His Mild Touch

The wedding is an intimate affair, hosted in the backyard of my new home alongside my dashing British husband. He's a striking white gentleman, to be precise. It's possible that my father omitted these details, or if I had thoroughly reviewed the file as my father had requested, I might have been aware. Nevertheless, it's a delightful surprise-a young and handsome husband.

I can't resist stealing more glances at him as he gracefully approaches one of the many unfamiliar faces in attendance at the reception, trying my best to be discreet. His chestnut locks are elegantly swept back, held in place with what seems like a generous amount of hair gel, and a warm sensation permeates my chest.

He's a beautiful man to look at and I don't mind spending the rest of our reception staring at him. His lips are not as thin as you will expect from a British man, they are pouty, full and I want another taste. My cheeks heat up at the thought, I cough and his amber eyes narrow slightly in my direction before returning to his guests. Keeping to the shadows to get a better glance at his stiff profile, I pout. His nose is crooked like it has been broken and fixed one too many times.

All these features sit on a face that tells a story-a dangerous one at that and I find myself getting attracted to him. To uncover the secrets that lies behind those eyes searching for me.

Papa did try to set us up a meeting many times, I never showed up. I wonder now if that will put me in my husband's bad book, he looks like one who never forgets. My husband? The word tastes like sour grape, I'm unsure if I like it. Is he as uncomfortable as I am about this whole arrangement?

I frown when his head falls back with laughter at something his guest-a female says, my heart clenches and a corner of my lip twitches until I give into the small smile. I love the sound of his laughter. Snapping out of these weird thoughts, I move to stand behind an empty seat. I must have looked stupid, standing a few feet from the main event, smiling alone. His guest places a hand on his shoulder, I force down the urge to stomp over and slap her tiny hands off him or throttle her with her bleached weave. That is my man. Is he? I swipe the strand of hair that keeps falling over my forehead with aggression, he is my husband so that makes him my man.

"You look so beautiful, Pat," Ma is saying. My head snaps in her direction, I offer her a smile. She takes a sip from the flute of champagne perched between her fingertips with an elegance that surprises even me. My smile widens, I squeeze her in a brief hug, she cleans up real good.

Her fingers brush my hair, keeping in place that stubborn strand that has come undone from the high puff I managed to make from my wild curls. My hair has a mind of its own, today, it will have to deal with the style I want.

"Thank you. You look wonderful yourself," I repay the compliment and she smiles as she does a little twirl.

She is dressed in a black off-shoulder gown that stops just above her knees to reveal her toned legs. Her skin glistens in the sun, she has truly been sun-kissed and her dimples are prominent when she smiles. Ma no longer has those hollow spaces in between her collar bone and I am glad I decided to marry this man, Trystan.

The name is foreign like many of those rich kids I attend school with but I don't scoff at hearing it. Instead, I like the way it settles on my tongue like it's my favourite candy and I bite down on my lip to keep from staring in his direction. He is still with that lady, why can't they talk later?

Speaking of the devil, Trystan walks up to us with a glass containing similar content as Ma, then he whispers into my ear, "Your mother is right, Patricia, you look beautiful." I want to be angry at him but the proximity wipes off all reasonable thoughts and I freeze. "You make a beautiful bride."

Trystan's voice takes a few seconds to settle in, when it does, my heart gallops and my nipples harden behind my armless gown. I suck in a sharp breath, the mirthless giggles escaping him tells me he noticed my little disorientation in his presence. He places a kiss on the back of Ma's hand and she excuses herself with a sly wink, something about giving the new couple privacy.

Without Ma, the atmosphere grows awkward real quick. I clear my throat, he shoves a hand into the pocket of his pant and I turn away under his smothering gaze. I can't stop myself from glancing in the direction he came from, his guest is gone and my body relaxes at the knowledge.

"Are you enjoying..." he trails off at the speed my eyes return to his face and that mischievous smirk returns to his lips at my failed attempt to raise a brow. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"Yes." My voice is raspy, the nerves have seeped into it so I clear my throat and say, "Yes, are you?"

The distance between us diminishes, Trystan arches an eyebrow like he knows I am lying. Does he expect me to say otherwise? It is my-our wedding, I am supposed to be happy. I have to be happy. Sparing a glance at our seated guests, he offers me his hand but I am hesitant to take it.

"Can you dance?"

Dancing has never been my forte but I don't want him to know that. More than anything, I want to impress him and I have no idea why. He's the one who wanted the marriage, not me. His smile fades, hand lowers and I smoothen the front of my gown. "I don't feel up for dancing."

