The Unwanted Marriage: Chapter 41

My body is taut with lingering tension from the flight as I quietly slip into the concert hall, the sounds of Faye’s performance the only thing disturbing the silence. The crowd is enraptured, and so am I.

I lean back against the wall, my heart racing as I stare at her, the spotlight illuminating her graceful form. She’s in a beautiful long gown tonight, and fuck, it’s insane that she’s my wife.

Just catching a glimpse of her is worth the lack of sleep and that truly dreadful turbulent flight. Thoughts of her carried me through, all the way into this venue.

She begins to play Debussy’s Rêverie, L. 68, and it truly sounds magical. There’s something about the way she plays that’s just unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. The only person who ever made me feel this in tune with music was my mother.

I smile to myself then, the memory of her bringing joy instead of pain for the first time in years. What would Mom say if she knew I flew back in a rush just to catch the tail end of my wife’s performance? She’d be proud, I’m sure. Dad would be too. He firmly believed that a man should put his wife and family first, above business, above profit, above anything and everything else.

My gaze wanders over the crowd with a hint of pride, only to settle on a familiar face. My blood runs cold at the sight of Eric. What the fuck is he doing here? Did she ask him to come here, knowing I’d be away? I bought this concert hall straight after that dinner at her house and expressly barred her father from so much as stepping foot into this place, hoping it’d prevent whatever it was that sent her spiraling when I went to Canada, but it looks like my darling wife took the opportunity to betray the vows she made.

I watch as she rises and bows to the audience, her gaze searching — for him, no doubt. She disappears behind the curtains, and I push off the wall, anger thrumming through my veins as I make my way backstage.

Faye looks up sharply when I walk into her dressing room, her face buried in the big bouquet of red roses that’s been placed on her vanity. The sight of it chills me to the bone, a white-hot kind of fury overtaking my senses.

“Dion!” she says, clearly shocked to find me here. While I pushed myself to get back to her as soon as I could, she’d been counting on my absence. I walk up to her and stare at her bouquet, my fingers trailing over the top of them, until I find a card hidden in between two flowers.

I hold it up wordlessly, and her eyes widen as she steps away from her vanity and toward me. “I thought… I thought you sent them,” she says, her tone cautious, worried. She’s making excuses. Faye places her hands against my chest and looks up at me, her gaze pleading. “It isn’t what you think, Dion. I promise you, I had no idea they weren’t from you. I didn’t even look for a card.”

I reach for her and gently grab her chin, my eyes on hers, searching, waiting for a hint of the proof I’m after. “I would never send you red roses,” I tell her, my tone harsh. I’ve hated them ever since I saw them cover my parents’ caskets.

“Dion,” she pleads, a hint of desperation in her gaze.

I shake my head and cut her off. “I warned you,” I murmur, my hand slipping into her hair. “The day after we got married, I told you exactly what I’d do to you if I ever found you so much as dreaming of him, yet here you are, smiling into a bouquet he gave you. Did you think I was joking? Have I been too kind to you?”

“The only one I dream of is you,” she professes. “Only you, Dion.” My beautiful wife is wearing that expression I love, the one that tells me she’d do anything to please me, to take away my anger.

“Get on your fucking knees,” I whisper.

She looks into my eyes, her own gaze searching, though I’m uncertain what for. Whatever she finds makes her sink down to the floor slowly with an unexpected kind of confidence, her gaze unwavering.

“Take out my cock, Faye.”

Her breathing rapidly accelerates as she undoes my suit button in the middle of her dressing room, her tongue darting out to lick her lips as she frees my cock. She looks up at me for a moment, a hint of a smile dancing on her lips. Does she think this is funny? “You warned me that you’d fuck my face if I so much of dreamt of him, didn’t you?” she asks, before slowly licking my cock from the tip to the base, her eyes never leaving mine. Fuck. “Is that what you want, Dion?”

I bury my hands in her hair and grip tightly as she takes the tip into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it and hitting every sensitive spot she can find. Goddamn. Who the fuck is getting punished here, because it sure as fuck doesn’t seem to be her.

“Suck,” I order, pushing deeper into her. She takes me eagerly and obeys, her mouth tightening around me. “Good fucking girl,” I moan as she begins to move her head properly. The way she’s looking up at me, pure desire dancing in her deep blues… fucking unreal. Faye moans on my cock and takes me deeper, angling her head just right for me to slip in all the way to the back of her throat. “Look at the way you’re taking your husband’s cock like the good girl you are,” I murmur, my anger draining away more with each swipe of her tongue. “You fucking love this, don’t you?”

