Bound To A Loveless Bed Novel by Astra Marlowe _ Novel




Bound To A Loveless Bed Chapter 01

Maribel's POV
My name is Maribel Paston. I'm the oldest daughter in my family and a painter who's just starting to get some attention.
On the outside, my life looks fucking perfect. In reality, it's a goddamn nightmare. I was forced to marry Brennen Ravenhill — the cold CEO of the Ravenhill Group — instead of my little sister Aleena.
They had never officially dated, but they had spent three years studying together in the UK before their engagement. Everyone in our circle knew he was still crazy about her.
If Aleena hadn't run away like a selfish bitch, I wouldn't be stuck here as his unwanted substitute wife.
To make things worse, the Ravenhills were far more influential than my family, and his mother calls me almost every week, pressuring me to get knocked up and give them an heir.
The worst part?
Brennen has zero fucking interest in me. He barely even looks at me.
So I've been stuck playing with my own pussy, trying to learn how to make him hard. Because if I can't even get his cock interested, this marriage is going to destroy me.
I finished my painting, covered the canvas, and left the studio around ten-thirty. Brennen hadn't come home yet.
I went straight to the guest bathroom and turned the shower as hot as I could stand. He likes cold water, but tonight I didn't give a fuck about what he likes.
As the steaming water washed over me, I squeezed out a generous handful of body wash and lathered up. I ran my hands down my neck to my breasts, massaging them for a moment, then trailed down over my stomach, finally reaching between my legs.
I shoved two fingers into my pussy, but only got halfway in before it hurt like hell. I'm still way too fucking tight.
I hate pain, so I had to pull them out.
Instead, I grabbed the showerhead and blasted the strong spray right on my clit. It felt so damn good my legs started shaking and a moan slipped out.
After I finished washing and toweling off, I turned the dial back to the cold setting Brennen liked, slipped into a thin nightgown, and wandered into the living room.
I turned on the TV and caught a travel show featuring married couples. Watching them touch and kiss each other so easily made my chest hurt with jealousy.
By midnight, Brennen still wasn't back. My eyelids grew heavy, so I dragged myself to the master bedroom and fell asleep.
Third person's POV
A little after two in the morning, the front door clicked open.
Maribel was out like a light and didn't hear a thing.
Brennen showered in the guest bathroom, then tied his robe and walked into the bedroom. He frowned the second he came in—the window was wide open, letting the night wind blow through and making the room freezing.
Maribel was curled up, fast asleep. He walked over, shut the window with a loud thud, glanced at her in the moonlight, and pulled back the covers to lie on the far side of the bed, facing away from her.
They always slept like this — same bed, separate blankets, and never fucking touching.
Maribel's POV
I woke up first the next morning.
I was freezing, and my throat was completely dry. I tried to roll over, only to realize Brennen was holding me tight from behind. His arm was locked firmly around my waist, pinning me in place.
The sharp scent of his mint body wash filled my nose.
I had no idea how I'd ended up in his arms. We strictly kept our blankets separate, and I barely moved in my sleep.
I tried to slip away, but the second I shifted my hand, he woke up.
Brennen, who was usually cranky upon waking, pulled me even tighter against his chest. His grip was so strong I couldn't break free.
His big hand was resting right on my bare waist — my nightgown had ridden all the way up.
But what worried me even more was where my own hand had ended up—resting against his lower abdomen, separated from his skin by just the thin fabric of his robe.
A second later, I felt his cock start to swell and get rock-hard under my palm, thick and burning hot.
I jerked my head up, and my lips accidentally brushed against his jaw.
We were so close we were sharing the same air, and I couldn't manage to pull my hand away.
He opened his eyes.
We stared at each other in heavy silence. I panicked and looked away first, staring at his throat. "Did you get in... late last night?" I asked in a whisper.
"Yes."
He rarely spoke, so it was lucky enough for me to get even a one-word answer out of him.
My mind went totally blank. I wanted to say something, but his arm was still clamped tight around my waist. He didn't loosen his grip, nor did he move his hand away—almost as if he hadn't noticed the morning erection pressing against my palm.
I tried to pull away. "I'll go make breakfast."
He yanked me back harder, voice low and pissed.
"Don't fucking move."
He held me perfectly still, our bodies pressed so flush together there wasn't a sliver of space between us.
My hand was trapped right on his throbbing cock. Even through the thin fabric, I could feel it pulsing and burning against my palm.
My fingers trembled. My whole body went rigid.
He looked like he was barely holding himself back.
We stayed locked in that tense standoff for a few agonizing minutes before he finally shoved me away. His expression went dead cold as he rolled out of bed and headed straight for the guest bedroom.
I lay there in a daze, my palm still warm from his body heat.
Slowly, I slid my hand under my nightgown and into my panties. Dry. Completely fucking dry.
Just like I thought. Bone dry.
Our marriage really was nothing but a business transaction.
He got hard — but not because of me.
I bit down on my lower lip, a heavy sense of misery swallowing me whole.
A substitute wife would always be just a substitute. No matter how hard I tried, I was never going to make him want me.

READ FULL NOVEL HERE