He didn’t want to get personal. He just needed to perform the act.

 

Michael had had every intention of sleeping on the floor tonight. He’d spent a good part of the afternoon fielding the suggestive comments a few bold men had made about tonight. It didn’t help that his manhood hardened with interest at the prospect, defying his own resolve not to touch his wife.

 

But she tempted him, standing there in her short night dress that barely reached the middle of her thighs. Her eyes stared at him, filled with innocence and passion all at the same time.

 

Turn around, Mike. Walk away before it’s too late.

 

She folded her arms beneath her pert breasts, pushing them up in a manner he could not ignore. It may have been a manifestation of nerves, but his body sprang alive. He bit back a curse, realising he couldn’t walk away even if he wanted to.

 

He needed to consummate the marriage. If their union broke, as he wished it to, it couldn’t be because he hadn’t claimed her as his wife in every way. Such news never remained hidden. He’d be branded as something less than a real man, and that would certainly affect the elders’ already doubtful opinion of him.

 

However, when he took a step towards her, he knew at the back of his mind that it wasn’t out of obligation. He wanted to taste her lips again, feel her soft breasts press against his chest, know the taste of her tongue and every other secret part of her body.

 

“Put your arms around me, Esi,” he whispered.

 

Keep quiet, man. Talking made things personal. He didn’t want to get personal. He just needed to perform the act.