Keep Me (Sinful Manor, #1)

by Sara Cate

He sees twenty-five as some mature magical age when we’re supposed to suddenly have it all figured out. I don’t feel anywhere near having it figured out.

Girl you are 25, grow up?!?

Killian Barclay.

Killian?!? My heart can’t handle this.

he looks miserable and handsome at the same time.

This is the ideal type.

I just mean…if there was no Aaron, I might have let that six-foot-five rich Scottish jerk throw me around a little bit.

Her message annoys me. She’s not supposed to take his side.

Real

Killian is the eldest. Then, Declan. And Lachlan.

HOT NAMES!! HOT NAMES!!

“I’d like you to marry my brother.”

I VOLUNTEER

“What did he say?” I ask. “About me.” She stops and turns toward me with a crooked grin. “He said you were the rudest, meanest, most infuriating woman he’d ever met.” “And that made you think I’d be a good fit for this?” “No,” she replies with a shake of her head. “But he did.”

Infuriating to infatuating ;)

Once upon a time, she heralded me as her greatest piece of art, but as I grew and stopped being just a pretty thing to look at, I started to feel more like the mess left over from whatever piece of art she was making. The dried paint under her nails. The watercolor stains on the table. The stench of acrylic chemicals. I was never the masterpiece she once assumed I’d be.

He’s wearing a cunning smile, and it’s handsome and alluring, like the devil’s. He could lure women to their deaths with a smile like that.

“You can handle that. Can’t you, darling?”

AHHHHHHHH

It’s honestly not fair how handsome he looks, even from the back.

When he hears us coming, he turns, and our eyes meet. For a split second, he’s not wearing a rueful expression. For just a hair of a moment, he looks as if he’s admiring me. As if he might be the slightest bit nervous about today too. Which would be nice to know since I’m feeling nervous as hell too.

“Did you just admit that I’m your type?” “No,” I reply with a growl. “Careful, darling. You wouldn’t want your wife to suspect you of catching feelings.”

Suddenly, my throat is dry, and my cock gives a twitch. And I’m glaring angrily at her.

AHHHHHHHHHH

“Let go of me,” she whispers as we reach the stairs. I let go, although I don’t want to.

She’s wiped every ounce of makeup from her skin, leaving her cheeks spotted with freckles and her lips bare of color. I’d like to kiss them again to feel what they’d be like without the makeup covering them.

I didn’t care much, and technically, I still don’t. It’s just curiosity.

ohhhh, sureeee

I don’t understand these feelings for Sylvie. This hate-fueled desire. This need to own her, dominate her, force her to submit, make her mine. I don’t want her. I don’t care about her. I just need her.

When our arguments grow particularly intense, it’s hard to tell what is hate and what is passion. This thing between us is like a spreading fire, and every time we light the match, I never know where it will end. The desire to punch him and the desire to kiss him feel the same.

I’ve never met anyone like Killian in my life. He is tasteless and stubborn and so bold it’s exasperating. But he knows exactly what he wants, and he takes it without apology. He truly cares about himself and no one else. And if I didn’t hate him so much, I might actually like him.

“You make me so angry,” he mutters. I manage one desperate gasp before his mouth crashes against mine. The kiss isn’t anything like our last two kisses. Those were performances. This is real.

“You’re all bark and no bite, my wee wife.” “Oh, I’ll bite,” I reply with fuming anger.

“Let me see it again, darling. You come so pretty.”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

“You still hate me, right?” he asks playfully. “Yes,” I lie. I wish I still hated him, but I have to be honest with myself now. I can’t find a single reason to keep hating him.

“I don’t know what’s going through your head, but you’re out of your mind if you think all of this has been pretending. Even when we’re alone. You are my wife, Sylvie. At the end of this year, you can try to leave, and if you piss me off enough, I might let you go. But I have a feeling you won’t. Because I don’t mean nothing to you, and you know it.”

“You can’t just fuck me into submission every time we fight.” I mumble in response. “Can’t I?”

I completely skip over confused and directly into aroused.

Gazing up into his eyes, I feel something I never felt with him before. It’s a feeling without words, or if it has words, I don’t have the capacity to conjure them at this moment. It feels like mine and home. Safety. Comfort.

“I need to be inside you, Sylvie. I need to make you my wife.”

I love the thought of being his. Which is very unlike me. I don’t want to feel like someone’s property. A thing he could use to fuck and get off. But right now…I do. I really, really do.

I can still remember how much I bristled at the idea of being tied up then. Now, I yearn for it.

As our eyes meet, I feel that tug of emotion again. When did this happen? When did the man who uttered such hateful words to me become the one who holds my fear and pain in his hand, offering me safety and comfort instead? I have no reason to trust him, but I do.

Is this still just casual sex to him? Or is he being swarmed by this feeling of something more the same way I am?

Then, he climbs away from me and watches intently as he pulls his cock from inside me. His eyes don’t leave that spot, and when I feel the cum dripping from my pussy, he quickly wipes it with his thumb. I let out a gasp when I feel him gently pushing it back inside.

“I thought we settled this already,” he mutters lowly. “I am your husband, Sylvie. You are my wife.”

He’s the last person on earth I want to love, but I can’t help it. I do.

Looking down, I enjoy the sight of my cock disappearing inside her, but I want her to see it too.

I stay locked away in my parents’ house and I lie to myself every single day, saying I could leave if I wanted to. For her, I could be better. I could leave this house more. I could be a real man. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. If that’s what she needs.

I just want her body in my hands at all times. I crave her against my body and my lips on her every second of my day.

I don’t care that she’s sick or that I’ve seen her go through an entire box of tissues in a day. If that’s disgusting, so be it. She’s my woman, and I’ll take the bad with the good.

We’ve been married for six months. And we have six months to go. I’ve not made any indication that I expect her to stay after the year, at least not yet. I desperately hope she does.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I dig my finger into some of the honeycomb at the edge of the frame, and I show her how easily it drips. My fingers are covered as I bring one to my mouth and lick it clean.

SIR

If I could have anything for my birthday, it would just be a typical day at home with my wife. Or perhaps her admitting to me that she actually gives a fuck about me. I’d like that too.

Now that she’s finally able to argue with me without setting off a fit of coughs, she takes advantage of it and argues with me ten times as much. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it.

“No, my dear husband. You’re not hurting me. Besides,” she adds with a shrug. “I like a little pain.” My eyebrows nearly shoot to my hairline. Oh, we’re coming back to that.

The subtle warmth in her gaze is fooling me. It’s telling me she’s happy here and that we make a good couple. Because right now, she feels like my wife.

Forcing myself to swallow and remain stoic, I let out a heavy breath through my nose. Liam’s words send a shot of regret to my chest. This marriage isn’t even real, but he’s right. I do love her.

“I’m not a monster, you know. If you get too drunk, I won’t be able to fuck your brains out later, and I plan to. So, I’ll say it again…” I take the shot glass from her hand and set it on the bar. “Keep your wits about you.”

That’s when Sylvie tightens her grip on my arm as if I’m being claimed. And I’m not going to lie, I sort of love it.