But she doesn’t.
She looks over at my side of the bed and I’m not there, her entire body stiffening with fear. “Christopher?” Her sob almost rends me in two. “It’s dark. Where are you?”
I can’t stand her fear for another moment. As fast as possible, I strip down to my boxers and attempt to even my breathing. Go from feral to normal. Normal, like she wants. Needs.
“Sorry, angel eyes,” I say, stepping into the moonlight where she can see me. Her body collapses back onto the pillows, hand to her heart. “I went to get a drink of water.”
The lie burns in my gut. I hate myself for being untruthful with this loyal, honest, courageous woman. It gets worse every time.
She’s given you a conscience.
“S-sorry,” she stammers. “I shouldn’t be freaking out. It’s silly. You should be able to walk to the kitchen at night without me having a panic attack.”
“No,” I say firmly, crossing to the bed. “Hey. There is nothing silly about you. Or what you went through. I should have been beside you. I’m sorry.”
She really has no idea how much.
I get into bed and pull her up against my chest, groaning inwardly at the pure decadence of her body molding to mine, her leg draping over my hip. “Do you want to talk about it?”
The day we met, Jolie told me she’d been kidnapped by a co-worker. I know the full story from the news and her therapy sessions, but I’ve never pushed her to elaborate for me. Probably because it felt extra deceitful, asking her for painful details I already have. Why would I want to put her through that?
Now, however, Jolie nods into my neck. “Yeah…I think I want to talk about it a little bit. Maybe the self-defense class gave me even more bravery than I realized.”
I tug her tighter against me, stroke her back. “Say whatever you want to say. I’m here.”
Her warm breath fans my throat. “Sometimes I feel guilty. About everything that happened to me.”
Above her head, my frown is ferocious. “Why would you feel guilty?”
“For not fighting harder. I was too scared, but I should have sucked it up. I should have fought and…I should have recognized earlier there was something wrong with him.”
A swallow sticks in my throat.
Heat swamps me.
There was something wrong with the man who kidnapped her.
There is something wrong with me, too. I’m…a stalker. I stalk this woman.
My wife.
Someday, she could be saying these exact words about me.
“There had to be warning signs I didn’t recognize, right?”
“I don’t know,” I choke out, my right eye twitching. “Sometimes monsters hide in plain sight.”
“Yeah…” she hedges, tracing a finger along my collarbone. “I guess so.”
“I do know you can’t blame yourself for not fighting,” I say, sincerely. “You survived. That was your job—and you succeeded.”
Sighing with gratitude, she snuggles into me. “I’m tired of talking about myself. It seems like that’s all we ever do. When we’re not…you know.” Her laugh is breathy, uneven. “I want to hear more about your childhood. College. Your parents. Your friends.”
“I told you,” I respond lightly, kissing her temple. “My parents passed away, my friends are scattered around. Seattle, Texas. Hell, I can barely keep track. Someday I’ll take you to where I grew up in Utah. We’ll make a whole trip of it.”
Lies.
More lies.
“You’ve never even shown me pictures,” she says, quietly. “Why is that?”
I force myself to stay relaxed. To stay afloat among the alarm and guilt.
Jesus, only tonight I worried about this eventuality—and here it is. She’s starting to press, starting to expect more from this man she married impulsively.
I distract her the only way I know how. The only way I know will succeed.
I take my wife’s hand and place it on my stiff cock. “I’d rather talk about why you haven’t done anything about this yet, little girl.” Next, I take frame her jaw with my hand, applying a small amount of pressure, tilting her face up to mine. “Daddy is getting impatient.”
Her breath hitches.
There is something in her eyes, a new curiosity that tells me she sees through my attempt to distract her. I’m worried she’s going to voice her concern and lean in to kiss her before that happens, but her hand strokes my dick and I end up groaning against her lips instead.
“Like this?” she asks innocently.
“Yes,” I hiss, my shaft sensitive as hell from my own rough treatment.
Another squeezing rake of that hand. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“I want you to suck it,” I pant, putting pressure on her jaw until her mouth pops open on a gasp. “Just enough to wet it. So I can get it up your tight ass.”
Jolie blinks at me in surprised excitement.
I recognize my motivation. Claiming her like this for the first time. Taking full ownership to balance out the fear of losing her. The fear that is suddenly seeming more and more real.
Desperate to regain that ground, I surge forward, pushing my wife onto her back, getting on top of her and walking on my knees along the outside of her body, until I can notch my cock into her gasping, little mouth. Sinking in a couple of pulsing inches. I almost never ask for this. I definitely don’t expect this perfect angel to suck me off, but I want her mouth around my dick right now so bad, I’m going to snap. I want to witness her attraction and be reassured she’s still with me. “Big and salty, isn’t it, little girl? It’s got no place in a virgin asshole, but that’s exactly where it’s going, so suck it sloppy. Make it slippery for your own good.”
The filth coming out of my mouth makes her moan, her fingernails dragging down my thighs so she can double fist my cock, pulling on the fat girth of it, trying to get as much of it between her lips as possible, stretching bravely to make it happen. Watching her struggle to take me into her mouth is enough to make me come, but I bite down on my tongue and stave off the rising tide.
I rest my hands on the back of my head and flex, watching her eyes go molten. She’s made no secret about loving my road-worn body and I give her a show now, rolling my hips toward her mouth, letting her enjoy my muscles chasing each other across my abdomen. I spend a lot of time killing hours in the gym when she’s safe at home and I’m supposed to be at work. It pays off now when she whimpers and lets in another inch of my shaft, her hands stroking feverishly, her tongue bathing me, lips suctioning, teeth grazing. If I let her go much longer, I’m going to finish too soon—and I need that final, untapped privilege of her body tonight.
I pull my cock from her mouth and lean down to kiss her swollen, gasping lips. “What did I tell you the first night I fucked you?” I catch her throat in a tight grip, looking her hard in the eye, love and obsession and power coursing through me. “Once you’re used to this cock, it’s going to give you nothing but pleasure. That’s what I said, isn’t it? That you’d shake every time I walk into the bedroom just knowing I’m about to put it in your tight-ass cunt?”
“Yes,” she breathes, her eyes at half mast. “I do. I shake. Please…”