lovesalphamales
Virgin
- Joined
- Nov 15, 2008
- Posts
- 3
Hi. I posted this on "ideas" and someone suggested to put it up here. I've written one chapter - it's not actually written totally because there's bits in the middle and sex scenes that haven't been fleshed out.
The story is kind of standard. 20yo woman (Camille) fell in love with a man (Phillip) who has come back from war. He is called back to war, but they marry right before he goes. They get word he's died about 2 years later. His cousin (Ren), comes to bring the news to the widow. He has feelings for her, pursues her, and wins her affection in return after a long time. Finally, she sleeps with him - the eve that her husband returns (4 years later though). And Phillip knows she slept with him.
So now that he's back, she is caught between two men. They are of course both alphas, warriors, demanding and ruthless etc etc. Maybe she could even be engaged to Ren, or had a small ceremony already?
I just don't know where to go from here!!!! I don't know how to write hot and emotionally laden sex scenes. Would appreciate any advice, help, or someone interested in writing the story for me even!
What I have so far (it's not very good, first try at this stuff)...
Prologue
“Don’t go,” Camille whispered, tears in her eyes. “Please don’t go.”
“You know I have to,” Phillip said, his voice husky with emotion.
“I don’t know that!” she cried. “I don’t. You have a choice. You can stay here… with me. You can choose me.”
“It’s not about me choosing this war over you,” he said quietly. He was trying very hard not to let tears form in his eyes.
He looked at this girl – barely a woman, only twenty, who loved him so transparently, and felt his chest contract. The last thing on earth he wanted was to leave her side. But he had a duty to his country and to his king.
“Please, Camille, try to understand.”
Tears started streaming down her face as she looked away. She hated this – hated this damned war, hated that it was taking Phillip away from her. She hated even that she was begging him to stay.
Camille knew deep down that if he did stay – if he stayed because of her, she would always feel guilty to have kept him. And he would in his heart hold it against her, until the guilt and bitterness became a chasm between them.
Phillip touched her cheek gently, seeking her eyes. She wouldn’t look at him.
“Camille....I have to go. I must go. I could never feel worthy of you as a man if I forsook my duty,” he said. “It will perhaps…not be for long.”
Camille shook her head.
They both knew he was lying.
“Marry me,” Phillip said, holding her smooth cheek in his palm.
“What?” Camille whispered.
“I want you to be my wife. I want to go away, knowing you’re mine.”
“I am yours,” she said softly.
“Then marry me now,” he said again.
She swallowed. “You leave the tomorrow, Phillip. How can we be married before you leave?”
“Gretna Green,” he suggested. He started pulling her toward the door. “We’ll leave right now.”
“We won’t make it,” she said, pulling on his hand to bring him to a stop.
He turned to look at her. Finally he said, “We’ll call the vicar.”
“You know he won’t marry us, Phillip. Not without the bans. Not without a special license.”
“I’ll make him,” Phillip’s other hand was balling into a fist. Alarmed, Camille reached out to grab that hand, and unclench it until his fingers were entwined in hers.
“No, you won’t.”
“You’re acting as if you don’t want to marry me,” he said, looking down at her.
“Please,” she pleaded, “please don’t make this harder. Nothing would make me happier then to be your wife. If only you’d had more notice… if only…”
He pulled her into an embrace, burying his face into her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Camille held fiercely onto Phillip, remembering the scent of him, the feel of him. She felt a few tears drop onto his morning coat, but bravely held the rest at bay. She would not spend her last hours with him crying. She wanted to do anything, give him anything that would make the months apart bearable.
Camille felt him pulling his head back slightly, and instantly lifted her own up. Their lips met. His kiss was urgent. He was demanding something, seeking something from her that she wasn’t sure how to give him. She had a feeling she was getting a brief glimpse into the man he really was behind his controlled and charming exterior. There was a lot about Phillip that she did not understand, much that she could not control – she felt it, but was too much in love with him to care.
Phillip wrapped both of his strong, muscular arms around her, and pinned her to him, breast to thigh, something he had never done before. Camille gasped, but the sound was lost in his mouth. She felt something hard against her stomach. Her whole body was tingling and aching at the same time at the feel of him.
