Captive Bride, page 11
I place my finger at her entrance and ease my way in, knowing this is the first thing that has ever been inside of her. Her hips lift and her breath hitches. She places her hands on my back but doesn’t stop me. I push my finger deeper inside and her breath turns to a moan.
“Does that feel good?” I ask.
She closes her eyes, bites her lower lip, and nods.
I pull out my finger only to push it back in— a little deeper this time.
“It feels so… it feels so full,” she says.
And that is going to be the problem. My dick is far from small, and if my finger is snug in her tight little hole, then this is going to hurt, and I don’t want that. Determined to try my best in getting her body accustomed to the stretch, I begin adding the tip of a second finger to open her hole just a little wider. Luckily her juices flow freely, and I have no friction or need for additional lubrication. Her body responds to my touch which has my own body lighting up with fire.
What had started as feeling like I had no choice but to fuck her, has turned into me not being able to picture anything but. I want her. I want Ember possibly more than I have ever wanted anyone before.
“I’m adding a second finger. I need to get you prepared for my size. If this hurts, tell me.”
When I add the second finger fully and begin pumping it in and out, Ember opens her eyes and looks at me. “I like it. Is that bad?”
I lean down and kiss her softly on the lips, fingers still inside of her. “That’s very good. I want you to like this. I want you to love this.”
“Can we do it now?” she asks softly. “I’m ready.”
I pull my fingers out and position myself on top of her, nudging her legs further apart with my knees. I make eye contact with her as I position my cock at her entrance. “Are you sure?”
She nods and holds on to my back as I slowly press inside. Once I get the tip in, I pause so she can adjust to the feeling.
“Take me,” she says as she pulls me closer to her with her hands and lifts her hips up to force me deeper inside.
With one fluid motion, I press on, feeling the pop of a barrier as she cries out. I pause and kiss her as passionately as I possibly can to distract her from any pain. She kisses me back with just as much desire, and I know I can continue on.
I pull out slowly and then push back in, not feeling the resistance like before. Over and over, I thrust, kissing her as I do. When I pull away just enough to look into her face, I see tears in the corners of her eyes.
“Are you doing okay?” I ask.
“I’ve never felt so… so close to anyone.” A tear falls from her eye as she lifts her head and presses it into my neck.
She holds me tight as we make love for the first time. And though I am taking great care in preventing any discomfort, I still worry. I want her to enjoy this. I want her to look back at this moment and feel nothing but love and tenderness.
“I feel alive,” she murmurs against my neck. “I feel free.”
In and out, I move, feeling my own level of connection that I struggle to process. This woman in my arms needs me. This woman wants me. This woman is truly giving herself to me. She isn’t holding back, or protecting her heart, or thinking of anything else but me. I can feel it. I can feel how wholeheartedly she is giving herself to me.
I feel it.
“Christopher,” she moans.
“It’s okay, Ember. Allow those feelings to rush in. Don’t be afraid.”
Her moans deepen and her breath speeds up. Her fingers dig into my back as her body spasms beneath me.
“Come for me,” I say as I push my cock deeper inside of her. “Release it all.”
Her inner walls milk my cock, and I know I don’t have long at all. As she releases a delicate mewl, her head falls back on the mattress, and her eyes are closed in completion.
Not being able to hold back any longer, I pull out of her quickly as a rush of come leaves my body and splatters on her belly. As my body spasms every last bit of completion, I look down on her face and see true bliss. She appears almost spiritual in the way her smile lights up her face.
Very slowly, her eyes open up and she stares up at me with the most perfect blue I have ever seen.
“Thank you,” she says. “Thank you.”
18
Ember
I am failing my husband.
I know I am, and I don’t know what to do about it. I try to cook the best meals I can, although Christopher has to stand by my side and watch as I do since the chain gives us no space. He offers to chop or stir, but I feel as if it’s my wifely duty to do it all.
I try to clean our schoolhouse floors and dust all the Nevada desert away, but again, Christopher is right there and feels he needs to help too, or is convincing me I’m being silly trying to clean a prison cell.
I try to make him happy. But he isn’t. And each day that passes, I see the dark circles under his eyes intensify and the hollow of his cheeks seem to sink deeper and deeper each hour of our time together.
The man is fading away.
Hallelujah Junction is killing him.
“It’s snowing outside,” I say as I look out the window. Christopher is simply staring off into space, and I’m desperate to snap him out of the funk he’s in.
“Great,” he mumbles.
“Papa Rich closed the town to tourists. Which means he may let us out of the schoolhouse soon. We can explore the outside.”
Papa Rich had left the two of us alone in the schoolhouse for the most part. He occasionally would enter the room, look around, and then leave as quickly as he came. He didn’t seem to taunt Christopher like he did before. If anything, he seemed to be giving us our space so we could get to know each other better.
Christopher leans against his arms on the mattress and stares out the window. “So, now we’re really trapped. No people coming. No chance of hope.”
Winter also means less visits by Scarecrow which gives me another reason to love this season, so I won’t let Christopher bring me down.
