Chapter 23: Under His Rule: Chapter 22

I shake my head, feeling sick to my stomach as Noah pulls me closer toward the bed. The patriarchs and the president sit there on their chairs, looking as though they’re bored out of their minds and waiting for things to be over, while the sweat is literally running down my back. I can’t help but feel watched as Noah sits me down on the bed while towering above me.

He doesn’t look frightened or enraged—quite the opposite, in fact—and I’ve never seen him this calm before. Why? Does he like sharing me?

“Are you ready?” he asks.

I shake my head, my lips quivering.

I don’t understand why this is necessary. No one explained this to me in the lessons I got from that elder’s wife. No one told me this is what would happen to a patriarch’s chosen woman.

I would’ve never agreed if I knew.

Noah bends over and whispers into my ear. “It has to happen.”

“Why? Why should I agree?” I hiss back.

He tips up my chin and looks me in the eyes. “If you want to survive … submit.”

I swallow away the lump in my throat. He’s never said it like that before … like my life is on the line. But when I glance past him and see the president glaring at us, I know he’s speaking the truth. That man would probably kill us both if I don’t comply.

“It’s for your own good,” Noah adds.

“Why do they have to watch?” I ask.

“They’re witnesses to our union,” he explains, and he places both hands on my shoulders. “Now lie down.”

“Give me a reason,” I whisper. “I want something …”

Our eyes connect, and for a moment, there’s no one here but us in my mind. His fiery eyes and steady grip could force me to yield, but he doesn’t push through, almost as though he realizes this has to be my choice too.

He lowers his head and a brief smile appears on his face. “Your mother …”

Two words … that’s all it takes for me to give in.

My mother.

He knows something about her, which means she might be here.

Just the thought of getting more information about her, anything, even if it is just a whisper or an afterthought, is enough to persuade me to let him do to me what he wants. To let him fuck me in front of all these men … just so I can know my own past.

My body in exchange for my history. How poignant.

Noah places his hand on my chest and pushes again, and I let myself fall onto the bed without any resistance. I’ve done this before, and I can do it again. Even though I didn’t know Patrick was watching the last time, if I simply force myself to ignore these men, it’ll work.

It has to work.

Finding my mother is worth it. Any sliver of information could help me find her. Find my past, find myself. I have to know.

So I close my eyes and let it all slide by as Noah’s fingers wrap around my panties and pull them down. His hands slide up my legs, pushing up the dress until my pussy is exposed, and he climbs on top of me. My eyes briefly open to catch the unbuckling of his belt and the rip of his zipper, followed by a quick pull out of his cock before he comes down right on top of me.

Someone rings a bell.

“The Patriarchal Ceremony will now begin,” the president’s voice booms.

Noah takes a deep breath and slides inside me with ease, and I bite my lip when he gets even harder inside me. I try not to let him notice, but it’s too late, as his eyes fixate on me and he caresses my cheek.

“It’ll be over quickly … I promise,” he whispers.

As though it’s just work. In and out. Job well done.

But it’s not, and I know it’s not, and even though I told myself I would close my eyes until it was finished so I didn’t have to see those men, I can’t stop myself from staring straight into Noah’s eyes. I want him to see. I want him to know that I’m only letting him do this because of our exchange. Because it’s my choice to do so.

And I can tell from the way he looks at me that it’s not at all sexy to him either. He looks as though he’s irritated, like he’s about to pull out and storm off. But he doesn’t. He keeps thrusting into me at a steady pace, never taking his eyes off me, as though he wants to drown himself in me.

As though he’s forcing himself to witness my rage.

I won’t stop him. If he wants to chastise himself, he deserves every ounce. I’ve already lost all my dignity, might as well enjoy it for what it is.

My eyes drift away from his in a moment of clarity, but they meet Patrick’s eyes instead, and I’m struck by how bothered he looks. He’s literally slouched in his chair, arms crossed, eyes like thin slits, lips smashed together, as though he’s barely making it through watching Noah and me … fuck.