Suddenly, he pulled his head away, his breathing laboured.
“We have to stop,” he said, making no move to let her go. He still had both his arms around her, holding her to him in an iron grip that almost hurt.
“Why?” she asked, her chest heaving, her senses confused by how thoroughly she had just been kissed.
“Because if we don’t, I am going to do something you might regret. I wouldn’t regret it – but you might.”
“What, Phillip?” she asked.
He looked straight into her eyes. It was a long moment before he responded. “I want you, Camille. I want to be inside you. Do you know what that means?”
She swallowed. “I think so.”
“I don’t think you do. If you did, you’d be running away from me.”
“But I want you too,” she said.
“You think that I want you the way those little boys at your country dances want you. That I would take you the way they would.” Suddenly, he moved his hips, just once, against her. She felt the friction, felt the movement of the hard thing there, and let out an involuntary whimper. When she caught his eye again, there was something feral in his eyes. “I am not a gentleman, Camille, not really. Being with you these past few weeks, being the perfect suitor – it’s not me.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“You get one chance to say no, Camille,” he said, “only one.”
In response, she wrapped her arms tighter around him.
“Camille,” she heard a low voice murmur.
Camille woke sleepily.
Phillip sat next to her on the bed, his hand resting on her thigh.
She looked up at him through one eye. He smiled at her, the possessive and satisfied smile of a lover. She blushed scarlet, and buried her face into the pillow.
He grinned down at her silky dark hair.
“Get up, woman; it’s your wedding day.”
She turned to look up at him curiously.
“My wedding day?” Then she narrowed her eyes at him. “Woman?”
Phillip laughed. “The vicar is waiting to marry us,” He said, and couldn’t help but add cheekily, “woman.”
She ignored his second remark this time, so surprised was she at the first. “How… why…?”
“Mr ___ has wanted a mistress of ____ for a long time. And given the unexpected death of my older brother, he hasn’t had the pleasure of marrying an Emerson, which is, I think, one of his life ambitions.”
Phillip didn’t tell her that although this was true, it would probably not have been quite enough to convince the old man to marry them so speedily. But when Phillip had explained in no uncertain terms at his visit this morning that he had better marry him to the girl because she might already be carrying his child, he was quick to relent.
Camille blinked at him, trying to take in what he was saying.
“Today he will marry us,” Phillip said when she didn’t immediately respond. “This minute, if you can manage to pull that glorious body of yours out of bed.”
“But, wait!” she said, hesitating. “One moment, let me think, this is all a bit sudden…”
Camille had no intention of not marrying him, and was in fact on the verge of bursting with joy that she would be his wife before he left. However, her processing abilities were a little delayed in the morning – and Phillip was misinterpreting that for reluctance.
“You cannot think to deny me, Camille,” he said, his voice taking a slight edge. “I claimed you last night.”
She nodded, agreeing with him. “But I’m not dressed,” she said “and my mother…”
“Cannot stop you,” he said. Mentally he added, and will not stop me.
Camille nodded again, slowly.
Chapter 1
---- Something something ----
Phillip had only one thought to keep him warm in his freezing cell: Camille. She had been his wife for only three hours before he had left her. He remembered the scent of her, the taste of her, the softness of her skin and the silkiness of her hair. He replayed in his mind every moment he’d spent in her presence.
Four years without her – four years! He had counted every day. He had sent her as many messages as he could smuggle out safely.
“Ren,” she said quietly.
“Camille?” he touched her hair softly, “let me.”
“Phillip!” Camille gasped.
He slammed the door shut behind him and locked it.
“Hello, wife,” he said.
“Impossible,” she whispered, blinking her brown eyes.
“Surprised?”
“You… you’re dead!”
“Maybe you wish I was. But no, I’m alive.”
Camille was physically trembling. She stared, unable to believe her eyes.
“You’re alive?” she whispered dumbly as the apparition began to stalk toward where she stood at her dressing table.
He came to a stop an arms length away from him. She longed to reach out and see if there was flesh on the figure of her imagination. To feel if he was warm under her touch.
