Dark Castle by Shanna Handel

21

Willow

“The utility closet?Why are we going in here?” I look around the dark room.

He puts a gallon of paint between the door and the threshold, propping it open a bit. He picks up a wooden high-backed barstool, moving it to the center of the closet, setting it down with a decisive thud.

In that panther-like way of his, he slides onto the stool, spreading his thighs wide. He pats his leg.

“Um…what do you have in mind? Why are we here in this closet?” I peek out the door, making sure no one’s looking for us. “What do you want to show me?”

“Actually, I want you to show me something. Lay yourself over my lap.” He strokes his thigh in invitation. “I want to play with my pretty wife.”

“Here?” I hiss between my teeth, peeking down the hall at the bustling ballroom. Drinks are being passed out on trays. The band is playing an upbeat tune and dancing is well underway.

“Yep.” He drags the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. “Here.”

My heart hammers against my chest. Anyone could walk in. Anyone could see. What do I do?

He lifts his hand, crooking his finger at me. “Now.”

Looks like I don’t have much choice. A tremble of a thrill rushes through my stomach; I’m wrapped up in a ball of fear just thinking about someone seeing me laid over my husband’s lap in my wedding dress, his curious hands doing God knows what—

“Wife. Honor and obey.” He pats his thigh again.

I hurry over to him. “Um…okay?” Heat rises in my face as I lean against the outside of his strong thigh.

He runs a hand down my bare back, his palm flattening at the dip where the back of my low-cut dress meets my waist. He guides me down until I’m bent over his lap, the tips of my toes pressing into the floor, and the backs of my heels pop off my feet.

He strokes my back, my ass, his hand gliding over the silky material of my dress. “Wouldn’t want to get this wrinkled, now would we?”

He’s carefully lifting my dress up over my thighs, folding it over my back. The cool night air rushes over my skin, chill bumps rising. My heart beats harder, my neck craning to be sure the coast is clear, that no curious eyes are making their way toward me.

Can anyone see me? The crowd is far enough away. But I can see them. I watch my guests, shame and excitement dancing through me as his fingertips trail over the backs of my bare thighs.

“God, you’re so beautiful. My beautiful wife.” His fingers crawl up my inner thigh, traveling over the cleft of my ass. He crooks a finger in the lacy elastic of my thong.

“These are lovely panties.” He hooks the material, tugging the thong from the crack of my ass, pulling my panties down. He slips them down my legs. “Kick those pretty feet for me?”

I slip my feet from my shoes, kicking my panties off.

He takes them, sneaking them into the jacket of his tux. “I think I’ll keep them.”

I hold back a moan of shame. I’ll be spending the rest of my wedding night panty-less, thinking of the man that stole them and the fact that he’s carrying them in his jacket pocket.

My bare ass requires his immediate attention. His hand is hot against my cool skin as he caresses my curves. “Honor and obey. Let’s see how well you can obey. Spread your legs for me. I want to see all of my wife.”

His words make me burn. I know if I part my thighs, I’ll be fully exposed under the bright lights of this utility closet. He’ll be able to see everything and if someone were to walk in—his hand comes down in a hard spank, interrupting my thoughts. “Ow!”

“Hubby’s getting impatient. Can my wife not obey? Does she need to be taught a lesson?” His hand comes down in a volley of loud spanks.

I know no one can hear them over the loud drums of the band, at least I think they can’t hear, but…oh my God what if they can? “What if someone hears?” But my protests dissolve in my throat in a strangled moan as his fingers slip between my thighs, stroking my sex. Oh my gaaaawwwwd.

“Does my naughty wife like when I play with her?” He finds my clit, circling it with his slick fingers.

“Yes, God yes.” I moan, my hips grinding against his thigh. Pleasure shoots through my body. He’s going to make me come. Only a few more strokes and I’m going to be bucking across his lap, climaxing. “Please.”

“I like how pretty my wife begs.” He thrusts two fingers inside me, hard and fast. I buck against him, my mouth falling open. “Let me hear you beg some more.”

“Please, please make me come.” He’s fucking me with his fingers, making me pant, making my core wind tight with tension. So tight I think I’ll snap or break or…a cry rises in the back of my throat.

He pauses, his fingers freezing in place. Ahh…I need more friction, I need his fingers moving again. “Shh…quiet now. You wouldn’t want someone to come check on us, would you?”

His words make me tense with fear, but then he picks up where he left off, circling and massaging me. He leaves my clit, thrusting inside me, cupping my ass tight in his palm. My eyes close and I try to hold in a silent scream, my nipples tightening, my muscles tensing, my sex locking down on his thick fingers.

My body curls around him, my fingers digging into his calf muscle as a tremor like an earthquake tears through my body. All the tension he built up meets in my center, then dances away, trickling through my limbs and leaving my body. I lay over his lap, spent.

“I want more. I want to take my wife. Right here. Right now.”

“Oh, Santo, we can’t. Not here…”

He slips out from under me, keeping me bent over the barstool. “Where’s my bad girl? I know she’s there under that good girl façade, just like you’re buck naked under that innocent white dress of yours.”

I feel the front of his thighs against mine, the fabric of his pants swishing against my bare skin. He’s slipping down his pants. I glance up, watching the crowd as they drink and dance.

My ring catches the light, and it sparkles like a beautiful work of art. Will I ever get used to such a gorgeous piece belonging to me? Will I ever get used to belonging to him?

The head of his cock slips between my thighs, finding my entrance, telling me that I’m his, that I’ve always been his. His hipbones dig into my ass as he thrusts his cock in me hard and rough. My head goes back and I let out a yelp, he’s so big and he’s filled me up all at once. His fingers dig into my skin as he pulls my hips toward him, slamming me into him harder.

