Page 17 of Prince Cheating Charming

I got out my phone and scrolled through for a gif from her baking show. There was one with the judge saying “this pie has got a rather soggy bottom.” It always made her laugh so hard when they said this in the show, so I texted it to her, adding

Your ass looked so good in those little shorts

Come over here and let’s open one of those new bottles of pink champagne

I waited, my thigh jiggling impatiently.

When was the last time I had fallen asleep by myself?

I honestly couldn’t remember. I hadn’t intended when I got married to spend every single night with my wife. But as soon as I did it once, I didn’t want to stop. Within the first week, I knew I didn’t want to sleep without her. Now I never slept in my own bed.

It was so nice sleeping with her. I really liked it. She fit into my side perfectly, curved her warm little body into my back. And she fit into my arms perfectly too, her soft belly a perfect place to hold her and pull her even closer. I had never just. . . slept with women before her. I was not an overnight boyfriend before I got married. But there was something so soothing about Delilah. Her easy, even breathing made me fall asleep faster. I had always suffered from insomnia, feeling like I needed more and more wine or whiskey to go to sleep. But Delilah had me falling asleep right away. All I needed was her.

And before we went to sleep we always talked, about new climbing routes we wanted to try, or something annoying that had happened at my work, a new illustration she was working on, or episodes of one of her silly shows. They weren’t half-bad really. Actually most of them were pretty funny, and what made it even better were all the funny things Delilah would say, and how she’d get so into every episode, and have the strongest opinions about baked biscuits. It was nice.

I did not realize how attached I was to this nighttime routine until now.

I had no self-control, and I glanced down impatiently at the phone. My message just hung there.

Unread.

Another stab of irritation went through me. Maybe my wife thought it was amusing to play games.

Well, in that case I would just go to bed and wait for her to come to her senses in the morning. So I kicked off my sweats and hopped into bed.

But I could not get to sleep. I tossed. I turned.

I tried to jerk off, took my cock in my hands and started stroking it, base to tip. But my dick was flaccid, half-hard, because all I could think about was Delilah’s rejection, the way she had tossed her head and turned her back on me.

She had never shut a door on me before. She had never turned me down before.

What if she was being serious?

The thought was horrible.

I didn’t want that.

I didn’t want to just jerk off, either. I wanted Delilah.

I got up and slipped noiselessly down the hall. By this time it was almost 3 am and the halls were dark. I cursed myself for even suggesting we have separate quarters.

What was more important, having a private space so I could fuck around on her every now and again, or being able to sleep with my wife every night?

Obviously the latter was more important. I vowed to explain that to Delilah, tell her we could do something else with that space, that I didn’t want separate quarters. I wanted to be together every night.

She knew that, right? Right?

I laid a hand on her doorknob and turned it.

I had done this many times before. Sometimes I’d go out with my boys down to one of the town pubs, stay out until all hours, then come back and drunkenly fuck my wife, loving how she always rolled over sleepily, her lips reaching hungrily for mine, her warm thighs wrapping around my torso, always pulling me closer to her.

But not this time.

I couldn’t get in. The door was locked.

I felt like I was at the top of a rollercoaster that had just started to make a ten-story drop. My wife had never locked her door to me. It had always been open, and she had always been there waiting for me.

I stupidly tried it again, as if I might have another outcome.

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