Chapter 20: Taran

His grip becomes bruising and he backs me up until I hit the wall. I shiver and turn my head from his intense gaze, terrified of this side of Diogo. He's such a contradiction. Sometimes kind and gentle, then he becomes the ruthless Warlord I expect him to be.

"I can take what I want from you, Taran. You belong to me."

"You arrested me and forced me to stay!" I protest. "I don't belong to anyone but myself."

"Then consider yourself spoils of war, because you're my prize and I'm keeping you."

He lifts me right off my feet, pressing his body full-length against mine, holding me up. I can feel every inch of his hard body through the thin cloth of my shirt. He's all hard muscle through the fabric of his stiff uniform. I cling to his arms, not wanting to fall as his lips find mine. I open my mouth on a gasp and he takes advantage, thrusting his tongue against mine.

Just as I think to bite down and end this brutally passionate display, he takes my chin in a hard grip, forcing my jaw wide. As he plunders my mouth his other arm reaches around my back and presses me tight against his body. I lift my hands to his shoulders and push but I can't get any leverage, we're too close together. Not that it would make any difference, I haven't been able to make a dent in this man yet. Only my words seem to elicit any kind of reaction.

As soon as his hand relaxes on my jaw, I tear my mouth away and shout, "Diogo, stop!"

He ignores me, dropping his mouth to my neck and exploring the exposed skin there. When his lips encounter the shirt he reaches between us, grips the neckline and tears it open a few inches, exposing my chest. Then he presses his lips against the skin of my collarbone, sucking it hard, biting, marking. I gasp and unconsciously bring a hand up to hold his head. Feelings rush through me, the high of his lips on my skin, being held tight against his body, his scent invading my senses.

Before I know what's happening he's pulling away from the wall and carrying me through the apartment. When I try to push away from him, he holds me closer against his chest, his hand cupping the back of my head. His other arm is still tight around my waist and my legs are dangling.

"Diogo, what are you doing?" I ask, panting to catch my breath.

I'm not stupid, I know exactly what he's doing. He's going to consummate our ten-minute old marriage. The thought should terrify me, does terrify me, but it's also exhilarating. Setting aside our opposing politics and the fact that he basically kidnapped me and forced me into marriage, I find him very attractive, almost overwhelmingly so. The combination of persistent dominance and protective man is appealing, even if he is a terrible human being.

His touch is far from disgusting. It stirs up my dormant libido, forcing me to wake up and take notice. My fingers itch to explore him and my mouth waters to taste him. I want to fuck this man, but I don't want this to be our defining moment. It's too soon, and we don't know each other.

He drops me onto the bed. It's dark in the bedroom and I can barely see him in the shadows of the room. "Diogo, no!" I yell as he drops on top of me.

He takes my hands and forces them over my head. Once more I'm assailed with contradictory feelings. The need to fight is strong. Stronger than ever. As though I know I'm losing pieces of myself to this man who I barely know, and sex will be another connection that binds us together. Yet I'm also falling rapidly under the spell of his passion. I can feel his cock, thick and hard, pressing against the apex of my thighs. He's lost in his own passion, which is a heady prospect. The idea that this man, the most powerful in the city, wants someone as insignificant as me. Wants me with a passion he can't seem to leash.

"Diogo please," I beg, trying to tug my hands down from his grip. He ignores me again, biting into the flesh just above my breasts. He uses his other hand to tear the shirt the rest of the way open. I moan as his hand closes over my breast, covering the entire mound in his palm.

"Please," I gasp, as I slip under his spell. "I'm scared!"

My words finally stop him, stop the man with a tiny piece of civilization left in his soul. He freezes against me, breathing heavily, his hands hard against my flesh. Finally, he looks up. I can see his eyes glittering in the dim light entering the room.

"Why?" he demands, his voice harsh with passion. "You want me. Your body responds to mine."

"It's too fast, Diogo," I manage to yank my hands from his grip and bring them to his shoulders, pressing against him. "I don't do this."

"You're a virgin?" he asks, curiosity and awe warring in his voice.

"Of course not!" I snap. "Your people married me off at the age of fourteen, how would I be a virgin?"

His fist slams into the bed beside me and I try to roll away only to encounter his other arm, fist planted firmly in the mattress. The idea of me not having my virginity bothers him. I don't know why. I was a married woman for over ten years. I only fucked Xavier a few times before we decided there was nothing deeper to our relationship. Loneliness drove me into the arms of other men a few times, but nothing significant. No other long-term relationships.

"Are you a virgin?" I ask sarcastically, knowing he's not. When he gives me a scathing look, I roll my eyes. "Then why would you expect a twenty-six-year old woman to come to your bed untouched. We live in the time of the Great Fall, not the dark ages."

"Stop talking," he growls. Then sits up, straddling my hips, still pinning me to the bed. I want to wiggle out from underneath him, but I don't think he'll let me get far. He shoves a hand through his hair and glares down at me. In the shadows he looks massive, hulking over top of me. "I don't expect a woman of your age to be a virgin, Taran. But you need to never speak of the men who touched you to me. Especially your ex-husband."

He's jealous. The prospect is both daunting and exhilarating. If he's jealous that I've had other sexual partners, then that means this relationship he's looking to have with me is more than a political move. More than him just coveting the Desert Wren and wanting her idealism.

"We will have a real marriage, Taran," he says, staring at me with a penetrating gaze. Even in the darkness, his obsidian eyes glitter with intent. "Among other things we will go to bed together. Often."

I lick my lips and cradle my bruised arms against my chest, covering my bare breasts. He notes the move but doesn't say anything. "I know," I whisper, allowing some of my vulnerability to show. "But I need time, Diogo."

"Why?" he demands. "We're married. This is as good a time as any to get to know your husband. Get to know what I want from you."

I'm getting a vivid picture of exactly what this man wants from me. "Please, Diogo. I didn't ask for any of this. I just want some time to adjust to the idea. You you're a lot to take in. You're the ruler of this Sanctuary, practically a legend. You intimidate me. I want to get to know you as a man before we do this."

As the words leave my mouth I realize they're true. I want to get to know the man behind the Warlord. I'm attracted to him, but I'm also terrified of him.

Finally, after long moments of just staring down at me, he rolls away and gets to his feet at the side of the bed. He walks quickly to the door, turning back to say, "This is only a brief reprieve, Taran."

As he leaves, I learn something about my new husband. He has honour.