Chapter 35. Juneberry

Chapter 35. Juneberry


Nolie Pov

“Where the hell are they?” I muttered, staring at the empty doorway.

“They’ll be back,” Vanya said, already digging through a pile of dresses. “Zorak probably stopped to slaughter half a farm. Verlin’s probably holding the knife.”

I snorted, though my palms were damp. “And Dua?”

“She said she had no business sitting with ‘weak females’.” Vanya rolled her eyes. “She thinks she’s one of the boys now.”

I tapped my fingers against the vanity, restless. The room felt too quiet, like it was waiting for something. My reflection looked back at me — cheeks still flushed from breakfast, lips still tingling from Zorak’s mouth, stomach still heavy with everything he’d shoved on my plate. I looked ruined already.

“Stop fidgeting,” Vanya said, snapping a zipper open. “Come here.”

“Hold still, damn it,” Vanya muttered, yanking the zipper up my back.

I laughed and twisted on the vanity stool. “It doesn’t fit. Admit it.”

“It does.” She pulled harder. “You’re just too—” she grunted—“stuffed. Zorak stuffed you this morning.”

I laughed, swatting at her hand. “Don’t blame me. He practically fed me like I was a kid.”

“You’re not a kid. You’re a spoiled wife.” She leaned back, sighing dramatically. “Curvy little wife who gets three plates of eggs shoved down her throat while the rest of us starve.”

“Because he wants you soft and ruined,” she teased, smirking at my reflection. “Meanwhile I can’t even fill this thing.”

“Vanya.” I gave her a look in the mirror. I looked at her tall, lean body in that tight red dress. She looked like some runway model. I looked like—well—me. Rounder, heavier, chest spilling everywhere. I rolled my eyes.

“You look perfect,” 

She smirked. “And you look like trouble.”

The zipper gave a sharp pop. We both froze, then burst out laughing.

Of course.

As if on cue, the door swung open.

“Trouble?” His voice was low, lazy, dangerous.

My stomach flipped.

Zorak leaned against the frame, sleeves rolled, chest stretched under a black shirt. His voice was low, dangerous. His eyes slid over me, slow, like he was already stripping me with them.

“Speak of the devil,” Vanya said lightly.

Zorak’s gaze didn’t move from me. “Out.”

Vanya arched a brow. “So bossy.” She leaned down and kissed my cheek, her lips warm. “I’ll be outside. Don’t kill her, Don.”

“I’ll do worse than kill her,” Zorak murmured.

Heat shot through me.

Vanya winked. “I’ll be outside. Try not to break the mirror.”

The door clicked shut. Zorak locked it.

He stepped forward, steady, silent, until he stood right behind me. I could see him in the mirror—towering, dark, his hands sliding down my bare arms.

“Shut your legs, Juneberry.”

The nickname hit me like a touch. I froze, heartbeat skipping. “Juneberry?”

“That’s what you are now.” His lips curved, not quite a smile. “Mine. Sweet. Stained.”

The zipper Vanya had fought with gave way under his fingers. The dress slipped down, puddling at my waist.. I gasped, clutching the vanity edge. My reflection showed nothing but the sheer lace slip underneath clung to me, nearly see-through, nipples hard and obvious.

Zorak’s jaw tightened. He exhaled through his nose, slow. “Do you know what you do to me?”

“I”

“Don’t answer.” His hand slid to his pocket. “I brought you something.”

I blinked. “What?”

“A Gift.”

He knelt in front of me, eyes burning, pulling out a strip of white lace. A garter.

“For every time I leave you,” he said, voice low, eyes burning into mine, “I’ll bring you something. And this—” he slid it up my thigh, slow, deliberate, until it bit into my skin—“this will always remind you where my mouth returns.”

My breath shook. “Zorak…”

“Juneberry.”

His lips pressed against my inner knee, hot, wet, his tongue brushing once.“My thighs quivered, fighting the urge to open for him.”. I gripped the vanity with both hands.

He rose fast, all heat and strength, lifting me onto the vanity. The bottles rattled. My reflection caught the sheer lace stretched tight over my body, the dark hunger in his eyes.

Zorak’s fingers lingered on my thigh as he tightened the lace into place. His voice was low, gravel dragged over fire.
“This will always sit where my mouth returns,” he said.

“My thighs begged to open, traitorous and hot.  Heat pulsed straight through me. Damn him. My chest was rising fast“ The lace rubbed against me, too thin to hide how hard my body begged for him.”  I wanted him. Bad. 

“Zorak…” My voice was breathy, embarrassingly needy.

He looked up at me from his knees, eyes black, hungry. “Sweet Juneberry. You’re already wet.”

I swallowed hard, thighs pressing together on instinct. He smirked. “Open.”

Vanya was going to have to wait. Arjona, the bull fight, the whole goddamn village could wait. I was about to fuck my husband—even if this marriage was a deal, even if I didn’t know what game he was playing. I wanted him. And worse—I was falling for him.

Before I could think, he stood, scooped me up like I weighed nothing, and dropped me on the bed. I bounced, laughing once before it got caught in my throat. He climbed over me, all muscle and heat, ripping his shirt off.

That’s when I saw it.
Red, angry whip marks cut across his back, crisscrossing into the ink of his tattoos. Some were fresh, swollen. Others old, faded into the art on his skin.

“For a second, all the heat drained out of me. Who the hell does that to themselves? Anger? Punishment? The thought of him hurting himself clawed at me, sharp and sick. I wanted to ask, to press, to understand—but my mouth stayed shut, fear pressing down on the questions.”

The lines looked like fresh anger. My stomach turned sour for a second—then his hand was on my chin.

My breath caught. “Zorak… what”

He grabbed my face, rough, dark eyes pinning me. “Never speak of it.” His tone was steel.

I froze, nodding fast. “Okay.”

His mouth softened just long enough to kiss me, deep and punishing, before he tore away. His belt came free with a sharp snap. He bound my thighs together, tight, spreading them open with his grip anyway.

“Zorak…” My voice cracked into a moan as his mouth slid down my body. He bit my lap, then sucked, slow, deliberate, making me shiver all over.

His  phone chimed from the vanity. Loud, shrill. Probably Verlin. Probably the bull fight horn.

Zorak ignored it. His tongue brushed my skin again, making me arch.

“Juneberry,” he muttered against me, voice rough, “we need to make this quick. I’ll ruin you slow later.”

Then he sank his teeth into the lace at my hips and ripped it clean off. The sound tore through the room. I gasped, grabbing at his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist without thinking.

He stood, lifting me, carrying me like I was nothing but a weight he owned. My bare skin pressed against his chest, my breath tangled with his.

“Hold on to me,” he growled.

As if I could ever let go.

A horn blared outside. Loud. Sharp. The signal from the square.

Bull-fight.

Zorak froze, chest heaving against mine. His head tilted, listening.

“They’re waiting,” I whispered, breathless.

His eyes dragged over me, wild, torn between rage and hunger. “Let them wait.”

“Zorak”

He pressed his forehead to mine, eyes shut. “When we walk out that door, Juneberry… nothing will be the same.”