Keep Me (Sinful Manor #1)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

The rain pelts my skin as I take off in a sprint down the grassy field toward the trees. The sound of the rain muffles her footsteps, but I still see movement up ahead. With the sun setting now, the sky is growing dark, and I’m losing sight of my wife. But I won’t panic. She can’t go far before she’ll hit the road or the river.

“Sylvie, please,” I beg only a few feet behind her. “You’re soaked, darling.”

“Leave me alone, Killian,” she shouts back as she continues marching away from our home.

“Where are you going?” I call.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. Sylvie, please. Fuck them!”

When she doesn’t respond, I pick up my speed. Only a few feet away from her, I’m finally able to get ahold of her. With a rough hand around her arm, I stop her from running any further away. Instead, I pin her against a tree, and I put my face in hers.

“Stop running from me, damn it!”

“Leave me alone, Killian!” she fights back.

“No!” I bellow close to her. “I’m your husband. I won’t let you go. I will always be by your side. I will always care about you, you understand?”

Tears fall against her cheeks, blending with the drops of rain that continue to pour down on us. “You’re not really—”

I quickly cut her off. “Don’t you say that to me again, Sylvie Barclay. I don’t care about some stupid fucking contract. I love you. With my whole fucking chest, I love you. So don’t give me any of that shite about not being your real husband, because I’m right here. And I’ll never fucking leave you, not like they did.”

She collapses against the tree, hanging her head back as she sobs. “It hurts so much, Killian. I feel it all. I wish I could reach into my chest and tear out my heart. Sometimes, it feels like I might die of this pain, this…loneliness. I’ve been surrounded by people my whole life, but I always feel alone.”

“You’re not alone, Sylvie. Not anymore.”

She sobs again. “I’m so angry all the time, Killian. And no matter what I do, no one cares.”

“I care.”

“I just want to scream,” she cries.

“Then, scream, Sylvie. You can scream all you want at me, and I still won’t leave you.”

When nothing comes out, I shake her again. “So, no one else loves you. Big deal. But I’m here, mo ghràidh . And I am telling you that I will love you enough to make up for all of them. I will keep you, and you can trust me that no matter what you do, I won’t let you go. Because you’re mine , understand me?”

When her eyes finally meet mine, tear-soaked and red-rimmed, she surrenders. Throwing her arms around me, she latches herself onto my body, and I yank her off the ground, holding her against me as she cries.

For a while, she just rests in my arms, not caring that we’re getting soaked by the rain. I just let her cry.

Eventually, she mumbles into my neck. “Killian…”

“Yes, darling.”

“Let’s go home.”

With that, I lift her into my arms, cradled against my chest, and I carry her home.

***

Sylvie is shivering in my arms as we reach the house. Martha has the door open, waiting for us with a large towel. Sylvie doesn’t have so much as a rain jacket on. Every inch of her is soaked to the bone, as am I, but I don’t feel the chill. I just feel her trembling.

“I’ll run a bath,” Martha says as we enter the house.

“Thank you, Martha.”

“Poor thing,” she mumbles, brushing my wife’s wet curls from her face. I’m not sure if she’s referring to her wet and cold state or what she witnessed today in how her parents treated her.

Muddy boots and all, I rush upstairs with Sylvie in my arms. I don’t care about a single rug or piece of furniture we’re ruining as I carry her to our room and take her straight to the bathroom.

Martha is quick with the bath, setting out the towels and putting granules of something into the water that smells soothing. Then she scurries out, leaving me alone with my shivering wife.

I set Sylvie on the counter. Her lips are blue, and her eyes are rimmed red. Every muscle in her body is quivering, so I make quick work of removing her layers. Sweater, T-shirt, bra, trousers, underwear. The cold touch of her skin chills me to the bone, so I carry her to the bath in a rush, setting her in carefully.

Even when she’s folded up and sitting in the hot water, she’s still trembling. “Come in with me,” she says through chattering teeth.

There’s not an ounce of hesitation in my body as I tear off my clothes before stepping into the bathtub and facing my wife.

She climbs onto my lap, straddling my hips as she forms her body to me, her face in my neck.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper into her hair.