Instead she stood, frozen in place, as her eyes frantically scanned his face. There were two unfamiliar scars, one making a small vertical slash through his right eyebrow, and one about an inch long on the opposite side of his jaw. When she had finished investigating his face, and caught his eye, she stopped, shocked by the fury blazing in his green eyes.
Hesitantly, she whispered, “Is it really you?”
“It’s me,” he said, in a tone she had never heard from him before. “Your husband. The one you swore faithfulness to.”
Camille managed not to gasp audibly at this, but the flicker in her eyes showed that his words hit home. Phillip saw it, and wanted to do damage to something – preferably his cousin’s head.
Waves of guilt, of shame, rolled over Camille. She remembered vividly last night’s passion with Ren.
She looked nervously up at Phillip, not sure how much he knew but knowing he must know something to be looking at her with such fury and disgust in his eyes.
Before she could open her mouth to say something, he asked, “And how have you been, my faithful wife?”
“I… Phillip…. You’d been gone so long… and then we heard news that you were dead…”
He gave her a cynical smile. “And how did the news of my death make you feel, wife?”
She wanted to cringe. He was calling her that to punish her.
“Cold,” she answered honestly. “Numb.”
“Well let me warm you up,” he said, closing the small gap between them and suddenly lifting her off her feet. In four quick strides, he deposited her ungently onto the bed.
“Phillip!” she squeaked as she struggled in her nightgown to get into a sitting position. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He was standing at the foot of the bed, and was throwing off his coat, and undoing his cravat. His movements were not rushed but done with military precision.
“I think you know exactly what I’m about to do to you,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “I’m sure my cousin looked a similar way when he had you last night.”
This time Camille did gasp aloud.
She wanted to talk to him, to explain, but knew that he was in no mood to listen to her. Felt the danger rolling off him in waves. There was just one clear message in her brain: run!
Camille jumped off the bed, but before she had taken two steps, Phillip’s arms were around her, holding her in an iron grip that almost crushed the breath from her.
She began to fight him, kicking and pushing against him.
“Settle down,” he commanded.
“Put me down!” she cried.
He dropped her onto the bed again.
She moved to get off again, but he grabbed hold of her hair. He didn’t pull, but her attempt to run away from him quickly had the same effect, and she cried out loud in pain. She fell back onto the bed.
“Lay a toe off this bed again and you will regret it.” He said, not loudly, but in a tone that struck fear into her heart. He was looking down at her and had a dangerous expression in his eyes that told her that he would make good on his threat.
She shrank back against the wall, covering herself with the bed sheets.
Phillip watched her a moment, making sure that she intended to obey him. He finished divesting himself of his vest, and then changed his mind about removing the rest of his clothing.
Camille felt a mixture of emotions as Phillip held her. Joy – incredible, indescribable joy – that he was alive, that he was here, that he was holding her. But her joy was greatly marred by guilt. Guilt because she had made love with Ren. Guilt because she had liked it; had for the first time since hearing of Phillip’s death, felt warm and touched through and through. Not just physically, but emotionally. Though she had not knowingly committed adultery, in Phillip’s eyes, that is what it was. If she had only been strong for one more day! If only Ren had not been so relentless in his pursuit of her!
And what of Ren? She had developed feelings for him.
But Phillip had returned. Phillip was her husband.
And she still loved him.
She was not sure how he felt about her. If time had made him forget. But coming home to find his wife had slept with another man – and that man being his cousin! Her heart was heavy in her chest from the shame of it.
Phillip was furious. He had taken her in anger. He had punished her with his body, pushed her, without thought to her inexperience or size. She could not bring herself to despise him for it, but she did fear him now. Perhaps he would divorce her. Or send her away to a country estate. Or beat her. Her heart began to pound as her thoughts turned dire. Accompanying it was an incredible ache and sadness.
“What are you thinking?” Phillip’s voice was unexpected.
Camille turned to see him staring at her, his green eyes inscrutable.
“I’m not sure that I’m thinking at all,” she said hesitantly, “just feeling,”
“What are you feeling?”
“Happy. Sad.” She swallowed hard, and then forced herself to say, “Guilty.”
She felt him stiffen.
