Chapter 62 Honey Moon
Anna's POV
The wedding ceremony was short—shockingly so. It felt more like a whispered transaction than a celebration of love. No guests, no flowers, no long vows or teary-eyed family members.
Just the priest, Xavier, two quiet witnesses who looked like they worked for him, and me, Anna, standing there in a simple white dress that hugged my body a little too perfectly.
The priest spoke quickly, the words blurring together in a haze of nerves and disbelief. Before I could fully process it, we were pronounced husband and wife.
Xavier handed the priest a thick envelope—clearly a large sum of money—then turned to me with that dark, possessive smile.
He pulled me close and kissed me, right there in front of the altar. It wasn’t gentle. It was claiming. His hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair as his mouth moved over mine with surprising heat.
I surprised myself most of all. I kissed him back.
My lips parted without thinking, and for a moment the world narrowed to the taste of him—something rich and commanding that made my knees feel weak.
Heat bloomed low in my belly, unfamiliar and unsettling. Why was my body responding like this? To him? To the man who had essentially bought me?
I pulled back slightly, breathless, cheeks burning. Xavier’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he brushed his thumb across my lower lip.
“My wife,” he murmured, the words low and rough, like a vow of his own.
We left the small chapel in silence. He drove, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing my thigh as if testing his new possession.
The city lights blurred past the windows until we pulled up to an exclusive hotel, the kind with private entrances and staff that asked no questions.
My heart hammered as we rode the elevator up to the penthouse suite.
The moment the door clicked shut behind us, the air thickened.
“Undress,” Xavier said, voice calm but laced with authority. He loosened his tie, watching me like a predator who already knew the outcome.
I crossed my arms over my chest, chin lifting in defiance even as my pulse raced. “No.”
He tilted his head, a slow smile curving his lips. “I bought that dress for you, Anna. Along with everything else you’re wearing. If you won’t listen, I’ll tear it off myself.”
“I said no.”
In two strides he was on me. The sound of fabric ripping filled the room—sharp and final. Cool air hit my skin as he tore the delicate white dress down the front, the expensive material giving way easily under his hands.
I gasped, instinctively trying to cover myself, but he caught my wrists and pinned them gently but firmly above my head against the wall.
“Easy,” he said, voice dropping lower. “I’m not going to force myself on you. Not like that.”
My breath came in shallow bursts. “Then what is this?”
He released my wrists and stepped back, gesturing toward a sleek massage table set up near the large windows overlooking the city.
Soft lighting bathed the room, and the faint scent of oils lingered in the air.
“Lie down,” he commanded softly. “On your stomach first.”
I hesitated, standing there in nothing but the scraps of lace underwear that had survived his impatience.
“I promise I won’t hurt you,” he added, unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness, revealing the hard, sculpted lines of his chest and abdomen. “But I will punish you until you beg for my attention. Until you’re dripping and desperate and saying my name like it’s the only word you know.”
The arrogance in his tone should have infuriated me. Instead, a treacherous warmth spread through my core.
I walked to the table on shaky legs and lay face down, the cool leather a shock against my heated skin.
Xavier dimmed the lights further and poured oil into his palms, rubbing them together. When his hands finally touched me—strong, warm, and skilled—I bit back a sound.
He started at my shoulders, working the tension out with firm, rhythmic strokes. His thumbs pressed into knots I didn’t even know I had, sliding down my spine in long, sensual glides.
Every pass of his hands felt deliberate, teasing. He avoided the obvious places at first, building the anticipation until my body began to betray me. Heat pooled between my thighs. My breathing grew heavier.
When he reached the curve of my ass, kneading the flesh with just the right pressure, a small moan escaped my lips before I could stop it.
Xavier chuckled darkly. “There it is.”
He flipped me onto my back with effortless strength. Now his hands explored the front of my body—my breasts, my stomach, the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.
His thumbs brushed the undersides of my breasts, circling closer and closer to my nipples without quite touching them. I arched, frustrated and aching.
“Xavier…” The name slipped out, half plea, half protest.
“Not yet,” he murmured, leaning down to trail his lips along my collarbone. “You’re going to learn what it means to belong to me, little wife.”
His mouth finally closed over one nipple, tongue flicking as his hand slid between my legs. I was embarrassingly wet already.
His fingers stroked me slowly, expertly, finding the rhythm that made my hips buck against his touch. The massage had turned into pure seduction, every touch designed to unravel me.
I moaned louder now, unable to hold back. My hands fisted in his hair as he moved lower, kissing and licking a path down my stomach until his breath ghosted over my most sensitive spot.
When his tongue finally replaced his fingers, I cried out, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming. He devoured me like a man starved, holding my thighs apart as I writhed beneath him.
The orgasm built fast and crashed over me without mercy, leaving me trembling and gasping his name.
But he wasn’t done.
Xavier rose, shedding the rest of his clothes. His body was powerful—broad shoulders, defined muscle, and an erection that made my breath catch.
He positioned himself between my legs, the thick head of his cock nudging my entrance.
“Look at me,” he ordered.