeah, things had felt off with them for a while. Was this it?
“I feel like you don’t want to play with me anymore.” Her voice cracked, a sure sign of tears.
Peter’s heart broke.
Scooting closer to her, he grabbed her by the elbows, turning her toward him. “Kat,” he said gently, letting his hands rub her arms soothingly, “why did you never say anything?”
She still wouldn’t look at him, her face kept determinedly turned, shielding her eyes but not the tear that trickled down her cheek. “You’d made such a point about not wanting to just have sex anymore. You wanted to make love. How things were different now that we’re married and planning for a family. I didn’t want to push.” Her face crumpled, killing him. “I didn’t want to ask for something you didn’t want to give.”
He swallowed hard. God, he’d messed up.
He cupped her face with his hand, sweeping his thumb under the feather-soft skin under her eyes. He sighed. “If I’m honest,” he told her with a frown, “it does feel different now that we’re married. You’re my wife and I love you and the idea of hurting you...” His voice died. He shook his head and looked up at her, sorry and sad. It—the very thought of harming her at all—seemed wrong now. “But I did hurt you, didn’t I?” he asked, brushing her hair off her face.
“I just don’t understand why it’s so different.” Her arms crossed over her naked body to pull her hair off to the side. Her hands fisted in the strands, pulling. Her knees clenched tight and her arms hugged over her breasts, like she were shielding herself—protecting herself. From him. “I don’t understand what changed.”
He grimaced. He didn’t think he really did either. He shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortable with being so closely examined. “I guess,” he started, “before I met you, I never really saw myself married, you know. I figured it would happen one day, but never really gave it much thought until you.” He looked at her—curled tight away from him even as she sat in his arms—a bit helplessly. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Kat,” he said almost inaudibly, ashamed. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“You don’t know how to be married,” she asked cautiously, “or you don’t know how to be married to me?”
He shook his head. He didn’t know. “I just want to be able to give you what you want. What you deserve. All the things men give their wives. Security. Love. Respect. A home.” He touched her cheek softly. “I want to take care of you, Kat.”
And he just didn’t know how to do that and do this at the same time.
He shook his head, disappointment—in himself, only himself; never her—filling him painfully. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded and swallowed, her lips thinning into a tight, unhappy smile. She leaned in to kiss him gently—almost perfunctorily—on the mouth before reaching up to grab hold to one of the strong, oak bedposts, pulling herself up to stand before heading for the shower.
He watched her go, her head lowered, her shoulders slumped and resigned, her feet falling silent on the hardwood floor with each step like a sacrifice to slaughter. His jaw clenched as his heart lurched.
She stopped to stand in the doorway of the bedroom for a long, silent moment. Without turning to him, she said softly, “I love you, Peter.”
He heard an unsaid anyway hang heavy in the air.
Peter slumped on the floor at the foot of the bed, watching her walk away from him.
He slammed his head against the edge of the bed. And again. He sighed with defeat and stood up to put the toys away in the box in the back of their closet. Blocking the not-so-subtle symbolic nudge in the act, he shoved the box as far into the corner as possible. Covered it for good measure.
Admonishing himself, he wandered aimlessly out of the closet again before almost tripping over his discarded messenger bag. Hefting it up, he pulled it and himself up onto the bed. Opening it, he pulled out the thin, square velvet box.
He pulled the box open carefully, looking down at his gift. It, like their marriage—like his life—seemed almost right. Looked like what he thought she wanted. What he wanted to give her.
The pendant, a small tangle of weaving silver threads held strong together around the single perfect pearl in the center of the heart, hung delicate but sure on the fine, plain chain.
Pearls, he remembered the clerk telling him casually as she’d rung him up at the store, for innocence, purity, marital bliss, and transformation.
A strange mix, he thought as he touched the small, shining stone and wondered what his Kat—what they—were transforming into.
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