Keep Me (Sinful Manor #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

There was a time when I loved being alone in my house. I liked the quiet peace of solitude. No one to harass me or hound me with questions. No one to worry about me or tell me what’s best.

Now, I find myself gravitating toward her .

I hear my wife’s gentle footsteps everywhere I go. I hear her humming to herself down the hallways of my home. She lives here like a ghost, haunting each room with her scent and her delicate presence. The rose and lilac of her hair. The lotion she puts on her face every night. Everything about her has seeped into the crevices of this house, deep into the stones. She’s even stained the upholstery and curtains.

When she came six months ago, I hated it. Now, I love it.

Sylvie is willful and stubborn. For every smile she gives me, she scowls ten times as much. I’ve never met someone so hardheaded and desperate to show her disdain.

I wish I could return that disdain, but somewhere in the last six months, she’s grown on me. And it was long before she started climbing into my bed every night around Christmas.

It was her fire. Her passion. The way I recognized that level of heat was because I could feel it too. It was as if she spoke a language I understood.

I never intended to fall in love with my wife.

But Sylvie came to my home with a sense of loneliness that I related to. And even if she wants to deny it, somehow, we met in the middle.

I don’t feel the need to fill the space in my life with parties and strangers anymore. I don’t miss any of that, although if I’m being honest, I hope Sylvie and I can get to a place in our relationship where I can introduce her to that lifestyle.

She might be a stubborn hothead, but I bet she would submit to me beautifully. I’d love to make her mine, have her on her knees for me, completely at my control.

Coming in from the fields, I stand in the doorway of my home, and I listen for her. In the deep, endless quiet, I hear the faint clicking of something upstairs. So, I move toward the sound, walking quietly so I have a chance of taking her by surprise before she can put on her armor of contempt.

When I turn the corner toward the library, I pause in the doorway and watch Sylvie at the desk near the window. She’s typing frantically on the old typewriter she once broke into this house to see.

Her wild honey-colored curls are piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She’s wearing a long-sleeved flannel I recognize as my own, and her gray-sweatpant-covered legs are folded in front of her as she leans over the typewriter.

Honestly, I don’t know how I’m supposed to resist her when she looks like this.

I clear my throat to grab her attention. The clicking stops, and she turns toward me with a gasp.

“You jerk!” she snaps. “You scared the shit out of me!”

I chuckle to myself as I enter the room. “What are you working on, mo ghràidh ? ”

She’s stopped reacting with venom toward my terms of endearment, ones I used to use with sarcasm, but no longer do.

“I was feeling inspired so I started working on a new story,” she replies, turning back to the typewriter.

“On that old thing? Don’t you have a laptop?”

She shrugs. “It’s oddly motivating. I think it’s the clicking noise. Was it bothering you?”

I shake my head. “Not at all.”

“Pity,” she says flatly, and I chuckle again.

“Can I read it?” I walk up next to where she’s sitting and lean against the table, crossing my boots in front of me.

“Absolutely not,” she replies.

“Why not? Is it about me?” I tease.

“Maybe.”

“So, it’s about a dashing Scotsman with a massive cock?” I respond with a lopsided grin.

She rolls her eyes. “More like an ugly brutish drunk who can’t hold his whisky.”

I feign a gasp. “I’m offended. Does he at least know how to please his woman?”

She can’t fight the smile this time. “He’s average.”

Standing from the table, I cage her in, placing my hands on either side of the desk and press my lips toward the back of her neck. “Well, I bet the heroine has never complained before.” Then, I kiss her tenderly below her ear, and I revel in the way her skin breaks out in goose bumps.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love fighting with my wife. I enjoy how easily I can push her buttons, and doing so has quickly turned into my favorite thing to do.

Right after making her moan and purr in my bed every night.

I’ve witnessed the pleasure of countless women in my time, but Sylvie is by far my favorite. Because she fights it. Even her own orgasms are hard-fought. It’s like she prefers to suffer, as if it’s programmed in her psyche. So if I have to devote every moment of my life to teaching her to indulge in her own pleasure, I’ll do it.

“So, does your book require any research ?” I ask as I deepen my kisses down her neck. I tug back the collar of the shirt she’s wearing to pepper more kisses along her shoulder.

She lets out a pleased hum. “Not that kind of research.”