“I have something to show you,” I say, wondering why I haven’t thought of it sooner. It would have helped with Christopher’s sour disposition. How could it not?
I move to get off the bed, and Christopher groans as he joins me. I make my way to a storage closet and pull out an old record player that was left behind from a previous ranger before Papa took over the town. Next to the record player are my prized possessions. Records that fill my heart with love and joy, and in my darkest times can always make me smile.
“Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy,” I say as I set up the player and put a John Denver record on it.
Christopher watches what I’m doing with curiosity. It’s the first time today he shows any emotion at all, and though it’s not a smile, I’ll take it. I’m at least shaking the numbness out of him.
I put the needle on the record where I know my favorite song will start.
I begin humming along and then sing out, “If I had a day that I could give you, I’d give to you a day just like today.” I begin swaying back and forth with my eyes closed and just listen. Just feel.
And then I feel Christopher’s arms around me. He takes my hands in his and begins to slowly dance with me to the music. I had always dreamed of a day I would dance with a man in a grand ballroom somewhere, but this… this right here, dancing with Christopher, is far better than anything I could dream of.
He kisses the side of my head as he pulls me against his chest. Step by step we dance. His heart beats next to mine. His breath blends with mine. And for the first time since our wedding night, I feel close. I feel Christopher. I haven’t lost him to the shadows. Not yet.
“You said you would lend me your happiness,” he says against my hair. “I feel I need that right now. I feel myself slipping into a deep, dark hole.”
“I’d give you anything,” I say, my heart breaking for how sad he is.
“I’m not like you,” he says. “I can’t shake off the cold chill in my bones like you. I can’t see the silver lining. I just see four walls closing in on me.”
“I’ve had practice,” I admit. “I know how to fight the demons.”
“Well, you’re going to have to teach me how.”
We keep dancing through song after song on the record player as the snow blankets the ground outside. Our wood-burning stove keeps us warm, but it could be a blizzard inside, and I’d still be warm in Christopher’s arms.
I put my hand on his face and giggle. “You have a beard now.”
He chuckles. “If my mother could see me now, she’d die of a stroke.” His smile quickly fades, and sorrow takes over again.
“I can shave it for you,” I offer. “I can borrow a razor from Papa Rich.”
“I’ll keep the beard,” he snaps. He stops dancing and pulls away.
I know me mentioning Papa Rich by name causes Christopher to always lose his temper. I should try to do better and avoid his name at all cost.
I leave the music playing but follow Christopher back to the mattress where we sit.
“I want to make you happy,” I say, feeling defeated.
He shifts on the mattress so he can see me directly. “You’re a good woman, Ember. You are by far the kindest, most genuine person I’ve ever met. You don’t make me unhappy. It’s not you.”
“You want to leave.”
“I want to leave this place. Yes.”
“What about me?” I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer. “What do you feel about me?”
He takes me by the hand. “Confusion, to be honest. A part of me tells me I shouldn’t have any feelings for you considering I’m here against my will and chained to you. Another part of me feels this almost neanderthal feeling to protect you and make you mine forever. And whenever I start to allow feelings to form for you, I feel like something’s wrong with me. Like I’m sick in the head.”
“But aren’t I yours forever?” I ask. “We made vows. We’re married.”
“Ember…” I see pity on his face. “We were forced to marry. You know that right? We were married by a crazy one-legged man. Our marriage isn’t even legal. It’s not real beyond this town.”
“It’s real to me!” The words come out much harsher than I want, but I can’t help it. And for the first time since being chained to Christopher, I really feel trapped. I snap my hand out of his and cross them protectively against my chest. I want to leave. I want to walk through the tunnel and go to the kitchen so I can get some fresh air that is not also breathed by Christopher, but I can’t. “I know we come from different places,” I say much calmer. “But vows mean something to me.” In a tiny voice as I look at my feet, I add, “You mean something to me.”
He reaches for my hand again. I don’t want him touching me, but I don’t really have a choice. I can’t run. I can’t even cross the room to be alone.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says. I look into his eyes and see sincerity. “I can’t explain all the feelings I have. I feel weak. I’ve never felt so weak and out of control in my life. I don’t want to give up on my plan for escape, and yet… as each day goes by, I find myself doing exactly that.” With his free hand, he moves a piece of my hair behind my ear. “You mean something to me too, Ember. I didn’t mean to make you feel otherwise. You mean a lot to me. In fact, I don’t think I could have gotten by each day here without you. Your sunshine is the only light in my world right now. I need you.”
“I need you.”
He leans forward and kisses me softly. His hands cup the sides of my face as if he’s afraid I’ll pull away.
“I want to please you,” I say against the kiss. “I want to please you in all ways.”
I lower my hand to the button of his pants and boldly unfasten. I wait for him to stop me or tell me I’m doing it wrong, but he only deepens the kiss. When the pants are loose, I lower my hand and touch his hardness. I take hold of it and feel the weight against my palm. I’d never been so daring before nor sinful—but is it a sin if he’s my husband?
