Oops I Am My Bully's Bride

Chapter 13

Marceline took the final step to the edge of the bed.

Adrian’s eyes tracked every inch of movement. He didn’t reach for her. He simply waited, one arm still folded behind his head, the other resting loosely across his stomach.

The open shirt framed the hard planes of his chest. The condom packet sat untouched on the nightstand like a quiet threat.

“Closer,” he said.

She obeyed. The mattress dipped under her weight as she sat on the edge, spine straight, hands folded over the curve of her belly. The babies shifted once, then settled.

Her hip still ached from the fall in the bathroom. Her cheek still carried the heat of his earlier slap.

Adrian sat up slowly. He didn’t touch her at first. He only looked...really looked...at the way the soft cardigan stretched across her breasts, at the way her thighs pressed together under the thin sleep shorts, at the faint tremor in her lower lip.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I’m not.”

“You are.” His voice dropped. “From anger. From adrenaline. From something else you’re pretending isn’t there.”

He reached out then. Two fingers brushed the red mark on her cheek, tracing the edge of it with almost clinical care. Marceline flinched, but she didn’t pull away.

“Still stings,” he observed.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He leaned in until his breath warmed the side of her neck. “I want you to feel everything tonight.”

His mouth found the sensitive skin just below her ear. A single, open-mouthed kiss. Then another, lower. His teeth grazed lightly. Marceline’s breath hitched. She kept her hands locked over her belly as if the pressure could anchor her.

Adrian’s hand slid from her cheek to the side of her throat, thumb resting against her pulse. He felt it jump. A low sound of satisfaction vibrated in his chest.

“There it is,” he whispered against her skin. “That little race you try so hard to hide.”

He kissed the hollow of her throat next, slow and deliberate. His free hand moved to the first button of her cardigan. He didn’t ask permission. He simply opened it. One button. Then the next.

The soft fabric parted, revealing the thin tank top underneath and the full, heavy swell of her breasts. Pregnancy had made them sensitive, almost painfully so. The cool air of the room brushed across the thin fabric and her n*****s tightened instantly.

Adrian noticed. Of course he did.

“Look at that,” he said quietly, almost to himself. He cupped one breast through the tank top, testing the weight, the warmth. His thumb circled the peaked tip once, twice. Marceline’s thighs pressed together harder. A small, involuntary sound escaped her throat.

“Sensitive,” he noted. “More than usual.”

“Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” He pinched lightly through the fabric. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to send a sharp, electric spark straight down between her legs. “Don’t touch what’s mine?”

She swallowed. “You don’t get to...”

“I get to do whatever I want.” His mouth replaced his hand. He closed his lips around the fabric-covered n****e and sucked, slow and wet. The thin cotton grew damp under his tongue. Marceline’s head tipped back despite herself. Her fingers dug into the mattress.

Adrian spent long minutes there...switching from one breast to the other, using teeth and tongue and the occasional sharp tug until both n*****s stood tight and aching against the wet fabric. Only then did he push the tank top up, baring her completely.

The cooler air made her shiver. He took one bare n****e into his mouth and groaned softly against it, as if the taste pleased him.

Marceline’s breathing turned shallow. Heat pooled low in her belly, conflicting with the restless weight of the twins. She hated how quickly her body responded. She hated the soft sounds she couldn’t quite swallow.

Adrian’s hand drifted lower, over the curve of her stomach, careful but possessive. He didn’t press. He simply mapped the shape of her, fingertips tracing the stretched skin until he reached the waistband of her sleep shorts.

“Lie back,” he said.

She hesitated.

His eyes lifted to hers. “Lie. Back.”

She did. The pillows cradled her shoulders. Adrian shifted, settling between her knees. He hooked his fingers into the sides of her shorts and underwear together and drew them down in one slow pull. The fabric caught briefly on her thighs before sliding free. He tossed them aside without looking.

Marceline’s legs tried to close. His hands stopped them...firm pressure on her inner thighs, spreading her open.

“Stay,” he ordered.

She stayed.

For a moment he only looked. The dim light of the bedside lamp painted everything in warm gold. Her body was soft and rounded from pregnancy, the dark curls between her legs already glistening. Adrian’s expression didn’t soften, but something hungry flickered behind his eyes.