Warm tears hit my shoulder, and I know she’s crying again. “It’s okay, Sylvie. Just cry, darling. I’ve got you.”

It feels as if an hour goes by like that, with her tears streaming down my chest and shoulders. When all of her tears have dried up, we relax together in the bath. She’s lying flat on top of me as I recline in the water. I finally feel warmed up, and her fingers are no longer like icicles, so she must be warmed up too.

When I can tell she is more stable, I feel comfortable to talk to her.

“What did she mean?” I whisper. “When your mother said you ripped up your portrait.”

Sylvie lets out a heavy breath. “On my eighteenth birthday, they made a portrait of me. It was supposed to be a gift for me, and it won all of these awards, so they had this big party at one of the galleries to present it. The painting was even called Our Greatest Achievement .”

“You didn’t like it?” I ask.

Sylvie doesn’t lift her face from my chest as she replies, “It was beautiful, but that fucking painting got a party, and I didn’t. The day that was meant to celebrate me still somehow became about them, and I realized as I was sitting in the back of that room that I was just another creation of theirs. An imperfect creation. A mistake. I didn’t win awards or get put on pedestals or celebrated. I was no one’s masterpiece.

“So, that night, after everyone had left, I snuck back into my parents’ studio, and I tore that painting to shreds. And they cried about it for days. My mother didn’t speak to me for nearly a year. The thing that I had ruined was nothing more than some paint and some fabric and a rainbow of colors, but it would never be me. I think deep down, I just had to show them that. But they didn’t get it.”

I stroke her back, remembering that angry and lonely woman I found almost a year ago. I had no clue the pain she was hiding inside, just as she had no idea of mine. Our own torment blinds us from seeing the torment of others.

But now that I truly see my wife, I think I love her even more.

“You are a masterpiece, Sylvie,” I whisper against her hair.

“I’m a mess.”

“We’re all a mess, but the trick is to find someone who thinks your mess is a masterpiece. Your parents might be blind fucking eejits, but I’m not. I know a masterpiece when I see it.”

For the first time since before those monsters showed up today, I see my wife smile.

After a moment, she softly whispers, “I love you.”

My heart starts to pound, and I have to force myself to breathe, but I try not to let it show. Instead, I stroke her back and let those three words wash over me.

“I love you too, Sylvie.”

She squeezes her tiny body tighter against me, burrowing her face in the crook of my neck. I feel the warmth of her breath against my skin. I’ll wait for the day when she can say those words to me while looking in my eyes. I can wait. For today, this is enough.

“I tried really hard not to,” she murmurs, making me laugh. When she finally lifts up and looks at me, it feels like fire burning through my chest. “But you made it so hard.”

“I’m sorry,” I lie. Then she grabs my face and presses her lips to mine. Her soft tongue presses into my mouth, and I slide mine along the surface, feeling as if we are melting into one.

With each stroke of her tongue, my chest grows tighter, and my hands roam more around her body. My cock twitches between us as she starts grinding herself against me.

Suddenly, all I can think about are those three words being spoken between us and everything they represent.

“Killian,” she murmurs against my mouth.

“Yes, mo ghràidh.”

Pulling away, she holds my face as she stares into my eyes. “I’m ready.”

Those two words escape her lips in a soft, breathy whisper, but the power they carry is far stronger than the way she uttered them.

“Ready for what?” I reply, although part of me already knows.

“Make me yours.”

My cock aches at the realization of what she’s asking. “Tell me exactly what you want,” I add for clarity.

Her eyes moisten with intensity as she clings tighter to me. “Make it hurt. I trust you. I just need you to distract me from this pain. Help me let all of it out, Killian.”

There’s an ache in my chest to see her say those words to me. I don’t want to hurt my wife, but God, I know it will be beautiful to see the way she takes that pain. My fierce, strong, incredible wife.

“Come with me,” I say.

Clumsily, we climb out together, barely breaking contact and not bothering with the towels. As I hoist her naked body in my arms, she wraps her legs around my waist, and I carry her to our room.

