DASHIELL
My entire body hurt. It felt like I had been thrown against a wall repeatedly. That sex fiend I called a husband had gone at it like a maniac. He had fucked me in the shower until I fainted, then woke me up again, bent me over the sink, and took me once more on the bed. By the time he finally stopped, I was filled to the brim with his cum, sweating, tears of pain and pleasure still dripping from my eyes.
He had simply walked out of the room like nothing had happened.
I barely managed a full hour of sleep before he came back in, voice flat and commanding, telling me we needed to prepare for our shift at the hospital.
I felt like bawling my eyes out.
Right now I was slumped in the passenger seat of his car, utterly drained. I'd had to wear a high-necked turtleneck to hide the constellation of hickeys and bite marks that decorated my neck like I'd been mauled by some savage animal. Probably a very determined wolf.
I turned my head to glare at the jerk beside me.
Of course he looked perfectly refreshed. Crisp shirt, flawless hair, not a single sign of the marathon he'd put me through. He even smelled unfairly good.
*How is that fair?* I thought, shifting uncomfortably. My hole still throbbed with every small movement of the car. My thighs ached. My neck burned under the fabric. And here he was, driving like he'd had a peaceful eight hours of sleep.
Alexander kept his eyes on the road, one hand loose on the steering wheel. He didn't even glance at me.
The silence stretched.
I couldn't help staring at his profile, the sharp jaw, the cold, unreadable expression. My brain kept replaying flashes of last night: his hand around my throat, the brutal slams, the way he had smiled like a maniac while covering my face with his cum.
My face heated again. I looked away quickly, but my eyes kept drifting back.
I must have been staring too long, because without even glancing at me, Alexander spoke in that flat, deep voice.
"Take a picture. It'll last longer."
Heat flooded my face. I whipped my head forward, mortified. "I wasn't… I wasn't staring!"
He snorted softly, the sound almost amused but completely unsympathetic. "You were. You've been staring for the last three blocks. If you want to admire your husband, just say so. No need to be shy after you screamed my name until you passed out."
I spluttered, crossing my arms over my chest. "You're the one who wouldn't let me sleep! I barely got an hour. I'm sore everywhere. My neck looks like I lost a fight with a vacuum cleaner. And you look like you just came back from a spa day. It's not fair."
"Sounds like a you problem."
My mouth fell open. "A *me* problem? You're the one who kept going until I passed out! I told you I was sore. I literally apologized while you were still inside me. And you just laughed and told me to cream on your cock!"
Alexander's lips twitched. "Life isn't fair, hubby. You wanted this marriage. You volunteered to take your sister's place. Now you get the full package."
I glared at him, even though he still wasn't looking at me. "The full package includes no sleep and being used like a toy until I faint?"
"Yes." His tone was completely matter-of-fact, like he was discussing the weather. "Five times a week, remember? Last night was just the warm-up. You'll build stamina eventually."
I groaned and slumped deeper into the seat, wincing at the fresh throb of pain. "I'm a doctor, not a sex doll. I have patients today. Pediatric neurology. Kids. I can't walk in there limping and covered in bite marks."
He finally gave me a quick, cold side-eye. "Then stop whining and learn to hide it better. Or don't. Let them stare. They already whisper about me being a psychopath. Now they can whisper about how well I fuck my husband."
My mouth fell open. "You are unbelievable! No sympathy at all?"
"Sympathy is useless," he said flatly, eyes back on the road. "It doesn't change the fact that your hole is still loose from my cock and you're probably still leaking my cum into your underwear because you were too embarrassed to clean up properly this morning."
I made a strangled noise, face burning. "I did clean up! And stop saying things like that while we're driving to work!"
He chuckled again, low and dark. "Why? Does it make you hard? Because if it does, I can pull over and fuck you in the back seat before your shift."
"Alexander!" I yelped, pressing my thighs together instinctively. "No! We are not doing that. I have a department meeting in forty minutes. I need to focus on seizures and developmental delays, not on… on you."
He hummed, the sound almost mocking. "Then stop staring at me like you want round five. Either way, you're mine now, Dashiell Astor. Get used to the soreness."
I buried my burning face in my hands and groaned. "You're impossible. And unsympathetic. And… a psychopath."
"Correct on all counts," he replied calmly. "You're also walking funny. Try not to limp too obviously at the hospital."
"I am *not* walking funny!" I protested, even though I absolutely was. "And whose fault is that?"
"Mine," he said without hesitation. "And I have zero regrets. You looked very pretty covered in my cum."
I peeked at him through my fingers, equal parts horrified and flustered. "Can you at least pretend to have some human decency for five seconds?"
He glanced at me with that dangerous little smirk. "Where's the fun in that?"
I buried my face in my hands again, groaning loudly.
My brain was already overwhelmed, too many new sensations, too many broken rules, too much unpredictability.
And the worst part?
A tiny, traitorous part of me was already wondering what round five would feel like tonight.
This marriage was going to be the death of me.
And Alexander Astor was going to enjoy every single second of it.