Page 74 of Married with Mayhem

“Now I can’t get it open,” she says and throws up her hands.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“Are you asking me to help you take your clothes off?”

She makes a face. “Look, I’d call my mother for help but then she’ll have questions like, ‘Why can’t your husband undress you?’ and then I’ll have some explaining to do.”

“Keep your voice down,” I grumble and plod in her direction to perform my duty.

Sabrina turns around and faces a large rectangular wall mirror above the dresser. Her blushing reflection watches me. Thank god that I capped my alcohol intake at one glass of wine.Otherwise I’d probably be falling on my knees and begging to worship her all night.

She clears her throat and sweeps her long, glorious hair aside. “You can rip it if you have to. It’s not like I’ll be wearing it again.”

Fuck.Is this hell? The way my cock threatens to erupt in my pants while my untouchable dream girl asks me to tear her clothes off indicates it might be. All my gallant Boy Scout efforts are one flick of the zipper away from going up in smoke.

I’m surprised my hands don’t shake when I pull the laces free and pinch the underlying zipper between my fingers. She wasn’t lying about the thing being stuck. Nothing happens when I try to tug lightly. And nothing still happens when I try to pull harder.

My knuckles brush her spine. Her eyes squeeze shut and her breath releases in a shaky exhale. She’s so aroused she can hardly stand. That makes two of us.

This zipper is going nowhere without a serious struggle. Might as well take her suggestion. This fabric won’t be easy to rip and I don’t want to risk bruising her.

My duffel bag is only a few feet away. Sabrina’s brow creases with confusion as she watches me dig through the bag. When I extract a switchblade, she flinches and her eyes go wide. I’m enjoying her shock as I unfold the blade.

“Don’t move,” I tell her and wait for her silent nod of agreement.

Then I swiftly but carefully slice open the back of her dress.

The fabric splits and I drop the knife. Our eyes meet in the mirror. Hers are heavy with desire and she sucks in her lower lip. The skin of her exquisite back is inches way. My hands land on her shoulders. She’s motionless, waiting.

Because she trusts me.

She can always trust me.

After all, she’s my wife….

OH FUUUUUUCK.

What a bad time to invoke that word.

Wife. Wife. Wife. Wife.

Each echo is a pulse that charges my cock with raw animal instinct. Common sense be damned. The need to fuckmy wifemust be part of the evolutionary code. Bet there’s some science going on. Can’t be helped.

My hands move from her shoulders and slide down her arms, displacing the lacy sleeves that are barely holding the ruined dress up.

Then the dress begins to fall and Sabrina stiffens. Her expression changes, becoming pained and shy. She lowers her eyes and clutches her wreck of a dress, trying to cover her body. I take my hands off her immediately.

“I can’t,” she gasps, refusing to look at me.

She means it. She’s not kidding or being difficult. There’s a reason for this sudden severe anxiety. Someone did this to her, fucked her up big time and made her feel deeply uncomfortable with her own sexuality. She basically admitted as much the other night.

“Brina.” I lower my head and plant a tender kiss on her bare shoulder. I’ll never push her to do anything. I just need to tell her how amazing she is in the hopes she’ll believe me. Instead of believinghim.

“I’m sorry, Monte,” she barely chokes out before running into the bathroom and slamming the door shut.

She stays in there for a long time, more than long enough for me to discard the remains of this tux and change into a pair of sweats. Tonight’s also a good night to wear a shirt to bed, if only to make her feel a little more at ease.

Vittorio’s men break into obnoxious laughter on the other side of the door. The sound grates on my nerves and I bang on the wall as a message that they better shut the hell up.

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