Draping her on the bed, I take more care with her than I usually do. I want to be a good husband for her and show her how gentle I can be while giving her exactly what she wants. That I will always keep her safe and protected.

“Do you trust me, mo ghràidh?”

Emphatically, she nods.

“Use your words, wife.”

“Yes,” she answers without hesitation.

Kneeling down, I trail my lips along the inside of her legs, kissing from her ankles to her knees and all the way to the apex of her thighs. She squirms restlessly, but I don’t let myself get carried away.

Sitting upright, I let my fingers graze the skin of her knee. “Your safe word will be red , understand? If you want me to stop at any point, just say red , and I’ll stop.”

Breathing heavily, she nods. “I understand.”

“That’s my girl.” Her expressions softens at the praise. “Now, get on your knees.”

I can tell a part of Sylvie struggles with taking a command. It’s not what she’s used to. She’s gone too long fighting alone in her life that she’s never built up enough trust to allow anyone control over her, but this relief is what she needs.

To let someone else make her decisions. To let someone else carry her pain.

And I will be that for her. I will never let my wife feel alone ever again.

Obediently, she climbs from a lying position and kneels in front of me. Although I’m kneeling as well, I still tower over her, so when she gazes up at me, I pet her hair back from her face and plant a kiss on her forehead.

“Hands on the bedpost.”

I watch her throat work as she swallows. Then she turns toward the head of the bed and places her hands on the wood. Climbing from the bed, I go to the bottom drawer of my dresser. There, I find the smooth paddle with a soft leather handle.

I catch her watching me as I pull it from the drawer.

“We’re going to go easy tonight, Sylvie. You’ve been through a lot today, but you asked me to make it hurt, and I will.”

I watch as goose bumps erupt along her back. She shivers in anticipation as I climb onto the bed behind her, stroking a hand softly along her bare back.

“I’m not going to strap you to the bed. But you won’t let go of that headboard, understand me?”

“Yes,” she murmurs.

“Grip it nice and tight, my love.”

She shivers again.

Before I rear back the paddle and let it fly, I slide my hand over her ass. “Let me hear you say it one more time, Sylvie. Tell me you trust me.”

Turning her attention back to me, she looks into my eyes as she says, “I trust you.”

“Good. Now let me hear you scream.”

The paddle lands with a deafening smack against her tender white flesh. She lets out a gasp, flying forward from the force of the hit. I watch as the blood rushes to the spot where the paddle landed, turning her right ass cheek a lovely shade of pink.

“One,” I say before rubbing the spot.

Rearing back my hand, I let it fly again. This time, she lets out a yelp. Her knuckles have turned white where they’re gripping the headboard.

“Two.”

On the third hit, Sylvie cries out louder, and squeezes her face in anguish.

She’s so strong. She won’t even let me see her pain. Eventually she will.

Her expression doesn’t change much through the fourth or fifth hit, but by the sixth, her sounds grow louder.

“Come on, baby. Let it out.”

It feels as if I’m coaxing a wild animal from their nest. If she trusts me like she says she does, then she wouldn’t be so afraid to let me hear her cry. But it’s not really about me. It’s about Sylvie protecting herself from others. Always keeping the most vulnerable parts of herself guarded.

The pride I feel when she lets out a wailing cry on the sixth smack of the paddle is visceral.

“That’s my girl. Let it go, darling.”

Her scream on the seventh brings tears to my eyes. It’s not just that Sylvie is finally letting it all go; it’s that she’s letting me see it. Out of everyone in the world, I’m the one she lets in.

Her trembles turn into quakes as she pulls at the headboard through her agony.

“Say the word and I’ll stop,” I offer when she has to gasp through her sobs. Tears streak down her face, and I’m ready to hold her now. I want to bury myself inside her so that I become a part of her forever.

“No!” she wails. “Don’t stop. I can take it.”

On each following wallop, Sylvie sheds far more than I thought she could. It’s as if I’m watching her come undone, letting herself feel and express far more than just pain. She’s crying for the fear and loneliness and anger.

I hate that she’s hurting, but seeing her work through this pain is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

“Two more, mo ghràidh,” I say, rubbing at her backside. “You’re almost there.”

