Black Wings & Stolen Things: A Dark Forced Marriage Romance (Fractured Rhymes)

I spent my entire first day as a married woman exploring my new husband’s home and as it turns out, the man wasn’t joking. He doesn’t own a single pair of underwear, but he owns everything else. I will actively have to try to be bored while I’m playing Rapunzel and I’m locked up in this penthouse for a couple days. I lost count of how many bathrooms are in this three-story monstrosity of a home. There’s six bedrooms, though, not including the primary suit located on the third floor. I know that number because I counted each flawlessly designed room. Twice. There are two additional sitting areas aside from the living room I sat and talked with Emeric in, and there’s an entire screening room complete with two rows of reclining leather chairs. Past the mini movie theater is a home gym that is fully stocked with every piece of equipment you can think of. The only room I didn’t stick my nose in during my exploration was Emeric’s office. While it was tempting as hell, something told me that snooping through there would be asking for trouble.

Every corner of the penthouse I wandered to, Cerberus stayed right on my heels. At first his unwavering attention was intimidating, and I tried my best to not make any fast or sudden moves around the animal, but after two hours of this, I stopped thinking I was going to be puppy chow and relaxed. I found I really enjoy his company and the way he presses his big body into mine. It’s comforting in a way.

I wonder what Emeric will think when I tell him his big scary attack dog is quickly becoming my emotional support animal. Might have to get him a vest and everything so I can take him places with me. I’m sure a highly trained protection dog will fit right in at Starbucks.

After exploring the interior of the house, I moved outside to the terrace that’s off the kitchen and living room. No one in New York—especially residents who live this high up—have that kind of outdoor space, but Emeric does. Of course, he does. The L-shaped area has an outdoor dining table and a seating area that’s situated around a glass firepit. There’s even a built-in hot tub. Just like the inside, the railings that surround the terrace are made of glass so they don’t obstruct any of the views.

Standing at what must be at least one hundred stories in the air with only glass surrounding me made me feel like I was in the clouds.

A man whose club is named after the underworld shouldn’t live in a place that feels like heaven.

That doesn’t mean that Emeric’s dark aesthetic isn’t all over the house. There isn’t a single hint of color in the entire place and trust me, I searched. Even made a game out of it. Everything is neutral, black being the primary color. That amount of black should make the place feel dark and cavernous, but I never once felt that way while walking around. The numerous windows allow a ton of light to stream through and brighten up the place.

After finishing my exploration, I wandered back to the movie room. I selected a leather recliner in the middle of the room and found a soft gray faux fur blanket to sit under, and that’s where I stayed for eight solid hours. I sat there and watched movie after movie, only getting up to go to the bathroom and to get more snacks.

And it was glorious.

I haven’t been able to be that unproductive since college. My mother would never allow me to be so lazy. It could have been the most inconsequential or trivial task, but she would have found something else for me to do other than quote, unquote, “sit on my ass and rot.” Today, there wasn’t a disapproving look in sight, and I got to rot in peace.

After having a dinner that consisted of a bag of microwave popcorn and half a banana, I found my way back up two flights of stairs and into the suite that smells of Emeric Banes. Face washed and teeth brushed, I fell into the black silk sheets wearing my favorite cream-colored nightie feeling lighter than I probably should. He forced you into marrying him. This isn’t a real relationship, the little voice of reason whispered to me as I shamelessly pulled Emeric’s pillow to my chest and spooned it.

I fell asleep like that, snuggled up in his king-sized bed and engrossed in his scent.

That was hours ago, or at least I think it was. For all I know, I could have only been asleep for forty minutes. The midnight black skyline I find outside the window when I crack my eyes open does little to help with that mystery. Either way, I know I haven’t slept near enough and something—or someone—has woken me up.

More specifically, a hot tongue running up the seam of my pussy has coaxed me awake.

I’m not sure when I released his pillow and moved onto my back, but it doesn’t matter because Emeric is now lying on his stomach with his head buried between my thighs. I’m not sure how long he’s been at this, but I’m going to guess it’s been a minute because I’m already alive and buzzing with a desperate need.

“Oh my God,” I choke out into the pitch-black room, fingers diving into the surprisingly soft strands of his equally dark hair.

The very idea that I was unconscious—and very much vulnerable—when he started this should anger me. Some, if not most, people would see this as a violation of some kind, but my body doesn’t agree with that sentiment. Actually, if I’m being completely honest, this might be my new favorite way to wake up. Every other alarm clock pales in comparison to the great Emeric Banes’s eating your pussy like it’s the first meal he’s had in days.

“Didn’t mean to wake you, princess,” he says, pressing an open-mouthed kiss at the crease of my thigh before he nips at the skin there. His tongue smooths away the slight sting of pain before he returns to where I need him most. “When I got home and found you asleep in my bed, I couldn’t resist. I needed to taste my wife’s cunt.”

If he keeps this up, his words are going to turn not only my panties but me into a pile of ash.

With me fully awake and alert, he wraps his arms around my thighs and places them over his bare shoulders. This new angle instantly turns my core molten. Back arching and fingers clawing at the sheets, I unashamedly grind myself against his mouth.

“That’s it,” Emeric encourages. “Ride my face.”

He licks and bites, his tongue alternating between fucking me and circling my clit. Within minutes he’s got my inner muscles fluttering as I quickly climb toward an orgasm. The idyllic release is just within grasp when he suddenly pulls away and leaves me in that horrible needy place of limbo.

“No, please,” I whine. If I wasn’t so far gone, I might be embarrassed by how desperate I sound.