I fight against the awkwardness of his clothing and the restriction. As if reading my mind, he lifts up enough so that I can lower everything down, freeing his sex. I glance down, but then feel my face heat.
“This isn’t wrong,” he rasps out.
I know he’s right, and I fight the feelings of sin threatening to suffocate me. Instead, I lower my mouth and kiss the tip of his penis. Unsure, I look up at him. “Is this all right?”
He closes his eyes and leans back. “More than all right.”
Feeling a sense of accomplishment that I have brought a smile to his face. I kiss a trail from the head all the way to the base and then lick my way up. The salty musk sends a shiver down my spine. My own sex pulsates in need for him to enter me. I want him again. I want to feel that level of closeness and connection again.
On exhale, he says, “Put me in your mouth. Suck me up and down.”
His command forms moisture between my legs, but I do exactly as he asks. Opening my mouth wide, I crawl up on my knees to get a better angle so that I can take all of him.
His hand grips my hair, and he guides my head down and then tugs me back up. We repeat this action several times with his moans growing in intensity with each time. I drag my tongue along his flesh and love the power that I have. I’m giving him pleasure and I know it. I love it. I love the control.
I realize I can tighten my lips and he groans. I can go deeper into the back of my throat and his hips buck. His actions are the result of mine. I’m finally feeling like a wife who can please my husband.
“Ember,” I hear Papa Rich call from the tunnel.
He doesn’t usually give warning, but thank goodness he is. I jump up and when I see that Christopher isn’t moving in the slightest to pull his pants back on, I panic. He’s going to push Papa’s buttons. I can see it in his eyes.
“Please,” I beg, tugging his pants up the best I can.
Christopher sighs, rolls his eyes, but pulls up his pants right as Papa Rich enters from the tunnel.
He stops and looks at me, then Christopher with that suspicious eye I know of his. “Christopher, it’s nice to see you look as if you’re getting comfortable in your new home.”
Christopher smirks and remains leaned back on the mattress. “Very.”
Papa Rich looks at me and I know my face must be several shades of red. “And are the two of you getting along good?”
“Extremely,” Christopher says with a twinkle in his eye.
I see Papa’s jaw tighten and his eyes narrow.
I hold my breath. I don’t want Papa to think we’re sinners and feel we have to pay penance for our actions. Christopher doesn’t seem concerned at all. His hardness is still very visible beneath his pants, and I wonder if tossing a blanket over him will be too obvious.
“I’m running into town,” he says to me as he clears his throat. “I saw your usual grocery list on the fridge. Is there anything else you need?”
“Yes, actually.” I say softly. “Is it possible to pick up a razor for Christopher? In case he wants to shave his beard.”
I figure that Christopher should have the option, and I know that him borrowing anything from Papa was out of the question and even angered him. At least this way, he will have something of his own.
Papa Rich nods. “Anything else?” He actually looks at Christopher and waits for him to answer.
“Yeah. How about a bottle of Jack?” Christopher says with a cocky grin.
Papa surprises me when he says, “I don’t see why not. I’ll add it to the list.”
I see the cocky look on Christopher’s face disappear and something unfamiliar takes its place. He’s angry. He knows Papa is playing his game right back. Two men who have fury bubbling up inside but neither will show it.
“Sugar,” I add, hating the tension in the room. “I’ll make us a cake.”
Papa nods again and then goes back into the tunnel.
“You drink?” I ask, knowing Papa Rich rarely did.
He shrugs. “I used to drink a lot. Maybe too much.” He chuckles. “This place has been the worst detox known to man.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why too much?”
“Life,” he says almost sadly. “In some crazy way, being here made me realize that I was in some sort of prison of my own in New York. I think I was self-medicating.”
“Booze is a medicine?” I know I’m sheltered from all the things in the outside world, but I have never heard of alcohol being medicinal.
“Just a saying. But it did seem to make me function better. Pills and whisky were my go to.” He looks at me. “Like I said though, this place broke me of that habit cold turkey.”
“Do you miss it?”
“No.” Christopher hops off the bed and walks to the window, jerking me alongside him. “How often does he go to town in the winter?”
“Not as often,” I say.
“How long is he gone when he does?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure. A couple of hours with good weather, but the snow slows him down.”
Christopher’s face lights up and he looks at me. “He’s gone for hours?”
I nod. I know what he’s thinking. What he’s hoping.
He’s wrong.
There’s no way out of here.
There’s no way.
“Is there any other vehicle here? Another ranger truck? Anything?”
I shake my head.
Christopher stares out the window waiting for Papa Rich to leave. The glass fogs up with our breaths, and he wipes at the glass for a better view. “What about the ranger’s office? A phone? There has to be a phone.”
“Papa has a radio, and he takes it with him. I told you this. No phone. No way out.”
“How do you know there’s no phone? How do you know? We need to go see for ourselves.”
I reach for his hand to try to soothe his wild mind. “I know, Christopher. There’s no phone, he locks everything, and he’s thought of every possibility. Trust me. I know.”
I hate that I’m stealing his hope. I can’t stand that I’m the reason his face is falling from excited to despair.