Trystan nods, I bite the inside of my lip when he strokes my cheek, trying and failing to meet his gaze. His breath fans my face, our eyes finally meet and I lean into his touch when his thumb caresses my lip. Shivers trickle down my spine, my tongue runs over my lips in anticipation and his eyes tail the move. I forget everything around me and wait, wait for a kiss that never comes.

"You had this on your face," he says, his eyes darting to the almost invisible speck of dirt on his index finger. My disappointment is palpable, I grunt in reply, murmuring a barely audible gratitude and he lets out a chuckle that has me rolling my eyes. I did not even want to kiss him.

Seconds after he steps away from me, my eyes follow his to a couple. They are watching us and I can't help feeling the show of affection was solely for their sake. He raises his glass to them and they do the same, observing each other in terse silence that makes me clear my throat.

"Cheers," he says, standing beside me. Maybe it is just me but I detect sarcasm in that word.

The band on the makeshift stage continues with their soulful rendition, they play all kind of songs, the type I would have wanted at my wedding and my head bobs to the rhythm. I do not consider this wedding mine, it's too flashy and the only people I know here are my parents.

Trystan dumps his glass into the tray of a passing server, wraps his hand around my waist from behind. He tucks his head into the space between my neck and shoulders. "Relax, Pat." The knots in my joints loosen, I nod and his arms tighten around me. "Relax and enjoy the moment."

There's a strange sense of comfort I feel at having him in such close contact with me as we watch different couples dance in the space we created at the centre of the small field like it is their wedding. I feel it then; I know we'll get along.

"For the third time, Trystan suggests, 'We should bathe together.' We haven't had a chance to engage in conversation since returning to the house. I can sense his growing frustration as his jaw clenches tightly, but that doesn't prevent me from shyly shaking my head in disagreement. I stand before him, dressed in nothing but a yellow lace bra and matching panties-a gift from my mother for my honeymoon night. She insists that this color complements my beautiful melanin-rich skin like no other and that I must look my best for my husband.

I cringe at the thought, hoping I can eventually become comfortable with using that word."

My breasts threaten to spill over in this-this barely-there lingerie and I cover my chest with my arms. Trsytan is standing naked by the bathroom door, unashamed as he strokes his dick lazily and I avert my eyes.

"I will say this one more time, as long as we are a couple, we will bath together." There is an edge to his voice that I do not dare disobey and my head bobs up and down of its own accord. This man scares me.

His lips twitch like he is fighting a smile and he leads the way for me to follow behind.

The interior of the bathroom leaves me gaping in awe. It is bigger than my living room, tastefully furnished than his master's bedroom that looks like a bachelor's crib. When Trystan settles into the bathtub, I tell myself that the floor to ceiling windows are made with one-way glasses or he simply doesn't care. I hope it is the former.

"Come."

I quickly dispose of my underwear, joining him in the large tub. My teeth chatter at the contact of cold water against my skin and he pulls me closer to himself, letting me go when the water becomes warm.

Taking a look at the window that shows our reflection, I catch him staring at me. I turn to face him and my breasts rise above the water. My nipples harden under his gaze and without a thought, I push myself up till we are locked in a passionate kiss.

He breaks away from the kiss first, mutters inaudible words under his breath and reaches for the body wash. I bite my lips to stifle a moan when he runs the loofah over my nipples and sticks a finger into my vagina but it edges him on to add one more finger and another till I'm crying out.

When my eyes finally open, he is staring at me with an arrogant smirk and his hands are no longer inside me. I feel empty and angry at his withdrawal, the need to pay him back pushing me to roughly caress his balls. He doesn't flinch or act like anyone is touching him and I retract my hand.

We finish bathing without any more drama, both of us keep to ourselves. As soon as we step into the room, I hurry to change into a new set of lingerie which is also all thanks to Ma. She filled my bag with them.

"No. Don't do that."

Trystan attempts to grab the lingerie from my hunched frame; when I don't give it immediately, he sends me a glare which earns him an eye roll from me.

"Stay here," he commands, leading me by the hand to the foot of the king-size bed.

"You have a beautiful body, you should flaunt it," he adds when he sees me trying to cover my breast and feminine area.

I'm not one to take orders from people but hearing them from Trystan makes me excited, wet even. When he asks me to lay on the bed with my legs spread open, hands above my head, I willingly oblige him.