He pushed away from her, and she felt cold away from the warmth of his body.
“You will not see Ren again, Camille,” he said, his voice hard. “If I catch him within twenty yards of you, I will beat him to a pulp. Do you understand?”
She nodded slowly.
“And from this moment on, you go nowhere unless you are escorted by me.”
“What?” she whispered.
“Nowhere.” He repeated, daring her to question him.
Camille swallowed hard an angry retort. Now was not the time to defy him. When he was in a more rational state, then she could talk to him.
She started to turn away; he caught her arm and pulled her to face him again.
“You will never break any command I give you,” he said, “and you will answer anything I ask you with complete honesty. Is that understood?”
She pulled her arm away roughly, resulting in his hand falling down to bounce on one of her breasts before falling on the bed. His eyes darted down to her chest.
“I am your wife, Phillip, not a soldier under you.”
In a moment, he had rolled her onto her back, pinning her under his weight. He loomed over her. “But you are under me, Camille. You will spend a lot of time under me.”
He began to fondle her.
She squirmed, trying to fight him. He easily caught both hands, pulled them above her head, and pinned them there by the wrists with one of his hands.
“Don’t!” Looking up at him from her position, with her chest pushed forward like an offering to him, she was completely vulnerable to him. “Phillip. I… I’m sore.”
He gave a short, humourless laugh. “I’m sore too,” he was alluding to the pain in his heart, but continued lewdly, “but I can remedy my soreness inside you.”
“Don’t take me in anger again,” she pleaded.
“I will take you however I want,” he said angrily, “you just lie there and take it. I own your body, even if I don’t own your heart.”
Phillip then spent the next hour proving to her, again and again, that her body belonged to him and not to herself.
“No is not part of your vocabulary towards me,” he whispered in her ear when he was finally sated. Camille was so exhausted all she could do was turn her head to look at him. He was exhausted too, but his eyes pierced into hers. They were possessive eyes, angry eyes, and haunted eyes.
“Now sleep.”
In the week to come, Phillip was insatiable. Camille found herself being taken at least three times every day. He also seemed to make a point of taking her at least once every day in a place where any number of the servants might happen upon them, much to her embarrassment. She would be walking down the staircase, and would feel a sudden grip on her arm.
The story is kind of standard. 20yo woman (Camille) fell in love with a man (Phillip) who has come back from war. He is called back to war, but they marry right before he goes. They get word he's died about 2 years later. His cousin (Ren), comes to bring the news to the widow. He has feelings for her, pursues her, and wins her affection in return after a long time. Finally, she sleeps with him - the eve that her husband returns (4 years later though). And Phillip knows she slept with him.
So now that he's back, she is caught between two men. They are of course both alphas, warriors, demanding and ruthless etc etc. Maybe she could even be engaged to Ren, or had a small ceremony already?
I just don't know where to go from here!!!! I don't know how to write hot and emotionally laden sex scenes. Would appreciate any advice, help, or someone interested in writing the story for me even!
What I have so far (it's not very good, first try at this stuff)...
Prologue
“Don’t go,” Camille whispered, tears in her eyes. “Please don’t go.”
“You know I have to,” Phillip said, his voice husky with emotion.
“I don’t know that!” she cried. “I don’t. You have a choice. You can stay here… with me. You can choose me.”
“It’s not about me choosing this war over you,” he said quietly. He was trying very hard not to let tears form in his eyes.
He looked at this girl – barely a woman, only twenty, who loved him so transparently, and felt his chest contract. The last thing on earth he wanted was to leave her side. But he had a duty to his country and to his king.
“Please, Camille, try to understand.”
Tears started streaming down her face as she looked away. She hated this – hated this damned war, hated that it was taking Phillip away from her. She hated even that she was begging him to stay.
Camille knew deep down that if he did stay – if he stayed because of her, she would always feel guilty to have kept him. And he would in his heart hold it against her, until the guilt and bitterness became a chasm between them.
Phillip touched her cheek gently, seeking her eyes. She wouldn’t look at him.
“Camille....I have to go. I must go. I could never feel worthy of you as a man if I forsook my duty,” he said. “It will perhaps…not be for long.”
Camille shook her head.
