A Bed Of Roses

Rodah's POV

I sat on the edge of the huge bed in Martinez’s mansion, my hands shaking in my lap. The white wedding dress still clung to my body. If my sister, Abigail had not run away this morning, I would be back in my small room right now, painting her portrait like I promised. Instead, here I was — twenty-three years old, married to Martinez Rinaldi, a man everyone called the devil.

The door opened with a soft click.

Martinez stepped in. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved like a predator. His black shirt was open at the collar, showing smooth, tanned skin.

His dark eyes locked on me immediately. My stomach tightened.

He had never met either me or Abigail until I was handed over to him as his wife, hours ago.

“You’re still in the dress,” he said, voice low and rough. “Take it off.”

I stood up fast, heart pounding. “What? No.”

He raised one eyebrow. A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips. “No?”

“I told you on our way here,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“This is a contract marriage only. You get a wife on paper. That’s all. You will never have my body. You will never have me.”

Martinez walked closer. Each step made the air feel heavier. He stopped just inches away. I could smell his cologne — dark, expensive, and masculine. It made my thighs press together without thinking.

“Your father owed me one million dollars,” he said calmly. “He could never pay it back. I did him a favor by accepting one of his daughters instead of putting a bullet in his head. And you… you came willingly to save him.”

“I came to save my father’s life,” I snapped. “Not to spread my legs for you, Martinez Rinaldi.”

His eyes darkened. The smile disappeared. “Careful, little painter. You have a sharp tongue for someone so small.”

I tried to step back, but the bed was right behind me.

“I mean it, Martinez. Touch me and I will hate you forever.”

He laughed softly, but there was no warmth in it. “Hate me all you want. But you belong to me now.”

Before I could move, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. He pulled me against his hard chest. I gasped. His body felt like steel.

“Let me go!” I hissed, pushing at him.

He didn’t let go. Instead, he leaned down, his lips brushing my ear.

“Your mouth says no, but your nipples are already hard under that dress. I can feel the hardness from your dress.”

Heat rushed to my face. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re lying to yourself,” he whispered. His free hand slid down my side, gripping my hip hard. “I can smell how wet you are already.”

I tried to twist away, but he was too strong. My body was betraying me — a warm ache was growing between my legs even as I hated him.

When I had first seen him earlier today, he hadn't looked surprised. In fact, he seemed to know more about me than I did.

“I won’t give you my body,” I said again, voice shaking now.

Martinez’s patience snapped. A frown crossed his handsome face.

In one quick move, he spun me around and pushed me face-down onto the bed. I cried out.

Before I could push myself up, he grabbed both my wrists and pinned them behind my back with one large hand.

“Stay still,” he ordered.

I heard the sound of his belt sliding free. My heart raced.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

He didn’t answer. He wrapped the leather belt around my wrists and tied them tight. The buckle clicked shut. I pulled, but the belt held firm. I was trapped.

“Martinez — stop!”

He flipped me onto my back like I weighed nothing. The wedding dress rode up my thighs. He stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at me with hungry eyes.

“Look at you,” he said, voice thick with lust. “All tied up for your husband on our wedding night.”

“I hate you,” I spat.

“Good. Hate makes it sweeter.”

He knelt on the bed between my legs and pushed the dress higher until it bunched around my waist. His fingers hooked into my white lace panties and ripped them down my legs in one sharp tug. Cool air hit my exposed pussy.

I was already wet and slick. I hated how obvious it was.

“You barely know me! You bastard!” I cried out.

Martinez groaned low in his throat.

“Fuck. So pretty and wet.”

He lowered his head. His hot breath brushed my inner thighs. I tried to close my legs, but his strong hands forced them wide open.

“Don’t — ah!”

His tongue dragged slowly up my slit. The sudden wet heat made me jerk hard against the belt. He licked again, slower this time, circling my clit with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh god…” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

He sucked my clit into his mouth and flicked it fast. Pleasure shot through me like electricity. My hips bucked. I bit my lip hard, trying not to moan, but another lick made me cry out.

“Stop… please…” I gasped, even as my body pushed toward his mouth.

Martinez chuckled against my pussy. The vibration made me tremble.

“Your mouth lies, but this sweet cunt doesn’t.”

He pushed two thick fingers inside me without warning. I was so wet they slid in easily. He curled them, stroking that spot inside that made my eyes roll back.

“Ahh! Fuck —”

He pumped his fingers faster while his tongue worked my clit without mercy. The sounds were obscene — wet, sloppy, loud. My tied hands twisted uselessly above me and my legs shook.

“You’re going to come for me, Rodah,” he said, voice dark. “Even if you hate it.”

“I won’t — I won’t —”

But I was already close. The pressure built fast and it difficult to even catch my breath. His fingers fucked me harder and his tongue flicked faster. My back arched off the bed.

“Martinez — oh shit — I’m —”

The orgasm hit me like a wave. I screamed. My pussy clenched around his fingers again and again. He didn’t stop. He kept licking and thrusting through every pulse until I was shaking and gasping for air.

When the last tremor faded, he finally pulled back. His lips and chin were shiny with my juices. He looked cruelly satisfied.

He stood up and untied the belt from my wrists. My arms fell limp to the sides. I couldn’t move. My body was still twitching.

Martinez leaned down and brushed a strand of hair from my sweaty face.

“Welcome to your new life, wife,” he said softly. “This is only the beginning.”

He turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

I lay there trembling, my thighs wet and my chest heaving.

His scent still hung heavy in the air.

I closed my eyes.

This was not a war I was going to win.