Whimpering, she says, “Even that fucking hurts.”
“Fuck,” I growl out. “Did he knock you around before the wedding?”
I don’t see any bruises on her face, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t shaken or thrown around like a rag doll.
“Not exactly,” she whispers, a small sound catching in her throat. “But the fucker drugged me, so I don’t really know.”
Fucking dick-less, pile of shit. At least I make my women marry me drug-free. Not sure that’s something I need to bring up now, though.
“Fuck. Any idea what they put in you?” I ask.
“No clue, they just made sure I was very compliant.” A line of moisture seeps down her cheek as she turns her head away from me. “I’m missing a lot of time.”
Fuck. I knew the outline of it all, I suppose. With the way she fights for what she wants, there’s no way she would have married that sack of slime willingly. Which, I guess, is a good sign for me, even if she has tried to kill me twice.
Fuck, the thought of her trying to kill me causes a stirring between my legs, my cock wanting to thicken. I want to find out if she’s still as tight as I remember from last night. The way her legs felt wrapped around my hips still leaves me without words to describe how damn good it felt.
Her body is so much smaller than mine, but it fits so well. It’s like she was born just to be melded against my own body. She isn’t fragile by any means. She’s got the hips and breasts that are meant for a good hard pounding.
Soft and tender lovemaking are going to happen… eventually. But until we get our fucking beasts under control, I’m going to love pounding the shit out of her.
“Sorry, is there anything I can get for you?” I ask quietly.
“No… yes? Maybe some Tylenol?”
She turns her head to me look me in the eyes.
“I’m going to have to leave the house for that,” I say. “This place is empty as can be. No food or anything. All we have are towels, sheets, blankets, plates, silverware, and cups. Not even the stuff to clean any of that shit with, though.”
“Yeah. I’d say that you need to come with me…. But we don’t have any clothes for you, either. I’ve got what was in my bag but that’s about it.”
She lays there for a long time, looking into my eyes.
“Can I see your phone?” Meghan asks out of nowhere.
“Huh?” I ask in confusion.
“I’m hungry and I need panties. You fucking destroyed them last night,” she grumbles.
“I don’t think the pizza places are open yet, Meghan,” I say as I roll toward the nightstand to grab my phone. “And how exactly are you going to get panties? I’m not letting some pizza boy buy them for you.”
“Oh god, you’re such a fossil. Things aren’t like how they used to be.”
Handing the phone to her, I watch her roll to her back. Her large breasts flatten somewhat, but they still look heavy and full.
My tongue moistens my lips as I start edging toward her.
Glancing over at me, she stops typing on my phone.
Pushing at my head, she says, “Not a chance. My body is one giant fucking bruise.”
Showing me her wrist, she says, “Alexei wasn’t very nice to me. Every time he touched me, he made sure it hurt.”
Shuddering, she goes back to typing.
I growl out his name, “Alexei… that fucker is going to die. I’ll break his fucking neck.”
“I wouldn’t mind watching that,” she says.
“What are you doing?” I ask, watching her face.
I could easily check the screen, but I’d much rather watch her lips.
“I need your credit card. Do you even have one of those?” she asks as she pushes against my ever-encroaching mouth.
I know she said she was hurting everywhere. Maybe a kiss on some of those spots would help…
“It’s in my wallet,” I say.
“Grab it real quick,” she says, still typing and scrolling through things.
“My wallet is in my pants,” I grumble.
“Well, get it out and give it to me.”
Her eyes lift to look at me again.
She’s way too fucking beautiful in the mornings. It’s a weapon I’m sure she knows she has.
“My pants are downstairs in the bathroom,” I say, and my eyes drift lower to her breasts.
Her voice cuts through the lustful fog that’s beginning to cloud my brain. “Not a chance, Gabriel. I’m even sore down there. It feels like you put a fucking baseball bat in me.”
A white sheet slowly covers her breasts, and I swear I can feel my cock screaming in rage at the injustice of the world. Covering up breasts like hers should be a capital crime.
Looking up at her face, I frown. “Why do you need my credit card?”
“Because I need clothes and food. I’m willing to bet you need some stuff too. I can’t imagine the Incredible Hulk can go without his spinach for too long. All those big muscles might turn to fat,” she says, and there’s snippy humor in her eyes as she pointedly looks at my chest and arms.