I want to be his.
He’s still shuddering through the end of his orgasm when I dare to reach up and touch his face. I half expect him to flinch away, but he doesn’t. My husband turns to softly kiss my palm, then dips his head and kisses my lips.
I taste myself on him. Salty and sweet and slick with his saliva, my cream all over his lips and cheeks.
It’s lewd and dirty and I’m absolutely here for it.
Then wordlessly. Dante pushes himself up, leaving the cool air to hit my body, more chilled where I’m covered with sweat, and insulated by his ejaculate, that’s still warm.
He finds his shorts, and uses them to wipe up the sticky mess all over my belly, lingering where it reached my breasts.
I don’t object when he reaches between my legs to clean me there too, even though I swear for a second he’s adding to the problem by pushing the fabric that’s wet with his come over my sopping pussy.
Then he realises his mistake, and wipes away the evidence of our… I’m not sure what that was.
I close my eyes. What have I done? The mattress moves under me as he shifts, then he’s returned, tugging my pyjamas back into place and smoothing them down.
You’d never know anything had happened.
I’m exhausted. The satisfaction of coming has combined with the buzz of Dante covering me, and my brain has overloaded.
He pulls me to him, my back to his chest, and exhales a deep, contented sigh. I try to hold out, but tucked into him, it’s impossible not to feel warm and secure. Wanted. His arm rests over my hip, and his breath tickles the top of my head.
And I think it must be the orgasms, because immediately, I’m slipping into sleep.
There’s one intrusive thought before I’m gone. How am I going to survive without this once we’re not married anymore?
18
DANTE
I return early to the house the next afternoon, and I tell myself it’s because Giovanni said there was another occurrence of a stranger skulking around. And yes, there was someone in a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a shapeless coat in the video surveillance I checked. He was gone by the time, only a few seconds later, Giovanni appeared in the footage, gun in hand, to check that everything was okay. But although I’m concerned for my wife’s safety, I’m confident. I’ve worked hard to ensure there’re no threats to us as a family.
The truth is, I’m a wife guy, now. I need to see my wife as soon as possible. Ruby is my first priority. I’ve spent all day thinking about her taste, wondering if she’ll let me make her come again, and berating myself for losing control and jerking off over her.
The alternative might have been that my balls exploded, because I crave her that much.
She’s not in the lounge or garden so I walk into our bedroom to check if she’s there, and instead of the familiar, empty, pale-yellow desert, and Ruby’s stuff on her bedside cabinet, there’s… Well. Chaos. Pretty clutter.
The bed is half covered in cushions, all in neat rows, and below there’s a soft-looking throw of some sort, in a deep-green. The bedside tables now have lamps, and in the corner, there’s a pot plant. There’s another leafy thing with little white stripes, on a shelf. That’s new, too.
“Hey!” Ruby says perkily, appearing at my side. Her hair is askew and she is glowing as though she’s been busy on her feet all day.
“What’s happened…?” I gesture at the room.
She takes one look at me, and her face falls. “You don’t like it. You said I could redecorate?”
“Yes, I remember saying that.” I meant it, too. But this pile of inconvenience? “Look, I don’t mind the plants.”
“They clean the air,” she says earnestly.
“Yeah.” I’m unconvinced. There are no filters on that leaf. It doesn’t clean anything. Oxygenate, sure, but there’s plenty of oxygen around. We have trees and shit in the garden. “The plants are pretty,” I concede.
“They’re good for emotional welfare, too,” she enthuses.
I know this house is a bit devoid of personality because I took down the photos of my parents and other family mementoes because it was too painful a reminder of what Lucia and I had lost, but seriously. Decorative pillows?
“Are these good for emotions too?” I gesture at the pile of green cushions. “It looks like you’ll be building a pillow wall between us every night.” I don’t like this. At all. I’m a sizable man. I’m not sharing my bed with a dozen tasselled cock-blockers. “There are better ways to tell me you don’t want my help keeping your feet warm.”
