Married to the right Mr King

Zella

“You may kiss the bride.”

My stomach turned as I heard the words. My pulse increased as Isaiah turned to me, his grey eyes burning holes into my skin. His hands were already reaching for me, and I fought the urge to turn around and bail out of the registry.  

I was his wife now. God, I was married to him. A month ago, I would have been overjoyed to be in his arms. Now, all I felt was blinding hate for the man I had wanted in the past six years and anger at the way my body burned for the same man who destroyed my father’s company.

His fingers brushed my jaw gently, tilting my face up toward his. My knees shook. I couldn’t breathe. I hated him. I hated him so much I wanted to scream. All I could remember was me begging him foolishly on the night of my engagement party.  

Please, just this once.  

God, I was so stupid. If Isaiah King thought that he had won, he was making a huge mistake.  

I swallowed the shame and flinched when his mouth brushed mine. His scent, that deep spicy scent, teased my nose and sank deep in my brain. My lips parted instinctively in a sigh as I unconsciously took in a deep breath. It was supposed to be a chaste kiss.

It wasn’t.

His lips slanted over mine, slow and hot. His hand moved to the back of my neck, holding me still and deepening the kiss. He kissed me like he had all the time in the world to remind me who I belonged to now.

For a moment, just a second, I almost kissed him back. My body leaned into him, and I wanted to feel the stroke of his tongue against mine.  

No!

I jerked away. He pulled back, blinking at me like he was confused, and I wanted to slap the look off his face.  

Dad clapped half-heartedly behind us. Isaiah's hand fell to grab my wrist, but I snatched it out of his grip. 

"Congratulations, Mr. King, you have what you wanted," I spat. 

Isaiah didn’t say a word. He simply placed a hand on my lower back and guided me out of the registry. The drive to his penthouse was the longest, most annoying drive of my life, even if it only lasted twenty minutes. I sat beside him, seething, wondering how he could look so serene after almost ruining my father's life.  

“Is this where you plan to keep your hostage?” I spat as soon as we stepped into the penthouse and were alone.  

He shut the door with a soft click and stepped toward me. “You’re not a hostage, Zella, you’re my wife.”

I scoffed. “Don’t remind me.”

“We should talk,” he said, 

“Oh, now you want to talk?!" I snapped. “You want to tell me how blackmailing a twenty-four-year-old into marriage is perfectly justifiable?”

His eyes darkened. “Watch your tone, princess.”

I smiled bitterly. “Or what? You’ll ruin my father in the snap of a finger and destroy my trust fund?" 

He tried to speak, but I zoned him out and walked away from him. 

Wrong freaking move.  

I had barely taken two steps away from him when the hulk of a man stormed after me and pinned me up against the nearest wall. I gasped, looking up at him wide-eyed, breathing heavily.  

"What... What are you doing?" 

“You don’t get to walk away from me,” he said in a cold, detached voice that only made him seem more terrifying. “Not now. Not ever.”

I fumed, hating the way my thighs pressed together. A dull ache had bloomed between my legs from how close he was. Flashes of his hand sliding between my thighs, playing with my pussy, touching me filled my head. “Let me go right now!”

"No, Ella," 

“Don’t call me that. Touch me and I’ll scream.” I threatened, fighting desperately to hide how badly I wanted him.  

I shouldn't want him. He was a monster. A cruel, heartless monster. I tried to sound snarky, but it came out all breathless. I couldn't think. He had a leg between my thighs, and if I moved just a fraction, I would give in to the urge and begin humping him.  

That would be humiliating.  

"Do not act like you do not want this, princess,” he murmured, eyes blazing. “I would bet you're getting wet right now. I can still see you touching yourself in that bathroom, whimpering my name in that sweet, sexy voice, begging me to fuck you-"

“Shut up!"

My face blanched as I realised what I had just said. No one, absolutely no one, tells Isaiah King to shut up. He stopped talking, clenching his jaw hard as if trying to hold himself back. His hand wrapped around the back of my neck, firm and possessive. He leaned down, his mouth ghosting over my throat.

“It doesn't have to be so bad, Ella," He rasped. "No one will ever bring you as much pleasure as I can anyway."

“Y-You're wrong," I said weakly. I placed my hand on his chest, trying to shove him off, but his massive body wouldn't budge. His mouth moved down to the base of my neck, and oh, that did delicious things to me.  

He pressed a kiss there, lingering, then another in the groove of my neck. A shudder ripped through me.  

“You belong to me now,” he murmured against my skin. “You wear my ring. You carry my name. And next time you walk away from me…”

His tongue flicked the shell of my ear. My knees buckled, and he wrapped his arm around my waist. 

“…I’ll remind you exactly whose girl you are.”

I twisted my head, fury burning in my chest, fighting the desire in my veins. “I hate you.”

He smirked, and it only made me madder.  

“Good,” he said, brushing his lips against the corner of mine. “Hate makes the surrender sweeter.”

His hand slipped lower, brushing the curve of my ass before he pulled back entirely, leaving me shaking and breathless. He stepped away slowly, eyes dragging down my body. 

“You’ll be sleeping in my room from tonight,” he said flatly. “In my bed.” He added

I clenched my fist. “You’re insane if you think I’ll ever let you touch me.”

He cocked his head, giving me that teasing, taunting look. “Don’t worry, princess. I won’t touch you unless you beg.”

He walked toward the hallway and turned, his gaze dark and deliciously cruel.  

“And you will beg, Zella. Oh, you’ll beg so sweetly I won’t even have to ask.”