We’re Married, After All

A week before the wedding, my fiancé ran away.

So, I married his younger brother.

Danel, who had been a monk, renounced his vows to marry me.

We were a couple brought together by circumstance, with nothing in common—except for our nightly obligations to conceive an heir.

Honestly, I didn’t have high expectations for Danel.

To be frank, I approached our wedding night with the mindset of entering a convent.

After all, he had spent half his life in a monastery, and I doubted he even knew where to put what.

Yet that night, for the first time in my life, I passed out during s*x.

I thought, perhaps, this marriage wasn’t so bad after all.

If a duty-bound act could be this enjoyable, spending the rest of my life like this didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

We’re married, after all—being his wife couldn’t be too bad, I reasoned.

At least, that’s what I thought.

Until one late night, when I caught my husband pleasuring himself while licking between my legs.