Her words sound bothered, but her tone gives me hope. The thing I love about Sylvie is that she’s always in the mood. I still laugh to myself every time I remember that morning she woke up to tell me we wouldn’t be partaking in a physical relationship, but she has never pushed me away since.

She is quite literally addicted to my touch.

“Killian…” she whines. “I was trying…to focus.”

“Then, let me clear your mind.” My hand drifts around to the front of her shirt, popping open buttons as my lips continue their journey down her shoulder.

“You’re not clearing it,” she groans. “You’re fogging it up.”

I get her shirt open enough to find her bare breast inside. My hand engulfs the small mound, massaging and pinching it to hear her voice grow higher and more erratic.

“Then tell me what your book is about, and I’ll leave you alone.”

Her laughter vibrates through her back as I continue to kiss her. “That’s blackmail, you asshole.”

“Mmmm…” I hum against her skin. “Call me more names while I undress you.”

“We are not—”

Her words are cut off as my hand slides down inside her joggers, quickly slipping under her knickers to find her soaked and ready for me.

“What were you going to say, darling?” I reply as my middle finger sinks between her folds, curling to find the spot that drives her wild.

She clings to my arm as she turns her face up toward mine. “You’re such a dick,” she murmurs just before our lips crash together. My finger plunges inside her at a steady pace, and I find it so exquisite how she tenses up around me the faster I move.

My cock is leaking at the tip inside my trousers, and I’m growing more and more restless to free it.

While my finger is still buried deep inside her, I happen to glance up at the typewriter and catch only one small line.

He’s the last person on earth I want to love, but I can’t help it. I do.

A smile tugs on my lips as I turn my attention back to her. With my finger still hooked in her warm cunt, I wrap the other arm around her waist and hoist her out of the chair. Dropping her onto her feet facing the desk, I retrieve my hand from her joggers and quickly work to undo my own trousers.

It only takes a second before my cock is free, and I move fast to tear down her bottoms, aligning myself with her waiting heat.

“Grip the desk, mo ghràidh. Hold on tight.”

Shoving her shoulders down to bend her over more, I watch as she white-knuckles the edge of the table just before I shove my fat cock inside her. She moves to her tiptoes and lets out a relieved squeal of pleasure.

It still takes her body a few strokes to open for me before I can work myself all the way in. Once her pussy is stretched and she can accommodate my size, I pound harder against her.

“Go ahead, darling. Call me a name now. While you’re mewling like a goddamn cat in heat.”

“Fuck you,” she mutters, shoving her hips back against me to increase the intensity of my thrusts.

“You can do better than that,” I reply with a grunt.

“I hate you, you brute.”

“I know you do,” I reply with a smile. “Keep going.”

She responds with a high-pitched moan. “You…asshole.”

“You said that one already,” I tease her.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” she pleads.

Looking down, I enjoy the sight of my cock disappearing inside her, but I want her to see it too. So, in a rush, I pull out and lift her up onto the table. Her bare ass rests on scattered papers, crumpling and tearing them as I rip her joggers completely off. Then, I hold up her right leg and ease myself back in.

“Look how well you take me, mo ghràidh. Like you were made for me.”

Her gaze moves downward and she watches with me as I move inside her. When she turns her attention upward to my eyes, I find a hint of something warm and affectionate on her face. Her fists grip my shirt and she drags my lips to hers.

She holds tight to my body as I fuck her, and I know in this moment I could never possibly tire of this. Her body would never feel anything but perfect to me.

Her teeth bite on my lower lip as I feel her body tighten and tremble with pleasure. I groan against the pain as I start to come, pounding three more times inside her. Filling her up gives me more satisfaction than I ever expected it to. It’s like I’m giving her something she can’t give back. Something she can’t refuse or fight. She takes every drop because deep down, she wants it too.

We pant against each other for a moment before I slowly ease out. When I see a drop of my seed dripping free, I quickly push it back in with my thumb. She never argues with that either.

Without a word, I pull her underwear and sweats back up. She presses her lips together as I set her back in the chair the way I found her. But now her hair is falling out of its bun, her shirt is crumpled, and her cheeks are flushed. And she’s wearing that postorgasm dazed expression.

“Write that in your book,” I say as I press my lips to the top of her head.

I watch as she bites her bottom lip and fights a smile.

After tucking my cock back into my trousers and zipping them up, I leave the room and head toward the door to get back to work outside. I do so with a smile, knowing her scent is still on my skin and her ring is still on my finger.