Undressed By His Arrogance

Her throat tightened again. "You’re really not scared at all, are you?"

"Not one bit."

"Okay, I don’t like this wise version of you. Go back to being an asshole," Ivy said, folding her arms across her chest. Winn had always worn his sharp edges. This version of him unnerved her.

Winn chuckled. "That’s the thanks I get for being emotionally mature," he said, already turning away. "Have your tea. I’m going to take a shower. Oh—and we are leaving by ten a.m. tomorrow."

Ivy nodded. She picked up her teacup. She let her gaze wander, taking in the immaculate kitchen, the marble counters, the subtle opulence. She made a mental note to introduce herself properly to the house staff. She was the woman of this house now, whether she felt ready or not.

When she finished her tea, Ivy rose and headed for the stairs. With every step upward, her mind spiraled. She imagined what she would change. Softer lighting. Warmer colors. And first on the list, without question, was putting up their wedding photograph. Not hidden away but somewhere visible. Somewhere undeniable.

Let the walls know she belonged here. Let the ghosts choke on it.

She reached the bedroom—their bedroom—and paused before entering. This was the space she would share with him. The man who had broken her, claimed her, married her. She smiled. Husband. My husband.

Stupid, she scolded herself as she stepped inside. Stop acting like a little girl.

Ivy exhaled slowly, steadying herself. This was her life now. A marriage forged in fire and sealed with teeth. And God help her, she wanted every fucked-up second of it.

Winn was already in the shower. Steam filled the bathroom, curling against the mirrors. Ivy paused just long enough to take him in through the fogged pane—his head bowed, shoulders tense, hands braced against the wall. Suddenly feeling frisky, she undressed quickly, clothes discarded without care, and stepped into the heat with him.

She took the soap from his hand, her fingers brushing his, and began carefully soaping his body. This was real. This was allowed. Fucking hell, this was hers.

Winn reached up and reduced the flow of the water. He turned to face her fully, eyes dark, studying her. "Feel better?" he asked.

"I will be," she answered. She ran the soap all around his chest again. They just stood there, bodies close, skin slick, breathing the same damp air. No urgency. No hiding. Just the heavy, electric awareness of each other and the marriage binding them together whether they were ready for it or not.

Winn looked down at her, and the moment hit him so hard it nearly stole his breath. It felt completely unreal, like some elaborate dream his mind had constructed to torture him. His Ivy. Standing here with him, eyes bright, mouth soft, looking so fucking beautiful it hurt. Married to him.

No more hiding in shadows or sneaking through back doors. No more stolen hours followed by aching distance. No more heartbreak clawing at his chest when he woke alone. This was the life he’d wanted and never believed he deserved.

He lifted her chin gently, forcing her to look up at him, needing her eyes on his to make this real. The emotions staring back at him mirrored his own—desire tangled with fear, joy laced with uncertainty, love sharpened by the knowledge that neither of them was unbreakable. Slowly, he lowered his head and covered her lips with his.

His hand slid to her neck, holding her in place firmly enough to tell her he wasn’t letting go. He needed this. Needed to get his fill of her mouth, her breath, the truth of her.

Ivy exhaled softly into the kiss, her body responding. She placed the soap on the holder beside them, freeing up her hands, and let them return to him, exploring with familiarity and intent. Her palms slid down his body, tracing muscle and heat, caressing him slowly.

When her hands reached his cock, she touched him, sliding her fingers around him.

Winn gasped at the contact. He pulled away from her a few inches, needing to see—really see—her fingers wrapped around him. His eyes tracked every movement, every subtle flex of her hand. She wasn’t the shy virgin he’d first touched with such care, such restraint it had nearly broken him.

This woman standing before him was assured, unapologetic, fully aware of the effect she had on him and unafraid to use it. She knew what she wanted now. Knew what her body could do. And fuck, she went for it without hesitation.

When her fingers brushed his balls, he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. Driven by instinct and need, he turned her around. Her palms splayed against the wall tiles in front of her. His chest pressed to her back, heat meeting heat.

He held his cock in his hand, positioning himself carefully between her thighs. Then he pushed in with one smooth thrust, slow enough to feel every inch, every response, every whispered promise her body made to his.

Ivy gasped at his entrance, her head falling forward as sensation flooded her all at once. Her body opened to him instinctively, her hands pressed harder against the wall as she adjusted to the fullness of him inside her. His hands came forward, gripping her hips, holding her steady. Careful.

Even though she wasn’t showing yet, the knowledge of what her body carried sat heavy and sacred between them. It tempered his movements without dulling the hunger behind them.

"Every time..." Winn grunted, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as he began to move, control fraying with each roll of his hips. "Every time feels like the fucking first time." No matter how many times he buried himself inside her, no matter how well he knew her body, it never lost its power over him.

She undid him just as completely now as she ever had.

Ivy moaned as he pushed himself inside her over and over again. Her body clenched in response to the steady pistoning of his cock in and out of her, muscles tightening, welcoming, holding him. Sensation built with every movement, pleasure braided tightly with emotion until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

It was intense.

"Remember, I once promised you..." Winn said between thrusts. "I would fuck you in the ass on our wedding night." Ivy’s body shuddered at the reminder, heat pooling deep inside her as her walls clutched him tighter.

"Winn..." Ivy moaned. One of her hands found its way to his thigh, gripping him with a possessive strength. She wanted him, all of him, wanted to mark this moment in the echo of her cries. "Winn..." she gasped again, louder this time. He didn’t need to ask for her attention; her body and her voice were enough to make every nerve in his body catch fire.

"You want more of this? Uhn?" he growled, a hand sliding to her breast, pinching her nipple.

"Yes! God yes!" she cried.

Winn pushed harder inside her, holding her steady as her body arched into him, moans and gasps increasing in intensity until every nerve ending seemed to ignite. Heat and water and need fused into one, her walls clenching around him with every thrust, dragging him along a rhythm he’d never stop craving.

Her body betrayed her in the best way possible, shattering around him, muscles clenching, heart racing, breath leaving her lungs in sharp, uneven bursts.

When the storm inside her passed, he pulled out gently, letting the tension in her body linger. Turning her back around, he pressed himself close, fingers replacing his cock with meticulous, deliberate care. He felt the aftershocks of her orgasm ripple beneath his touch, the subtle tightening of her muscles and the tremors of desire that refused to leave her.

The water ran over them. His fingers remained inside her, a reminder that he wasn’t done—would not be done—not tonight. He wanted her needing him, wanting him with the raw, desperate hunger only obsession could create. Her body was his entirely, and he was going to take every piece of it, every shiver, every cry, every pulse of want.

He then shut off the water. Winn reached for her hand, fingers locking with hers. He led her out of the shower, and into the bedroom. He guided her toward the bed, his gaze lingering on her, drinking her in. He simply stood there, his dark eyes tracing the curve of her neck, the way her blonde curls fanned perfectly across his pillows, the swell of her breasts that seemed to have only grown fuller.

Damn it. He was a finished man.

He moved toward the dresser. He opened a drawer and pulled out the lube, before returning to her. She looked at him, body shimmering with wet heat, breath hitching as if anticipating exactly what he planned.

His hand found her breast, cupping the soft, warm weight before taking her nipple into his mouth. He sucked gently, worshipping the breasts that had drawn him in the first time he’d laid eyes on her, that had haunted his dreams. His lips and tongue memorized every curve, every twitch of sensation, and the low moans that slipped from her lips.