He lowers himself to the floor until his face is directly in front of my vagina, blowing air into it. His fingers lightly graze my clit, making me shiver in anticipation of what is to come. He inserts two tiny balls into my wetness, motions for me to stop squirming when the thing begins to vibrate. But I cannot stay still. How can I?

The sensation that courses through me has my legs vibrating and tingles running up to my erect nipples. Goosebumps, the good kind, crawls up my skin and I forget everything for a moment except the feel of his expert fingers running in circles around the entrance of my core, doing me justice.

"You can't come until I say so," he mutters and I nod, unable to form any words.

Trystan leaves but the tiny balls continue their work. Without looking, I know that I have thoroughly soaked the sheet with the liquid I can feel running down my thighs. He returns later with a bowl and retrieves a strawberry from it, his tongue swirls over it as he watches me. He bites into it, coming to kiss me as he inserts that bit into my mouth. I chew it and transfer it back to him, my gaze set on his lips as he does the same.

We go at it for a few more times till he decides it's enough and I close my eyes in heavenly bliss at the contact of something cold on my nipples, navel and the line down my stomach. My vision returns when he removes the balls without notice, clamping my legs shut to place ice cubes on my clit.

I buck from under him, the pleasures too much for me to bear. My legs tremble and my nails dig into the sheets, there is a tightening in my stomach, the urge to let go.

"Stop moving."

His voice is hoarse as he pushes my legs apart and the ice cube slides into my vagina. I nearly jump out of the bed in surprise and shock at the desire that floods my body when that happens but his hands keep-or try to keep me in place.

When I don't stop moving, he bites down on my nipple, making me groan in sweet pain. His tongue comes to stay between my breasts, licking their way down to my navel while eating up the sliced bits of strawberry he had put there. I shudder, his touch is fire.

"If you move, I'll stop," he murmurs and pushes my hand that has come to rest on his back away as I struggle to remain still.

He comes back up to my nipples, taking turns to suck on them, while his fingers worked my dripping vagina. Inserting one, then another finger, he goes on till he has three fingers thrusting in and out of me.

I squirm under him, doing my best not to close my legs as the waves of pleasure take over me. There is no way I can stop moving, I'm too hot, my body is on fire, this, I need it to go on and on. Why did I ever stay away?

Trystan must have hated my constant movements because he turns me over, spanks me and keeps his hands to himself.

"Please." I don't know what I am begging for but I want him back. I need him to continue.

He takes a long look at me, sighs and leaves the room. A cry of frustration escapes my lips as I rub my legs against each other, going on to touch myself like he would in an attempt to ease the ache that only he can take away when he returns with handcuffs.

"Will you stop moving now?"

The nod I give isn't convincing enough for him, he goes on to cuff both of my hands and one of my legs to the bedpost. He trails kisses down my neck till his lip is hovering above my entrance, his hands massaging my breasts. His breath tickles me down there. I shiver, a moan slips from my lips. Without warning, he pushes my leg apart till they form a triangle without a base.

He dips his tongue inside me and retracts it almost immediately, he moans, his eyes close briefly before he flashes me a smile of approval and I am hot all over again. The tongue work resumes, this time, there's no gentleness and the only reason my body remains on the bed as he eats me out like a midnight snack is because of the cuff.

I try to wrap my free leg around his neck, to bring back some sort of control but he pushes it down and bites on my clit to show his displeasure. His tongue continues the good work, causing me to scream his name over and over again. This is a taste of heaven and my husband has successfully branded me with his seraphic touch.

He enters me abruptly, making me freeze at the size of the dick I had to accommodate. He thrusts into me sharply again and I cry out in pain as my vaginal walls clench tightly against his penis; he is gigantic.

"Is...is this your first time?" I nod my head shakily, jerking my hips forward so he can continue; this is a beautiful kind of pain.

His eyes cloud over in anger, his jaw tenses and he backs away from me like I have Ebola. "Why didn't you say something?"

"We were not doing any talking," I defend. My voice is barely above a whisper; I'm surprised he can even hear me.

I try to reach for him with my free leg but he backs further away from me. It sends a pang through my chest, confusion washing over me. I don't understand his reaction, shouldn't he be glad his wife is pure? I'd been tempted to sleep with a random guy after finding out I would be getting married but my conscience had not let me. I am a firm believer of no sex until marriage.

"I don't have sex virgins," he says with anger tainting his voice. He walks out of the room, leaving me with an ache in between my thighs, emptiness and sadness in my heart.