And they dance on.

I grab the legs of the chair, holding on tight. My teeth sink into my bottom lip, holding back my screams. I throw a hand behind me, grabbing his arm, holding on to him.

My belly digs into the hard seat of the barstool. My hips thump against its edge. Will I have bruises tomorrow?

Do I care?

I am the bad girl. I’m his bad girl. And I love the way he’s fucking me. And I have the nerve to tell him so. “Yes, baby. Fuck me.”

“I love it when you talk dirty.” His hand slides up my back, cupping and gripping the back of my neck. He holds me in his hand, fucking me harder. He’s deep inside me, his cock rubbing and hitting that magical spot on the front wall of my sex. He growls. “Talk dirty some more.”

What do I say? This is all so new to me…then I realize the key is to just let go. Don’t overthink it and just do and say what I want, what makes me feel like the sexy goddess that I am. “Fuck me harder, baby. I like it when you smack my ass. Spank me, baby.”

“Oh, you know I like that.” He brings his hand down, slapping my ass. He slaps my ass in rhythm with his fucking. His cock thrusts into me, stretching and filling me, his hand coming down, smacking and stinging my ass.

Over and over.

That delicious but oh-so-infuriating frustration builds in me. I’m getting closer and closer to where I need to be, but I’m not there. I moan in agony laced with pleasure as it keeps building up.

He squeezes my neck and leans over my back, pressing against me as he thrusts deeper. “Who’s my bad girl? Say it.”

He makes me even wetter between my thighs, makes my sex clamp down hard on his cock. “I’m your bad girl. I am. Fuck me. Fuck your bad girl. Please.”

And he does. Three more wicked thrusts and his hand on the back of my neck and I’m finally there. I come, white stars bursting in my vision, a strangled scream hiding in my throat.

He holds onto me like he’s holding onto life itself. His fingers are on my hips, holding me tight to him as he comes too. He fills me with his come. Marking me as his wife.

And I just lie there.

Barely breathing.

He gives a dark chuckle, enjoying the sight of me so helpless over the chair. He gives my ass a slap. “Let’s get you cleaned up and back to your wedding, shall we.”

“Sure. Whatever.” I try to catch my breath, not even caring in this moment if we go back or not. I’m still trying to recover from my husband’s magical fingers and cock. I lie there as he gets himself resituated.

He tugs the handkerchief from his tux jacket, gently wiping our arousal from between my thighs. He folds it up, slipping it into the inside pocket with my panties. He folds my dress back down, smoothing it, then helps me up.

He stands holding me in his arms, and he kisses me. When he pulls away, he tames my curls back into place. He glances down at my bare feet. “Let me give you a hand.”

He goes down on one knee, taking my heel in his hand. I hold onto his shoulders for balance as he slips the first shoe onto my foot, then the second. He glances up at me, smiling. “Perfect fit, Cinderella.”

He rises, taking me in his arms again. “Only you’re no longer Cinderella. You’re my wife.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “And my wife only needs to work when she wants to. You want a pretty dress? Let me buy it for you. You want to take a week and go on a sexy vacation? Let me take you.”

My face flushes and I look away. “I can’t let you do that. I don’t need much…”

He captures my chin in his hand, forcing my gaze to meet his. “You won’t stop me from spoiling you. There’s a brand-new silver Ferrari waiting for you out front for whenever you’re ready to go on your next joyride. Fully supervised by me, of course. But you can drive.”

“Santo. You shouldn’t have…” He shouldn’t spend money like that on me…I don’t even need a car, do I? But I remember the feel of the power beneath me as I drove his car around the seaside curves of the road, and I thank him instead. “But thank you.”

“Like I said. You can’t stop me.” He takes my hand, leading me back to the reception. “Now for your next surprise.”

There can’t be more. There shouldn’t be more, should there? For little old me? I’m no one special. But there is more. So much more.

He leads me out into the night, the fresh, cool air caressing my face, warm from the excitement of the evening. We stand in the meadow, him holding my hand in his. I look around.

No one’s here. We’re alone. What’s the surprise?

“Wait for it.” He squeezes my hand.

I stare at his handsome face, the silver moonlight accentuating his high cheekbones, his dark glittering eyes. I stare at him in awe, unable to believe that a girl like me could get a guy like him.

I hear the guests coming out to join us, filling the meadow behind us.

And then I see it. The surprise.

Hundreds of lanterns rise from the ground, floating through the sky, their paper centers giving off an orange glow like little hot air balloons of sunsets hovering above our heads. “Oh, they’re beautiful. What are they?”

He watches them as they rise. “They’re called sky lanterns. They’re made from oiled rice paper on a bamboo frame. The candle below heats up the shell which heats up the air inside making it float up.”

“Like a hot air balloon.”

“Exactly.” We watch in awe at the hundreds of lights dotting the night sky. Our guests ooh and aah over the elaborate show. The quartet has moved outside, and their gentle music fills the air as the lanterns float.

It’s so beautiful I have to wipe away a tear.

“It’s for you, you know.” He stares down at me, and the look of love on his face steals my heart for a moment. “Now that you’re my wife, everything I do, it’s all for you.”

“Same goes for you. Family first.” I tug his hand, wanting him to kiss me.

“Come here.” He wraps me in his arms. We stand there a moment enjoying the sight of the lanterns floating up and glowing against the dark sky. “I have something to tell you. And I don’t want to ruin your night. But I know you, and I know you’d want to know.”

“What is it?”

He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “There’s another guest at the castle. One who wasn’t invited to the wedding.”

Strange. “Who is it? Why weren’t they invited?”

He gives a shrug and a smile. “Because they tried to kill me.”

Kill him?

Who’s tried to kill—

It’s my mom.

Prue is…here?