They both knew he was lying.
“Marry me,” Phillip said, holding her smooth cheek in his palm.
“What?” Camille whispered.
“I want you to be my wife. I want to go away, knowing you’re mine.”
“I am yours,” she said softly.
“Then marry me now,” he said again.
She swallowed. “You leave the tomorrow, Phillip. How can we be married before you leave?”
“Gretna Green,” he suggested. He started pulling her toward the door. “We’ll leave right now.”
“We won’t make it,” she said, pulling on his hand to bring him to a stop.
He turned to look at her. Finally he said, “We’ll call the vicar.”
“You know he won’t marry us, Phillip. Not without the bans. Not without a special license.”
“I’ll make him,” Phillip’s other hand was balling into a fist. Alarmed, Camille reached out to grab that hand, and unclench it until his fingers were entwined in hers.
“No, you won’t.”
“You’re acting as if you don’t want to marry me,” he said, looking down at her.
“Please,” she pleaded, “please don’t make this harder. Nothing would make me happier then to be your wife. If only you’d had more notice… if only…”
He pulled her into an embrace, burying his face into her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Camille held fiercely onto Phillip, remembering the scent of him, the feel of him. She felt a few tears drop onto his morning coat, but bravely held the rest at bay. She would not spend her last hours with him crying. She wanted to do anything, give him anything that would make the months apart bearable.
Camille felt him pulling his head back slightly, and instantly lifted her own up. Their lips met. His kiss was urgent. He was demanding something, seeking something from her that she wasn’t sure how to give him. She had a feeling she was getting a brief glimpse into the man he really was behind his controlled and charming exterior. There was a lot about Phillip that she did not understand, much that she could not control – she felt it, but was too much in love with him to care.
Phillip wrapped both of his strong, muscular arms around her, and pinned her to him, breast to thigh, something he had never done before. Camille gasped, but the sound was lost in his mouth. She felt something hard against her stomach. Her whole body was tingling and aching at the same time at the feel of him.
Suddenly, he pulled his head away, his breathing laboured.
“We have to stop,” he said, making no move to let her go. He still had both his arms around her, holding her to him in an iron grip that almost hurt.
“Why?” she asked, her chest heaving, her senses confused by how thoroughly she had just been kissed.
“Because if we don’t, I am going to do something you might regret. I wouldn’t regret it – but you might.”
“What, Phillip?” she asked.
He looked straight into her eyes. It was a long moment before he responded. “I want you, Camille. I want to be inside you. Do you know what that means?”
She swallowed. “I think so.”
“I don’t think you do. If you did, you’d be running away from me.”
“But I want you too,” she said.
“You think that I want you the way those little boys at your country dances want you. That I would take you the way they would.” Suddenly, he moved his hips, just once, against her. She felt the friction, felt the movement of the hard thing there, and let out an involuntary whimper. When she caught his eye again, there was something feral in his eyes. “I am not a gentleman, Camille, not really. Being with you these past few weeks, being the perfect suitor – it’s not me.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“You get one chance to say no, Camille,” he said, “only one.”
In response, she wrapped her arms tighter around him.
“Camille,” she heard a low voice murmur.
Camille woke sleepily.
Phillip sat next to her on the bed, his hand resting on her thigh.
She looked up at him through one eye. He smiled at her, the possessive and satisfied smile of a lover. She blushed scarlet, and buried her face into the pillow.
He grinned down at her silky dark hair.
“Get up, woman; it’s your wedding day.”
She turned to look up at him curiously.
“My wedding day?” Then she narrowed her eyes at him. “Woman?”
Phillip laughed. “The vicar is waiting to marry us,” He said, and couldn’t help but add cheekily, “woman.”
She ignored his second remark this time, so surprised was she at the first. “How… why…?”
“Mr ___ has wanted a mistress of ____ for a long time. And given the unexpected death of my older brother, he hasn’t had the pleasure of marrying an Emerson, which is, I think, one of his life ambitions.”
Phillip didn’t tell her that although this was true, it would probably not have been quite enough to convince the old man to marry them so speedily. But when Phillip had explained in no uncertain terms at his visit this morning that he had better marry him to the girl because she might already be carrying his child, he was quick to relent.
