DASHIELL
I sat there, straddling his thigh, chest pressed flush against his, breathing hard as I slowly drifted down from the high. My entire body was flushed, skin slick with sweat, limbs still trembling.
Then reality crashed over me like a tidal wave.
The sounds I'd made.
The way I'd begged.
The way I'd ridden him like a desperate, shameless slut, hips rolling frantically, crying out his name without a single ounce of pride.
Heat flooded my face. I jerked back from his chest, eyes darting anywhere but at him.
*Was that really me?*
*Oh my god. This is humiliating.*
I bit down hard on my lip, staring fixedly at the wall, the ceiling, the tangled sheets, anywhere except the man still buried deep inside me.
Then I heard it.
A low, dark, rumbling chuckle.
Before I could pull away, a strong, calloused hand gripped my jaw and tilted my face back to his. I had no choice but to meet his gaze.
Alexander was smirking.
Not a full smile, but that sharp, wicked curve of his lips that made my stomach flip and my pulse stutter. In that moment, I realized something startling: since we'd stepped into this bedroom, I had actually seen him *feel* something. A chuckle. A smirk. Tiny fractures in the cold, emotionless mask he always wore.
"Is someone embarrassed?" he asked, his tone lightly mocking, laced with amusement.
My face burned even hotter. I sank my teeth harder into my lip.
His thumb brushed over my mouth, gently tugging my lip free. I stared at him with wide, dazed eyes.
"You don't need to be," he continued, voice low and rough. "We'll be doing this often. You pleased me tonight… so prepare yourself for this about five times a week."
The way he said it, so casual, so shameless made my cheeks flame crimson. It was painfully obvious that unlike me, Alexander was an expert in bed. He'd clearly been with many people. But five times a week?
"F-five times a week?" I squeaked, my voice cracking.
He arched a brow, that dangerous smirk still in place. "Yes. I have a very high libido. And now I have a husband who takes my cock like he was made for it." His eyes darkened. "Why would I settle for anything less?"
I opened my mouth and closed it. Opened it again. "But… that's… that's a lot."
He tilted his head, studying me like I was the most fascinating creature he'd ever seen. "Do you want me to cheat?"
The question hit like a slap, direct, brutal, no sugarcoating.
I shook my head so fast the room spun. "No! Of course not!"
"Then five times a week it is," he said simply, as if the matter was already settled. "Sometimes more, if I'm in the mood. You'll get used to it."
I stared at him, face on fire, heart racing all over again. "You make it sound like a damn schedule."
"It *is* a schedule," he replied, perfectly calm. "One I intend to keep."
I swallowed hard. My brain was still foggy from the orgasm, but one thing was becoming crystal clear: Alexander didn't do half-measures. Not in surgery. Not in marriage.
And apparently, not in sex either.
He shifted his hips slightly, still buried inside me, and I gasped as a sharp spark of overstimulation shot through my oversensitive body.
"Results were… satisfactory," he added, almost clinical, but there was a dark, possessive edge of satisfaction in his voice. "The way you moved your hips showed you're a fast learner. There are many things you'll need to learn to please me even more."
I blinked, mortified. "Results?"
"Yes. Results." His smirk deepened, that dangerous little curve sending another shiver down my spine. "You clenched so beautifully when I hit that spot. You moaned louder when I choked you just right. And you came hands-free the second I told you to." His voice dropped. "Very promising."
My ears burned. I wanted to crawl under the pillow and disappear.
"I… I didn't mean to…" I mumbled weakly.
"You did exactly what I wanted," he murmured. "And you'll do it again. Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever I decide."
He finally pulled out slowly, and I whimpered at the sudden emptiness—and the deep, delicious ache that followed. He watched my face the entire time, eyes dark and hungry.
I sat there, naked, flushed, legs still trembling, trying to process the fact that my husband had just casually scheduled sex like it was a recurring board meeting.
Alexander leaned back against the headboard, completely unbothered by his nudity, his cock still half-hard and glistening with our combined release.
"Any objections?" he asked, arching that brow again.
I hesitated, heart hammering against my ribs.
Then because I was clearly losing my mind….I shook my head.
"No," I whispered. "No objections."
His smirk widened, just a fraction. Something almost like approval flickered in his eyes.
"Good boy."
He reached out and brushed his thumb across my swollen bottom lip, adding almost casually:
"Next time, I'll fuck you in the shower. You looked very pretty when you're wet."
My brain short-circuited.
I buried my face in my hands with a groan.
Alexander chuckled softly, the second time I'd heard that rich, dangerous sound in one night.
This man was going to ruin me.
And the worst part?
I was starting to think I might just let him.