“And that’s on you,” she snaps and looks ahead, crossing her arms over her chest.
She wants to torture me? Let’s see how she deals with my type of torture.
Burying my face in her neck, I rub my nose against her skin, evoking goose bumps. “I think you forgot who the fuck you’re playing with.”
Another button follows, giving me a bit more wiggle room, but the task is far from finished. “You said not to touch you, but I have my ways, Viviana.”
She gulps, her entire body constricting, tightening into a ball of repressed desire. A touch of mine and she’s bound to unravel. I need her to give in since she’s the one waging the war. I’ve long surrendered to my need for her.
I unbutton some more, and she squirms every time my fingertips brush along her spine.
“You do it on purpose,” she whines.
“Do I? You picked this dress, wife.”
“Especially for you, husband.”
I chuckle. “Yes, to drive me mad.”
“I’m not that lucky,” she huffs.
“No, you’re not. You’re the cause. You’re the cure. You’re fucked either way,mo run.”
After an eternity and a hundred breathing exercises not to maul her, I unbutton the last one.
Even if she tells me otherwise, deep inside, she wants me to have my way with her. But that could end catastrophically, setting a wrong precedent. If I take her now, she’ll only feel entitled to continue keeping her love buried.
I might be a monster. But I won’t be one to her.
Taking a step back, she wriggles out of her gown, presenting me with the delicate arch of her spine. In white lingerie, she looks exquisite.
She turns to me, exposing more of herself, her two pebbled nipples greeting me. I salivate on the spot, starving for a taste.
I thought I knew what torture was, but I was wrong.
She twirls in a slow pirouette, and I watch my fantasy come to life.
“Like it, husband?”
“I would like it more if it came off,” I groan.
She pats her chest in faux sympathy. “But of course. How inconsiderate of me.”
My wife is up to something, but for the life of me, I can’t think clearly.
Her beauty enraptures me; her every gesture captivates me, holding my gaze hostage, roping in my attention.
“Let me,” I say, my voice sounding hoarse, the undertone of despair weaving through.
I drop to my knees, peeling down her thong.
She looks down at me, her silky hair falling down her chest like black gold, crowning her a queen.
In this moment, it’s clear who holds the power—her.
She lifts one foot and then the other, and I bring her thong to my nose, breathing in her sweet scent that drives me wild.
She sucks in a breath, the telltale sign of her arousal threatening to burn up my reason. Mending comes before fucking, I repeat that like a mantra, not to lose control.