Camille blinked at him, trying to take in what he was saying.
“Today he will marry us,” Phillip said when she didn’t immediately respond. “This minute, if you can manage to pull that glorious body of yours out of bed.”
“But, wait!” she said, hesitating. “One moment, let me think, this is all a bit sudden…”
Camille had no intention of not marrying him, and was in fact on the verge of bursting with joy that she would be his wife before he left. However, her processing abilities were a little delayed in the morning – and Phillip was misinterpreting that for reluctance.
“You cannot think to deny me, Camille,” he said, his voice taking a slight edge. “I claimed you last night.”
She nodded, agreeing with him. “But I’m not dressed,” she said “and my mother…”
“Cannot stop you,” he said. Mentally he added, and will not stop me.
Camille nodded again, slowly.
Chapter 1
---- Something something ----
Phillip had only one thought to keep him warm in his freezing cell: Camille. She had been his wife for only three hours before he had left her. He remembered the scent of her, the taste of her, the softness of her skin and the silkiness of her hair. He replayed in his mind every moment he’d spent in her presence.
Four years without her – four years! He had counted every day. He had sent her as many messages as he could smuggle out safely.
“Ren,” she said quietly.
“Camille?” he touched her hair softly, “let me.”
“Phillip!” Camille gasped.
He slammed the door shut behind him and locked it.
“Hello, wife,” he said.
“Impossible,” she whispered, blinking her brown eyes.
“Surprised?”
“You… you’re dead!”
“Maybe you wish I was. But no, I’m alive.”
Camille was physically trembling. She stared, unable to believe her eyes.
“You’re alive?” she whispered dumbly as the apparition began to stalk toward where she stood at her dressing table.
He came to a stop an arms length away from him. She longed to reach out and see if there was flesh on the figure of her imagination. To feel if he was warm under her touch.
Instead she stood, frozen in place, as her eyes frantically scanned his face. There were two unfamiliar scars, one making a small vertical slash through his right eyebrow, and one about an inch long on the opposite side of his jaw. When she had finished investigating his face, and caught his eye, she stopped, shocked by the fury blazing in his green eyes.
Hesitantly, she whispered, “Is it really you?”
“It’s me,” he said, in a tone she had never heard from him before. “Your husband. The one you swore faithfulness to.”
Camille managed not to gasp audibly at this, but the flicker in her eyes showed that his words hit home. Phillip saw it, and wanted to do damage to something – preferably his cousin’s head.
Waves of guilt, of shame, rolled over Camille. She remembered vividly last night’s passion with Ren.
She looked nervously up at Phillip, not sure how much he knew but knowing he must know something to be looking at her with such fury and disgust in his eyes.
Before she could open her mouth to say something, he asked, “And how have you been, my faithful wife?”
“I… Phillip…. You’d been gone so long… and then we heard news that you were dead…”
He gave her a cynical smile. “And how did the news of my death make you feel, wife?”
She wanted to cringe. He was calling her that to punish her.
“Cold,” she answered honestly. “Numb.”
“Well let me warm you up,” he said, closing the small gap between them and suddenly lifting her off her feet. In four quick strides, he deposited her ungently onto the bed.
“Phillip!” she squeaked as she struggled in her nightgown to get into a sitting position. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He was standing at the foot of the bed, and was throwing off his coat, and undoing his cravat. His movements were not rushed but done with military precision.
“I think you know exactly what I’m about to do to you,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “I’m sure my cousin looked a similar way when he had you last night.”
This time Camille did gasp aloud.
She wanted to talk to him, to explain, but knew that he was in no mood to listen to her. Felt the danger rolling off him in waves. There was just one clear message in her brain: run!
Camille jumped off the bed, but before she had taken two steps, Phillip’s arms were around her, holding her in an iron grip that almost crushed the breath from her.
She began to fight him, kicking and pushing against him.
“Settle down,” he commanded.
“Put me down!” she cried.
He dropped her onto the bed again.
She moved to get off again, but he grabbed hold of her hair. He didn’t pull, but her attempt to run away from him quickly had the same effect, and she cried out loud in pain. She fell back onto the bed.