“Shh,” he soothes, climbing up the bed to lie on his side next to me. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

His arms slip under me and gather me up so I’m situated on my side with my back in front of his much larger body. I’m not sure how many people in this city can say they feel secure in Emeric’s embrace, but I have a sneaking suspicion I might be alone in that. Hands that are covered in more blood than I can possibly know roam over my body, pushing up the cream fabric of my nightdress to expose more of my skin. He runs one over the globe of my ass, pausing for a moment to squeeze the flesh there before he brings his palm down in a quick but punishing slap.

Where a shriek or gasp would be appropriate sounds to make after something like that, a throaty moan rattles in my chest instead. Which only encourages him to do it again. Harder.

“You had everyone fooled that you were an innocent mob princess, didn’t you? Played the role like an award-winning actress,” he murmurs darkly in my ear. “But you didn’t fool me. I saw you.”

Exposed. That’s how hearing this makes me feel. Like I’ve been cut up and bared open for his viewing pleasure. When I fidget and shift anxiously, movements made beyond my control, he pulls my back tighter to his chest and his mouth skims across my cheekbone. With those simple little touches, my wariness melts away.

With one arm under my head and the other hooked under my knee, lifting my leg, Emeric positions the thick head of his dick at my painfully empty-feeling center. The previous times we’ve slept together, he’s sliced into me with one unforgiving movement. This time he pushes inside in an agonizingly slow thrust, stretching my already sore muscles and stealing my ability to breathe and think in the process. Both are delicious and have me turning into a puddle of ecstasy, but something about the way he enters me now has every nerve in my body igniting.

He feeds me the last inch of his dick and thrusts deep, making me hiss out a breath of pain as my tender muscles yelp in protest. Emeric did a number on my body last night when I was tied to this bed. Instinctually, my hand flies down to where we’re connected. To do what? I’m not sure. It’s not as if I have any plans of pushing him away.

When my fingertips brush through my slickness and then the base of his shaft, he growls in my ear. “Keep your hand there,” he orders, pulling out of me just as languidly as he entered until only the tip of his cock remains inside. “Play with your pussy and feel me as I fuck you back to sleep.”

And then, like a flip being switched, the unhurried pace turns into the frenzy I know and love. And crave. It’s terrifying how much my body needs him.

I don’t know what he’s doing to me, but just as surely as I know I like it, I also know this can’t end well. He says this marriage is forever, which means this can only end one of two ways. He inevitably grows bored of me, and I’m stuck living the sad lonely housewife lifestyle I dread, or I fall in love with him. And I don’t know which of those possibilities is more concerning. Is Emeric Banes the type of man you can love?

He pounds into me, the position we’re in allowing me to feel every inch of him, and with every thrust, he hits that delicious place inside of me that I used to think was a myth. Whenever I tried to make myself come during those quiet and lonely nights, I could never achieve the right angles with my fingers to find it. Emeric doesn’t have that problem. With each punishing movement, he brushes against it and forces a breathy gasp out of my lungs.

I follow his orders. While he fucks me, my fingers alternate between circling my swollen clit and stroking his dick. The orgasm that he’d let slip away when he stole his delectable mouth away begins to regrow as the pleasure swells. And swells

And then shatters.

I explode around him, throwing my head back into the crook of Emeric’s shoulder as I do.

Forcing my face toward his, his warm mouth covers mine, swallowing my cry. Unlike our wedding, I don’t try to bite him. Instead, I sink into the feel of his lips and the demanding caress of his tongue against mine.

When he follows me over the edge, his cock jerking and his hot cum spilling into my still spasming pussy, he keeps his mouth firmly on mine. His groan tastes delicious against my lips and I greedily eat it up.

Emeric continues to make shallow thrusts as we ride out the last lingering waves of our orgasms. Forehead now pressed to mine, he keeps up the slight rocking motion until our labored breathing has turned into soft panting against each other’s lips. In the dark, I can’t see his stormy gray gaze, but I don’t have to, to know that he’s looking just as intently at me as I am him.

With a pleased sigh, he presses one last kiss to my sweaty temple before he settles his head on the pillow beside mine. He wraps the arm that had been holding my leg hostage around my abdomen and holds me tight, but makes no move to pull his still half-hard cock from me.

“Go back to sleep, sweet wife,” he commands in my ear.

Brow furrowing in confusion, I wiggle my hips to silently encourage him to vacate the premises. “Are you forgetting something?”

“No.”

“Emeric.” I shift again, this time harder. This has his hand clamping down on my hip bone, halting all further movement. “What are you⁠—”

“I’m trying to sleep. I recommend you do the same,” he says, like that answers the question of why he’s still inside of me. His hold turns almost painful when I try again to shake him off. “Enough. Stop squirming.”

“I’m not sleeping with your dick still in me.”

“Yes, you fucking are.” His teeth scrape against my earlobe. “I already told you. I own this pussy now. Just as you are, it’s now my property and I will use it as I see fit. If I want it to warm my cock while I sleep, then that’s what I’ll do. Now, close those pretty green eyes and go to sleep, Rionach.”

My lips part, a rebuttal primed and ready on the tip of my tongue, but he cuts me off before I can utter a single syllable.

“Fight me on this,” he growls. “I fucking dare you.”

After the events of yesterday and my sleep tonight being interrupted, I’m exhausted. And while I won’t admit this to him, there’s something oddly soothing about having him buried in me, even if it’s not being used to currently fuck my brains out. One by one, I force my muscles to relax, and I sink into him and the mattress.

“Good girl.”