Page 6 of The Whole Package

"When have you ever behaved?" I retort, my words laced with skepticism. Pushing the glass shower doors open, I'm greeted by the sight of his sculpted form, enveloped in the lather of my favorite soap. Water cascades over his muscular body, each droplet accentuating the contours and planes I've come to know and love.

"I'll be on my best behavior, love," he promises again, his English accent curling around the words, sending a familiar thrill through me. That accent has been my undoing for the past five years, a sweetly spoken vulnerability that never fails to weaken my knees.

"I don't believe you for a second," I murmur, my voice a whisper lost in the shower's steam. He closes in, a predator in his own right, and I find myself retreating until my back meets the cool wall. His body presses against mine, a perfect fit, and my heart races – a wild, frantic rhythm that he alone has the power to incite.

I breathe him in deeply, desperately, filling my senses with his scent. It's a fragrance I want to cling to for eternity, the only one that feels like home, like forever. He is my everything, the love of my life, and yet, with each passing day, the weight of my secretlife, the double existence I lead, grows heavier. The life that allows me these moments of bliss with Robert is the same one that threatens to shatter everything we have. It's a precarious balance, a tightrope walk over an abyss of potential ruin. The thought of him discovering the truth, of watching our perfect world implode, is a constant shadow that looms over me.

It terrifies me—the fragility of this happiness, the transient nature of our blissful ignorance. As his hands explore, as our bodies meld in the heat and water, I'm painfully aware of how much I stand to lose. I find a bittersweet sanctuary in his arms, a temporary haven from the inevitable storm ahead.

The gnawing certainty that he'll run and turn his back on me and never return once he knows the truth is the silent specter in every moment we share. It's why the words have died on my lips so many times, why I've shied away from crossing that insurmountable bridge. The fear isn't just of losing him; it's the terror that he'll never be able to look at me the same way again. That he'll see me and feel nothing but disappointment and shame. I've faced many fears and weathered countless storms, but the thought of disgust in Robert's eyes, the man I love more than life itself, is the one thing I can't bear. Each time I've neared that precipice of confession, I've recoiled, not out of cowardice, but out of an acute fear of irrevocably shattering the fragile, beautiful world we've built together.

I know the truth deep down, buried beneath layers of denial and hope. When he learns who I really am and what I do, the love we've nurtured will likely crumble under the weight of reality. And that's the hardest pill to swallow – the knowledge that the day I tell him the truth is the day I might lose him forever.

"You said you'd behave," I whisper, my words a delicate breath against his lips. But then his mouth crashes down onmine, claiming it in a way that's all-consuming, all him. It's a kiss that speaks of hunger and possession, a language he's fluent in.

"I lied," he murmurs against my lips, a hint of mischief in his voice. His teeth gently tug at my bottom lip, sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through me. His hands roam my now bare skin, leaving trails of searing heat in their wake. Every touch is fire, and I'm more than just a willing participant—I'm eager for the blaze.

"Robert," I breathe his name, a quiet, pleading cry. His hands grip my hips, pressing my back harder against the cold tiles. A moan escapes my lips, the sensation of the icy wall at my back contrasting with the heat of his body and the scalding water. I welcome the sharp bite of the chill, allowing it to anchor me. His lips travel down the curve of my neck, tracing the outline of my shoulder. My body trembles under his touch, the anticipation almost unbearable.

"What is it, love?" He pauses, his breath ghosting against my skin, and I bite my lip, holding back the plea on my tongue. He knows what I want and what I need, but he also loves to tease me, take me to the brink of desperation, and keep me there.

"Robert, please." His name is a whispered prayer on my lips, a supplication for mercy. He smiles against my shoulder, a smug, arrogant smirk I would hate if it belonged to anyone else.

"As you wish," he murmurs, and his lips travel down the planes of my stomach, his body sinking to the floor. With a gentle nudge, he parts my thighs, positioning them to his liking, and I can't help but shiver in anticipation.

"Yes, right there," I groan, my back arching in a sinuous curve. His lips trail the inside of my thigh, drawing a desperate whimper from my lips.

"Here?" His warm breath tickles my sensitive skin, and I shudder, barely able to form the word.

"Robert," I whimper his name, another helpless plea. I am nothing under his touch, entirely at his mercy.

"Is this what you want?" He asks, and then his lips are on me, and his tongue is teasing me, tasting me, and all coherent thoughts are driven from my mind. All I can think of all I can feel, is the exquisite pleasure of his touch.

"Please," I beg, my voice a ragged whisper.

"Your wish is my command," he replies, his voice a low growl. He delves deeper, and I let out a gasp, my eyes fluttering shut as I give in to the blissful oblivion of his touch. He teases and tortures me with expert precision, knowing exactly how to drive me mad with desire. His hands roam over my body, touching and teasing every sensitive spot, and I feel as though I'm about to burst with pleasure.

My nails rake over the smooth tiles as his mouth brings me closer to the edge. The pressure builds, a delicious, agonizing ache, and I'm lost when his lips find that one spot. The tension in my body snaps, and a wave of pleasure crashes over me, drowning me in its ecstasy.

"I love you," he whispers, and the words are like a salve on my battered soul. For a moment, I allow myself to believe that everything will be okay, that this love is strong enough to withstand the storm that's brewing.

CHAPTER

SIX

E l e n a

My cheek is pressed hard against the cold kitchen counter; the unforgiving surface is a different kind of hell, better than the searing pain from his grip. At this moment, the chill of the counter is a small mercy compared to the scorching heat of the stove, still warm from the dinner I had just prepared.

"You didn't learn your lesson last time, you stupid bitch?" His voice is laced with poison, and his words viciously hiss in my ear. The stench of alcohol in his breath confirms what I already know – he's drunk, lost in the depths of his rage and intoxication. It's a pattern, a cruel cycle that only escalates when he drinks.

"Y-yes," I force the words out, a faint whisper of submission. It's my best, although desperate, attempt to de-escalate and keep the peace just enough to protect Alexandra. But the sound of a sleepy yawn from the hallway shatters any fleeting hope of keeping her shielded from this nightmare.

"Mommy?" My almost four-year-old daughter's small, confused voice cuts through the tension. It's past her bedtime, but the chaos has roused her. The reality that she's witnessing this, that her innocent ears are picking up the sounds of her father's wrath, sends a fresh wave of fear through me.

Raphael's fury blinds him to everything else, even our daughter's presence. He presses my face harder against themarble, the unforgiving stone cold and harsh against my skin. "Raph, please," I manage to whimper, my voice a frail shadow, as I fight back tears.

His response is venomous, filled with a hatred that seems to surface only when he's drowning in whiskey or vodka, whatever his demons drive him to drink that week. "You didn't think about 'please' when you were out there shaking your ass for everyone, did ya?" His words cut deeper than the physical pain, another toxic reminder of the man he becomes under the influence.

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