“I think dude is cute.” I shrug.
“Husbands do not get called dude.”
“You’re not my husband,” I say, brattily.
Instead of reacting, his expression goes blank, and he turns his attention back to his plate, all of his focus on his breakfast, until all of his food is gone and his coffee mug is empty.
If he’d shouted or snarked back at me, I’d be fine, but his complete blankness and lack of attention make the food on my plate taste like it’s been turned into ash. Guilt hangs heavy in my stomach, and the moment he’s finished, I reach for his empty plate and carry them both into the kitchen.
Not speaking, he collects the rest of the dishes and follows behind me. Silently, we work side by side until the dishes have been washed and dried and the kitchen is immaculate again. Once we’re done, Knight lifts me off my feet and carries me upstairs, walking me straight into the bathroom where he turns on the faucet over the tub.
“Are you going to get in with me?” I ask quietly, feeling like an asshole for deliberately trying to provoke him.
“I already showered.”
“I’ll just go in the shower instead, then,” I tell him, leaning forward to reach the faucet.
“No,” he growls. “I’m going to help.”
A part of me wants to argue, but I’ve already been a brat for no reason this morning, so instead I nod and sit back while the tub slowly fills.
Once it’s half full, Knight tugs his shirt up and over my head, then lifts me into the tub, taking my hand while I sit down.
“Get in with me?” I ask, then add, “Please.”
Glancing at the time on his watch, he nods, then strips out of his pants, boxers, and socks and steps into the tub as I shuffle forward to make room for him.
The moment my skin touches his, I feel better, but something instinctive tells me that I won’t settle until he’s inside of me, connected, and as close as we can be.
Turning to my front, I crawl up his body and position myself on his lap, unsure what to do with my legs but determined to get what I need anyway.
“Fuck me,” I say, staring into his face to search for any kind of reaction that will tell me what he’s feeling.
“I only fuck my wife,” he says straight-faced.
“I thought I was your wife,” I cajole, feeling like an asshole for playing into his narrative, when only minutes earlier I denied our connection.
“You are. But you only seem to agree when my dick is inside of your cunt.”
I should not have told him to call my vagina a cunt, because every time the dirty word falls from his perfectly full lips, I react like an animal in heat.
“So make me agree,” I taunt, reaching behind me and fisting his cock.
Covering my hand with his, he guides himself to my entrance, lifting his hips and pushing just the head inside of me.
“Oh god,” I moan softly as my body slowly stretches to accommodate him.
The creases in his brow are the only reaction he gives, and I wish I could see inside his mind to understand what he’s feeling when his face gives nothing away. My body burns with the need to sink down onto him and ride his dick, but despite the tub being larger than average, with both of us in here, there’s no room for me to plant my feet or get enough leverage to move.
“Knight,” I beg when I try to push him deeper inside of me and find myself unable to move.
“I only fuck my wife,” he says again, his pupils dilated as he looks from my face to where our bodies are connected.
“Make me believe it,” I hiss.
“No.”
His simple, one-word denial makes something inside of me snap. “Fuck me, Knight,” I say.
