And then my thoughts scatter as he pulls his tongue out and sucks on my clit. His mouth moves from my clit to my entrance, licking and sucking, making me… God. Heaven. What is this?
My whole body trembles, my brain goes blank. All I can hear are my loud cries and the explosive shivers coursing through every cell of me.
Is there a medical condition called “death from orgasm”? If not, it should be named after me, because one day, I might die from the torturous orgasms given by this man, whom I’ll divorce if I survive them.
He pulls me down and sets my bare feet on his shoes; my flip-flops have long been discarded behind him. His steel-hard erection presses against my stomach. He moves his feet with me on top of them as if we are dancing, and every nerve in me is alight.
He stops right where my flip-flops are discarded and lets me go. I slip them on and meekly look up at him. He’s smiling, the devil himself. Satan.
“Run again, Angel. Hide under the covers,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his voice low and enchanting. “Don’t let the devil see you.” He lifts a lock of my hair from my shoulder. “Or your pretty red hair.”
My eyes widen in realization. He saw me behind that tree—no, he saw my hair. Untied, my messy curls cascade in a voluminous wave. I feel like the dumbest woman alive.
He lets go of my hair and takes two steps back. His silent cue for me to run. I don’t waste a second. My legs shake, but I sprint, only stopping when I reach our room. No, his room. I dart into the bathroom, take a quick two-minute shower, change intofresh clothes, and slide under the sheets, hiding my face and hair.
Wait.Why am I obeying him?
He can’t boss me around. I’m his wife.
Shut up, Iselyn. You haven’t recovered from your earlier orgasm, just do what he said.Matleon’s style of “punishment” is making me come, which I’m still not sure can even be called a punishment.
Matleon
After taking care of myself under the hot shower, I enter the bedroom. I chuckle, watching her hiding under the sheets, not a single strand of hair escaping. I sit on the bed and slide under the covers. The soft, steady sound of her breath tells me she’s asleep.
I gently lift the quilt from her face, taking in her peaceful, angelic expression, my head propped up on my elbow.
Her soft brown lashes rest gently on her fair cheeks, her peach-colored lips slightly parted. Today, they are in their brightest shade. I touch the fine baby hairs along her frontal hairline with the lightest brush of my thumb. It glides down to her temple. When it brushes over her ear, she makes a soft, squishy sound and turns onto her side, hiding her ear from me. This is better, now she is facing me.
I smile, pushing the strands of her curls that fall over her cheek behind her ear without touching it. She is very sensitive around her ears.
I lay my head on the pillow after pulling it closer to hers. There should be no gap between our pillows and our bodies. And our hearts—which is wishful thinking of mine for now.
There is so much peace in watching her sleep. I used to think Zo was crazy, unable to live without watching Avi. Now I can totally understand his craziness. I think this is an infectious disease, I got infected from him. Sure, there is nothing wrong with placing blame. And since we are now into placing blame shamelessly, let’s put the blame for this relentless craving on this angel, who is sleeping as if she has done nothing wrong in her life.
She gave me a taste of her love, and even though it was very much juvenile, it was strong enough to shake the entire course of a growing man’s life. She gave me a taste of it, and now I’m craving it, like…what did those poets used to say?Like water in summer… no, not summer—desert. Like water in a desert.
Will she love me back if I write some good-quality poetry? Girls like that stuff, right?
We’ll see.
I shift closer to her. Our noses are touching now. I tilt my face and press a gentle kiss to her relaxed lips, then lay my head back on the pillow. But I can’t keep it there, I kiss her again. And again.
Stop it, you dumbass, or she’ll wake up.I scold the impulsive part of me in my head.
chapter 28
Iselyn
The first thing I see upon waking is, for a change, not Matleon, but a flamingo-colored rose lying on the pillow beside mine, accompanied by a note.
“Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be.”
My heart skips a beat. Is this Matleon? Of course, there is no one else other than him who would come into this room and do this. Is this his new way of messing with me? I leave the rose and note in the drawer near my bedside and walk into the bathroom.
There, one note is stuck to the mirror.