I awaken to gentle caresses on my face and the sensation of a hand squeezing my buttocks. I let out a soft moan but keep my eyes closed, fearing that opening them might cause him to cease his actions. His palm glides along the curve of my lower back, generating delightful friction that compels me to arch my hips, craving more of his touch. His fingers deftly tease my clitoris before sliding into my wetness. My eyes snap open, and any intention of remaining quiet quickly fades.

Suddenly and without warning, Trystan flips me over, and my lips part in a quiet sigh of pleasure. He's clad in blue biker shorts and a white vest, while I writhe beneath him, gazing at him with desire-filled eyes, my nakedness fully exposed, ready for him to explore my body as he desires, should he choose to do so.

A lock of hair falls to his forehead, he flips his hair and the strand returns to its previous position. He's a gorgeous man and I want all of him inside me.

The itch between my legs is back, my erect nipples are begging to be touched but I remain still, I lay there and wait. I wait and watch as his eyes trail my body. Even as I feel myself getting hot all over, I don't do anything. He wants obedience, I'll give him that and maybe more; if he lets me.

His hand cups one of my breasts, his fingers run around in circles on my areola, making sure to steer clear of my erect nipple and my eyes shut tight on instinct. He leans in close enough for his breath to fan my ear then bite my earlobes. I shiver and the tingles spread to every part of my body, causing me to curl and uncurl my toes.

I go rigid when he hesitates, if my excited shivers are turning him off, I can tone them down. It is hard but I try not to move as he flicks his tongue over my ear, trailing wet kisses down my neck and back to the corner of my lips.

When his lip hovers above mine, I raise my head slightly, hoping he will take the hint and kiss me. He doesn't. Instead, he grabs my slender wrists in one hand and I look away, reminders from last night washing over me. He had left me cuffed to the bedpost until sometime after midnight.

"How was your night?" he whispers and peppers kisses all over the inside of my wrists as if to appease me. "Does it hurt?"

"No." I shake my head and he lets my hands drop to my side. The cuffing doesn't hurt as much as him leaving me here. I'll never do that to him. And if my wrists were hurting before, his kisses have taken away the pain.

"What's wrong with being a virgin?" I ask.

He looks taken aback by my question but still provides me with an answer. "Nothing."

"Then why am I being punished?"

"Damn, Pat. I forgot to take the damn cuffs off," he pauses to stare at me as if he's seeing me for the first time today, "you think I left it on purpose? Why would I do that?"

I don't want to tell a lie so I change the subject. "Where did you sleep last night?" I asked.

After freeing me, he went off to God knows where.

I spent my wedding night alone, in a new place while my husband was probably balls deep inside some non-virgin female, fucking her to satisfaction.

"In one of the rooms." He replied coldly

He pulls me to a sitting position, wraps the duvet around my chest and I fling it because I want to flaunt my body just like he likes it.

"I slept inside the house." He said again.

I am not sure I believe him but I have lost interest in that conversation already, I want to consummate our marriage. Now.

But Trystan has other thoughts. He points to the tray that has baked beans, toast, sausage and yoghurt and my mouth waters. I know Pa and Ma have a hand in this. They must have given him a file on my likes and dislikes, the same way they gave me his. Unlike me, he took his time to go through it.

He says when he sees me trying to get up, "just sit, I'll feed you."

My eyes wander to his waist, settling on the bulge that is straining against his shorts and I feel myself getting wet all over again.

"I want something else instead," I say. When I have his attention, I point to his bulge, spooning him through the light material of his shorts. "I want it inside of me."

I know I have no bedroom experience; I am not so sure I'm even touching him the right way but I want to feel what I felt last night. I want to feel that way as often as possible.

Trystan rolls his eyes, scoops the beans while motioning for me to open my mouth. I shake my head and bare myself to him. My whole body is free of any hairs, especially that part of me that itches for his manhood.

"I want you," I start and dip a finger inside my wetness to show him how much I need him inside of me. Holding the finger up to his face, I let out a moan. "I'm dripping for you."

He must have taken me for a fool because the corners of his lips twitch. But I refuse to back down, I want him, I want this man inside of me and a glance won't stop me.

"Please," I add when he is unresponsive. Maybe begging will work. "Please."

A thought occurs to me when he continues staring and I go on all fours, I can only hope I look as seductive as those pornstars who do this. My voice lowers to a whisper and I raise my hand to his hair.

"I forgive you for last night, no hard feelings. We can start over, here and now."

To buttress my point, I crawl behind him and rub my breasts against his back. I let out a sound I think is sexy, my time with my sexually active roommate is finally paying off. She will be proud of me, the naive nun.