“Lay a toe off this bed again and you will regret it.” He said, not loudly, but in a tone that struck fear into her heart. He was looking down at her and had a dangerous expression in his eyes that told her that he would make good on his threat.
She shrank back against the wall, covering herself with the bed sheets.
Phillip watched her a moment, making sure that she intended to obey him. He finished divesting himself of his vest, and then changed his mind about removing the rest of his clothing.
Camille felt a mixture of emotions as Phillip held her. Joy – incredible, indescribable joy – that he was alive, that he was here, that he was holding her. But her joy was greatly marred by guilt. Guilt because she had made love with Ren. Guilt because she had liked it; had for the first time since hearing of Phillip’s death, felt warm and touched through and through. Not just physically, but emotionally. Though she had not knowingly committed adultery, in Phillip’s eyes, that is what it was. If she had only been strong for one more day! If only Ren had not been so relentless in his pursuit of her!
And what of Ren? She had developed feelings for him.
But Phillip had returned. Phillip was her husband.
And she still loved him.
She was not sure how he felt about her. If time had made him forget. But coming home to find his wife had slept with another man – and that man being his cousin! Her heart was heavy in her chest from the shame of it.
Phillip was furious. He had taken her in anger. He had punished her with his body, pushed her, without thought to her inexperience or size. She could not bring herself to despise him for it, but she did fear him now. Perhaps he would divorce her. Or send her away to a country estate. Or beat her. Her heart began to pound as her thoughts turned dire. Accompanying it was an incredible ache and sadness.
“What are you thinking?” Phillip’s voice was unexpected.
Camille turned to see him staring at her, his green eyes inscrutable.
“I’m not sure that I’m thinking at all,” she said hesitantly, “just feeling,”
“What are you feeling?”
“Happy. Sad.” She swallowed hard, and then forced herself to say, “Guilty.”
She felt him stiffen.
He pushed away from her, and she felt cold away from the warmth of his body.
“You will not see Ren again, Camille,” he said, his voice hard. “If I catch him within twenty yards of you, I will beat him to a pulp. Do you understand?”
She nodded slowly.
“And from this moment on, you go nowhere unless you are escorted by me.”
“What?” she whispered.
“Nowhere.” He repeated, daring her to question him.
Camille swallowed hard an angry retort. Now was not the time to defy him. When he was in a more rational state, then she could talk to him.
She started to turn away; he caught her arm and pulled her to face him again.
“You will never break any command I give you,” he said, “and you will answer anything I ask you with complete honesty. Is that understood?”
She pulled her arm away roughly, resulting in his hand falling down to bounce on one of her breasts before falling on the bed. His eyes darted down to her chest.
“I am your wife, Phillip, not a soldier under you.”
In a moment, he had rolled her onto her back, pinning her under his weight. He loomed over her. “But you are under me, Camille. You will spend a lot of time under me.”
He began to fondle her.
She squirmed, trying to fight him. He easily caught both hands, pulled them above her head, and pinned them there by the wrists with one of his hands.
“Don’t!” Looking up at him from her position, with her chest pushed forward like an offering to him, she was completely vulnerable to him. “Phillip. I… I’m sore.”
He gave a short, humourless laugh. “I’m sore too,” he was alluding to the pain in his heart, but continued lewdly, “but I can remedy my soreness inside you.”
“Don’t take me in anger again,” she pleaded.
“I will take you however I want,” he said angrily, “you just lie there and take it. I own your body, even if I don’t own your heart.”
Phillip then spent the next hour proving to her, again and again, that her body belonged to him and not to herself.
“No is not part of your vocabulary towards me,” he whispered in her ear when he was finally sated. Camille was so exhausted all she could do was turn her head to look at him. He was exhausted too, but his eyes pierced into hers. They were possessive eyes, angry eyes, and haunted eyes.
“Now sleep.”
In the week to come, Phillip was insatiable. Camille found herself being taken at least three times every day. He also seemed to make a point of taking her at least once every day in a place where any number of the servants might happen upon them, much to her embarrassment. She would be walking down the staircase, and would feel a sudden grip on her arm.
