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I found my night clothes and sighed when I looked at my sleep shorts and ratty tank. These werenotwedding night clothes. I rummaged through my side of the large closet. I found a satin slip that Thierry had given me for a birthday, along with a dildo, suggesting that I get laid one way or the other.
The lacy slip was cream-colored and would barely cover my ass. It was going to take all my courage and then some to wear it in front of Duncan especially since I didn't know if my new husband was even going to show up.
I went into the bathroom and leaned my forehead against the closed door.What was I doing?I wished Mamman was with me. I wondered what she'd have saidaftershe threatened to cut Papa's dick off. Would she have wanted me to marry Duncan Archer? I think so. I'd checked him out once I got pregnant. I'd heard of Archer Art & Antiquities, just like I'd heard of Sotheby's. It was a relief that he ran a legitimate business and wasn't a criminal like Papa.
I took my time taking a shower, not eager to see him lying in bed naked, waiting for me—or finding out he'd left the apartment and gone to his bachelor pad in the Ritz. Most new brides probably didn't worry about things like this. Oh no, they probably had married the love of their lives, someone they'd had sex with numerous times and not just on one occasion.
I looked at myself naked in the mirror. I stroked my belly. It was small and round; after all, I was only twelve weeks pregnant. I marveled at the fact that there was a baby in here—hisbaby.
Merdé! How had my life become an American soap opera?
I came out of the bathroom, feeling like a fool in my cream-colored fuck-me satin slip. What if he was sleeping? Wow! And what would that say about my lure? Nothing good.
I stepped into Duncan's bedroom and speech left me.
The sight that greeted me was nothing short of magical and so unlike anything I'd expected from Duncan. Soft candlelight flickered gently, casting a warm, golden glow around the room. The air was filled with the delicate scent of roses. I noticed the bed was covered in a generous scattering of rose petals, their deep red hue standing out vividly against the crisp, white linens.
Where the hell did he get roses this time of night?
My lips curved when I remembered the long-stemmed rose bouquet in the foyer of the apartment. My husband had gotten creative.
I chuckled when I saw that on the bedside table was a bottle of sparkling water chilling in an elegant ice bucket, a thoughtful touch given my pregnancy.
It was as if the room had been transformed into a scene from a romantic movie.
I glanced over at Duncan, who was leaning against a wall on the other side of the room, watching me, gauging my reaction.
"Was it a good shower?" he asked softly, his voice sexy as hell, reminding me of the first time we made love when he asked me if I was sure about giving him my virginity to start my career as an escort. Had that happened just a few months ago? It seemed like forever and yesterday all at the same time.
"Yes," I whispered, feeling grateful for his thoughtfulness and attention to detail because he'd seen me flustered about this being our wedding night. I knew he hadn't been keen on getting married, and yet he was being kind and sweet. It seemed out of character for the man I thought I had come to know, the man who had been distant and detached, not even speaking to me during our wedding.
I obviously needed to get to know my husband better.
I felt a lump in my throat and blinked back tears, touched by his gesture.
"Duncan, this is... it's beautiful," I managed to say, my voice trembling slightly. "Thank you."
He seemed to relax a little at my words, and until then hadn't realized that he had been as tense as me. This man I had married seemed to have a tight rein on his emotions, and yet he'd let his temper ride at dinner when he demanded to fuck me.
"It's our wedding night,ma douce. I wanted to make you feel…welcome." He smiled broadly now. "So, you'll let me fuck you now?"
I giggled, grateful he was making a joke, lightening the mood because sensation was swamping me. I tried to dampen the hope flickering inside me because it was dangerous to do so with a man I didn't know. I desperately wanted to believe that this meant that we could make this unexpected marriage work.
He walked over to me, closing the distance between us, and put his hands on my cheeks. He leaned down and brushed his lips over mine. Soft, gentle, just like when the officiant said he could kiss his bride, but unlike that time,nowhe licked gently with his tongue, coaxing me to open my mouth and let him in.
He slid his tongue inside my mouth and tasted me languidly like this wastrulya wedding night. Oh, technically, itwas, butwe were not an ordinary couple. We'd gotten married because I was pregnant, and Papa was a psychopath who wanted to kill my child's father.
"You're so fucking sweet, Elsa," he murmured, his mouth tracing my jawline, nipping, kissing as his hands moved to tangle in my hair so he could hold my head in the way he wanted in order to give himself the access he desired.
This was all-consuming, as I had suspected it would be.Thatfirst night was like this, even though it was all new to me. He'd made it amazing, making me come with his hands, his mouth, his cock. He'd been patient and gentle. He'd been kind and sweet. He'd taken care of me.
Had I fallen in love with him that night, or just now, when I saw he'd taken Madame Lefèvre's roses and scattered them on his bedspread?
I had to admit as I let him back into my mouth, into me, that it happened that first night, and that was the reason why I'd let my father blackmail me into marrying Duncan Archer.
"Mon chéri," I whispered on a moan when one of his hands cupped a breast and squeezed.
"You want me?" There was heat in his voice and a certain hardness that made me open my eyes to focus on him.