She hums in affirmation and begins to suck me off in earnest, her movements eager, lust rapidly overtaking her expression. The sight of my wife on her knees and her mouth wrapped around my cock fucking undoes me.

I hold her hair and begin to thrust into her mouth, my movements increasingly erratic as she makes me lose control. She’s far too fucking good at this, and she doesn’t in the slightest look like she’s being punished. Fuck, she looks like she knows exactly who is in control here, and we’re both acutely aware it isn’t me. “You’re so good at letting me fuck your face,” I groan as I slip deeper into her throat, holding still for a moment to make sure she’s fine. She swallows around me in response, and I nearly fucking come right there and then. The amused look in her eyes tells me she knows it, and then she does it again.

“You fucking tease,” I groan, tightening my hold on her hair. I grit my teeth and begin to fuck her throat properly, keeping her head still as I use her mouth as I please, and she lets me. “You keep swallowing like that and I’ll come down your throat, Faye. You’re playing with fire.”

She does it again, and the combination of her eager tongue and her tight throat would’ve sent me over the edge if her dressing room door hadn’t opened right at that moment.

She freezes but doesn’t pull away when I let go of her hair, shock cutting through the haze of lust. I thought he’d come, but I was hoping he wouldn’t. I was hoping I was wrong. “Don’t stop,” I beg my wife, desperate. It isn’t sexual satisfaction I’m after — it’s something deeper and far darker, and she reads my needs with ease.

Faye sucks down on my cock harder, a knowing look in her eyes. It feels like the biggest fucking victory to know she’s placing me above everything else, including her own pride. She must suspect who just entered her dressing room, yet she continues to give me what I asked her for. If I hadn’t already fallen for her, I would have now.

“My wife is too occupied to speak to you, Eric,” I murmur, my gaze lifting to his stricken face. Eric looks fucking devastated, and I smile, knowing he’ll never be able to forget the image I’m presenting him with.

Faye falters for a moment at the sound of his name, but then she takes me in deeper and swallows hard, repeatedly. Fucking hell. Does she want me to come with her ex watching us? There’s no mistaking her eagerness, and I grin when Eric just stares at the back of her head in disbelief, most of her face hidden from where he’s standing.

I glance back down at my wife, a wave of emotion crashing through me. I didn’t need to say a word for her to recognize and tame my demons, because she and I are one and the same.

“You’re so perfect,” I tell her, unable to help myself as I pull back a little, only to slide deeper into her throat. “I’m so fucking crazy about you, Faye. The way you take my cock without a care for who might be watching, and the way you put me first. I…” I fucking love you. I love you.

I look up at Eric, overcome with emotions I don’t want him to witness. “Get the fuck out,” I snap. I wanted him to know that she’s mine, and I wanted to sever any lingering bonds between them, but I’ve done that now. “My wife deserves one hell of a reward for her performance, and I don’t want you here to witness it. I don’t give a fuck if you want to see my cock, Eric, but you aren’t seeing a single inch of my wife’s skin.”

He stumbles back, looking entirely disillusioned and so fucking heartbroken that I’d feel sorry for him if it wasn’t my wife he coveted. The door falls closed, and I pull out of Faye’s mouth, my cock hard and throbbing.

“No,” she pleads, her voice tainted with desire. “I want you to come for me, Dion. Please. I need you to give it to me.”

Her mouth latches onto me, and she easily takes it, until she’s got the entire head of my cock in her throat. “Baby, I can’t,” I tell her. “I can’t take it, Faye. I’m too close.”

She looks up at me as though she’s as desperate and needy as I am, as though she truly needs me to come for her. “Fuck,” I groan, my hands finding their way into her hair again. “I’m so fucking obsessed with you,” I murmur as I begin to rock my hips. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” She moans, pleased with my praise, and I smile down at her. “My perfect, perfect wife.” She swallows then, and that’s all it takes for me to come down her throat. She takes every last drop, intense fucking pleasure flickering through her eyes as I pull out of her, unsteady on my feet.

“I’m going to bring those goddamn roses home,” I tell her, my voice trembling, “tear them up and spread the petals on our bed, and then I’m going to fuck you until you’re screaming for mercy.”