“You’re wet,” he said. Not a question.

Marceline turned her face toward the pillow. “Shut up.”

He laughed once, quiet and dark. Then he lowered his head.

The first touch of his mouth was almost gentle...a single, open kiss against the inside of her thigh. Then another, higher. He took his time, dragging his lips and the scrape of stubble along sensitive skin until she was trembling. Only when a soft, helpless sound slipped from her did he finally settle between her legs.

His tongue dragged a slow stripe through her wet folds.

Marceline’s back arched. A sharp gasp tore from her throat.

Adrian hummed against her, the vibration sinking deep. He licked again, slower this time, mapping every inch...circling her c**t without quite touching it, dipping lower, tasting her thoroughly.

His hands kept her thighs spread wide. Every time she tried to close them he pressed harder, holding her open for his mouth.

“Adrian...”

“Quiet.” The word was muffled against her skin. He sucked her c**t between his lips and flicked his tongue in tight, precise circles. Marceline’s hips jerked. Heat flooded outward in dizzying waves. Her fingers found his hair without permission, clutching.

He didn’t stop. He alternated between long, flat strokes and focused, relentless attention on the swollen bundle of nerves. Wet sounds filled the quiet room. Marceline’s breathing turned ragged. The twins shifted under the building pressure, but the pleasure kept climbing, sharp and overwhelming. Her thighs began to shake.

Adrian slipped one hand up, two fingers circling her entrance before pushing inside slowly, deeply, curling against the spot that made her cry out. His mouth never left her c**t.

He worked her with devastating patience, building the tension higher and higher until her whole body drew tight like a bowstring.

She was close. So close the edges of the room started to blur.

And then the memory slammed into her.

Victoria’s hand on his chest. The unhurried kiss. The way he had smirked while holding the condom in front of her face. The slap that had turned her cheek scarlet. The cold tile of the bathroom floor against her side. The quiet, cruel amusement in his eyes when she had dragged another woman out by the hair.

*He doesn’t care.*

The thought cut through the haze like ice water.

*He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about the babies. He only cares about control. About breaking you. About watching you fall apart for him and then discarding whatever is left.*

Marceline’s eyes flew open. Pleasure still pulsed between her legs, but revulsion rose just as fast.

She shoved at his shoulders. “Stop.”

Adrian didn’t immediately lift his head. His tongue dragged one more slow circle.

“I said stop!”

She pushed harder, scrambling backward up the bed until her back hit the headboard. Her legs closed tightly. She yanked the nearest pillow over her lap as if it could erase what had just happened. Her chest heaved. The taste of near-orgasm still lingered, unfinished and aching.

Adrian sat back on his heels, mouth wet, eyes dark. A single eyebrow rose.

“Problem?”

Marceline’s voice came out raw. “You’re a bastard.”

“And?”

“You don’t care.” She swallowed hard, fighting the residual tremor in her thighs. “You slapped me. You made me fetch condoms so you could f**k someone else in our bed. You watched me fall in the bathroom and you didn’t even get up. You let Victoria put her hands all over you right in front of me.”

Adrian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, unbothered. “Your point?”

“My point is I almost let you make me come after all of that.” Her laugh was bitter, shaky. “I almost forgot what you are.”

She swung her legs off the bed, snatched her discarded shorts and underwear from the floor, and yanked them on with clumsy, furious movements. The cardigan followed. She didn’t bother with the buttons.

Adrian remained where he was, still kneeling on the mattress, watching her with that same unreadable amusement.

“Running again?” he asked softly.

“Staying away,” she corrected. Her hand pressed protectively over the twins. “You’re bad for me. You’re bad for them. You don’t care about any of us...you only care about owning and breaking whatever you decide is yours for the night.”

She backed toward the door, heart hammering.

“I won’t let you do this to me now or ever again.”

Adrian’s smile was slow and sharp. “We’ll see.”

Marceline didn’t answer. She turned, yanked the door open, and fled into the hallway before the heat still throbbing between her legs could convince her to stay.

Behind her, Adrian’s quiet laughter followed her all the way to her own room.

“Feisty....“