It’s despicable, and I want to close my eyes and cover myself with a blanket, but that’s not possible.

Suddenly, Noah’s hand wraps around my chin, and he says, “Don’t look at them. Look at me.”

I gulp as he fucks me even harder, almost emblazoned by my attempt to humanize the people watching me.

“I own you now,” he murmurs.

I grimace. “You only own my body.”

His eyes twitch, but his dick hardens inside me.

“Everything you are belongs to me,” he growls, and he starts pumping like a madman.

Is he angry? Hurt that I won’t give him my heart and soul? Good. I hope it stings with just a fraction of the anger I feel.

“Look at me, Natalie,” he murmurs, his finger still on my chin as he fucks me with rhythmic strokes. “Look at your husband. Your owner. Your lover.”

And before I can say anything, he’s smashed his lips onto mine. His kisses have never been greedier, more ravenous than they are right now, and I can barely resist. Even though I try not to give in, my mouth moves along instinctively. But my eyes follow his as he glances back and forth between me and Patrick, the intensity blazing in each of his looks.

This isn’t just for show … this is to stake a claim. To tell Patrick to back off or else …

But I wonder what else could happen. So I keep staring at Patrick until the jealousy seeps through his eyes so badly he has to look away.

The spell is broken, and in that instant, Noah leans up, pins me to the bed with two hands on my throat, and thrusts into me fully. A groan escapes his mouth and a warm, wet liquid squirts into me … and I can’t … fucking … breathe.

He pants heavily, still upright and on top of me. His fingers slowly peel away from my neck, and a tear escapes my eyes as I gasp for air. The whole room is silent as I struggle to regain my breath.

“The deed is done,” the president’s voice booms again. “Noah with Natalie … husband and wife until death.”

All the patriarchs stand and one of them rings that bell again. Then they all leave through the same door we came through and close it behind them.

As if they’re expecting the newlyweds to want some more time to themselves for another fuck.

Noah gets off the bed and tucks everything back in, then zips himself up again as though nothing ever happened. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t even acknowledge my existence except for a few words.

“Be ready tomorrow. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

I make a face as I crawl off the bed, but the minute I do, he turns around and walks toward the door.

“What … that’s it?” I ask, patting down my dress to regain a tiny bit of decency.

He sighs again, his head between his shoulders, almost as if something’s weighing him down. “That’s it.”

He opens the door, but then pauses again. “I … wish I didn’t have to be this way.”

Then he walks off and shuts the door.

Regrets. That’s what he leaves with?

After fucking me until he came in front of everyone, willingly … he’s the one with regrets?

My face scrunches up, and rage bubbles up to the surface and bursts out in a violent scream. I grab the pillow and punch it a few times before chucking it across the room.

“FUCK!” I yell as loud as I can.

I don’t care if they hear it. They won’t punish me for it. Not when I’ve just been “married” to a patriarch who wants to keep my body intact so I can birth for him. It’s fucked up, and they all know it. They just don’t care.

How long has this been going on? How many women have been subjected to these men? How many came before me, before them? Why won’t the government do something about communities like these? Have the police never shown up on their doorstep and demanded a look inside? Maybe they’ve kept them at bay with force. Or do they have some sort of arrangement with them? A loophole in the law that allows them to do whatever they want as long as it’s on this land?

No one will tell me anything. The only way to find out is to go search for information myself.

I get up from the bed and look around the empty room. It still smells of sex and old men stench, and it makes me want to retch, so I immediately get up and waltz out the room, slamming the door shut behind me. I don’t ever want to come back here again to this room they use for blessing marriages … and impregnating women.

My feet stop at the top of the stairs, and my hand immediately covers my belly right on top of my scar. With closed eyes, I suck in a ragged breath and blow it out right away to calm myself down. It was just one time. Two times, if I count the one in the Jacuzzi. The chance is small. It won’t happen, not to me. I promised myself that.

With my head held high, I march downstairs and banish the memory of being on that bed with all those eyes on me to the back of my head, so I’ll never have to think about it again.