My cock is aching as it leaks from the tip, crying for how badly it needs her like this. Her howls and moans are making me feral, and I don’t know how much longer I can wait.

Sylvie’s cries turn sexy and carnal through the last two hits, and I wonder if she can feel this energy too. This is what I love about domination, feeling so close to someone that everything is aligned. Our needs. Our desires. It has always been my favorite part, but it was never like this.

Everything is different with her.

After the last smack of the paddle, I toss it on the bed and move behind Sylvie, dropping to my elbows so I can devour her from behind. Her voice turns high-pitched as I kiss and lick every inch of her.

I want her to know I cherish every inch. Every single part of her is mine to love and worship and devour. So I do. She lies on the bed in ecstasy as I kiss and lick every drop of water on her bare skin.

As I move to my knees again, nibbling and kissing my way up, I rest my aching cock on her backside. Then I pull her upright so she’s resting against my chest. Gripping her chin, I turn her face toward me so I can stare into her eyes.

“I’m so proud of you,” I say, pressing my lips to her jaw. “You did so well.”

Her face is still tear-soaked as she smiles, absorbing the praise.

“But I need to fuck you now. I need to be inside you.”

“Yes, please,” she whines.

I take her mouth in a bruising kiss before I bury my hand in her hair and press her forward so she’s gripping the headboard again. Aligning my aching cock with her wet core, I tug on her hips and impale her on my cock.

When she lets out a breathless cry, I moan loudly along with her. Her ass presses backward as I fuck her, finding the spot inside her that makes her scream with every thrust.

“That’s it,” I grunt. “Show me how good that feels.”

“Yes,” she replies with a whimper. “Don’t stop, Killian.”

“Tell me you love me again, mo ghràidh . ”

“I love you,” she says, her stunning soft curls draped across her back as she hangs her head in ecstasy.

“Say it again,” I grunt, fucking her with more force, still careful not to hurt her.

“I love you,” she screams this time.

Unable to keep it in any longer, I tear Sylvie away from the headboard and roll her onto her back so I can pound her into the mattress with my thrusts. Hooking a leg under my arm, I stay right on that spot she loves, watching her expression for a sign that she’s close.

“Come for me, darling,” I mutter, fighting the urge to lose it myself. “Come for your husband.”

“I’m almost…there,” she shrieks, her voice tight and high-pitched.

Reaching between us, I press my thumb to her clit and help her ride out her climax when it hits. Her hips jerk, and her grip tightens, so I keep up my thrusts. She goes breathless, but I don’t let her stop.

“One more time, Sylvie. Say it.”

“I love you,” she breathes, this time gazing into my eyes. It’s as if she’s yanking me over the edge with her, making me feel the same earth-shattering pressure she was feeling. My cock shudders and shoots inside her, filling her up more than I expected in what feels like a never-ending orgasm.

We rock together, riding out the rest of it in sync. When my body is spent, and my heart has stopped hammering, I slowly rise and look down at her. Brushing her hair out of her face, I kiss her softly again. Our kisses are unhurried now and familiar. As normal as breathing.

“Aren’t you going to say it?” she whispers.

“I don’t need to say it, mo ghràidh. You should just know.”

“Well, I want to hear it anyway,” she argues with a twist of her nose.

Caging in her face with my arms around her on the bed, I press my lips to hers as I whisper, “I love you, you stubborn little woman.”

She smiles softly up at me as she runs her fingers through my hair.

“How are you feeling now?” I ask in a gentle tone.

“I feel good. And tired.”

She looks exhausted, but after the night she’s had, I’m not surprised. “I want you to drink some water before you fall asleep, understand?”

Naturally, she rolls her eyes. “Are you going to be bossy now?”

“When it comes to taking care of you, you bet your arse I am.”

Tears glisten in her eyes, and neither of us say anything for a moment. “Thank you, Killian.”

“I’m your husband. You don’t have to thank me.”

Very carefully, I rise from between her legs. Resting on my heels, I watch as my seed slowly leaks from its home, so with a smile and a wink in her direction, I very gently push it back in.