My fingers move to the hem of Trystan's shirt but he's quick to hold my hands down.

"I don't need your forgiveness," he says in a voice that has my body vibrating all over again with need. His accent is to die for and I will give everything to hear it while he pumps into me. "And you need to eat."

His words send a signal to my stomach which growls in the silence. I was unable to eat anything yesterday due to jitters, even the vanilla cake that's my favourite dessert.

"Only you can satisfy me," I murmur.

He doesn't answer me, instead, he starts to scoop beans into his mouth. I watch as his lips move, reminded of the parts of me they visited last night and I am left breathless.

My horniness takes on a new level, a desperate high and momentarily anger surges through me when he finishes the breakfast he claims to have brought for me. No bother, he can make it up to me.

"Take it off," I order, pointing to his short.

His eyebrow raises in amusement and he grabs the yoghurt. The milky liquid seeps from the corner of his lips while his eyes remain on me and I gulp; such a simple act yet he manages to make it sensual.

"Take it off," I say louder this time. My voice brook no arguments and I smile internally when he lifts himself high enough for me to pull his shorts off. I like his obedient side.

My eyes pop at the size of his cock, it's the same size as those men on porn sites. My only sexual experience is from watching porn and yes, my roommate has a hand in it. My sex knowledge is all thanks to her.

Claire could not bear the thought of a pretty adult like me not knowing what a penis looks like so we binge-watched lots of porn. I was naive and eager to see these things so I never put up much of a fight.

The frequent watching of those videos came at a price and a greater part of my second year was spent trying to break off from the porn addiction. I know so much about sex and the different styles, it is hard for some of my friends to believe I am still a virgin.

Licking my lips nervously, I will myself to remain bold. My gaze descends to Trystan's limp cock and I stroke it lazily. A strange sensation courses through me as his dick hardens in my hands. This is my first handjob and I am doing great. Alleluia!

"Fuck me," I command and push myself up without halting my movements.

He grabs me by the neck with his left hand, I arch my back and moan when his fingers trail the space in between my breasts. That little gesture encourages me to increase my hand movements and when he pinches my taut nipples, I whimper in delight. I want more.

"Fuck me," I say again, my voice is softer, almost pleading and my eyes are closed.

"No."

When his fingers move to the nape of my neck, I convince myself that he's fooling around. I have been told severally that I am easy to mess with. The messy bun on my head comes undone and my hair tumbles down to form a curtain for my breasts.

"I like your hair down," he murmurs and levels a stare at me before his hands go to rest at his sides. "Get dressed."

"Goddamit. Fuck me, Trystan."

"No. I don't fuck virgins."

"I'm your wife," I cry out.

His dislike for virgins doesn't make sense to me, even if he tries explaining, at this point, it won't make any difference. Only a part of our bodies should be doing the talking. Not just any type of talk, a talk where his dick attends to the ache in between my legs and his hand discusses with my breasts.

When Trystan remains immobile, I kick the tray from the bed, ignoring the sound it makes as it connects with the tiled floor. I push myself up till I'm straddling him and guide his cock to the entrance of my vagina.

I moan at the sweet sensation that envelopes me from our little contact, I have barely started moving and I already feel this way. Why then is he denying me of this beautiful feeling, my marital rites?

Digging my fingers into his shoulder, I rotate my hips, afraid to have all of him inside me without his consent. He is huge and I know sex with a virgin hurts as much as getting kicked in the face by a bull. I need him to do this with me, guide me because my sexual experiences are only theoretical.

"Are you done?" Trystan suddenly asks and my teeth sink into my plump lips. I avoid his eyes as he holds my waist at half an arm's length and embarrassment floods my cheeks. I should have taken no for an answer.

Just like yesterday, he rams into me without notice and I scream. There's no pleasure this time, only a wave of blinding pain that rolls over my body and leaves me gasping.

"Do you get it now?" he asks, his question is rhetorical, the smile that lifts the corner of his lips is proof. How can he be smiling?

The throbbing in between my leg has reduced to a dull ache, it's not just desire anymore, it's a mix of pain and arousal but I don't want him touching me ever again. I am content with being a virgin, I have been one for years, I will be fine without him.

A sad smile graces my lips when I note how he stares me down with his arrogant smirk. I will rather remain celibate than have him treat me that way. Never again.

"You are a monster," I say and move far from him, grabbing the duvet to cover up.

"I have been called worse," he murmurs and rises to his feet. "Clean up your mess."

Trystan stares at me for a few seconds more before walking out of the room, leaving me horny, angry and teary-eyed.