Page 8 of His Wife

Does she? Does she really?

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, slamming the car door. Two girls were butchered and murdered like it was some sacrificial act. Whoever this fucker is, he’s making sure we understand that all this is happening because of our sins. Our lifestyle. But the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced it’s far more personal than that.

I am, after all, your brother.

There are so many ways that one sentence could be interpreted, and it’s been mindfucking me for days.

Closing the front door behind me, I slip off my coat and stomp up the stairs. Tension claws at my tight shoulders, and I’m fucking exhausted, but my thoughts are wide awake.

The dim lights of the hall guide me to my bedroom, and I pause when I pass her door. I can’t stop myself from imagining her in bed, soft raven curls splayed over the pillows, her smooth skin like velvet. My fingertips ache from the memory of what it feels like to touch her, feel her flesh and soak up her warmth. God, she’s on the other side of that door, a brick wall separating us, and still, I’m so fucking drawn to her it hurts. It’s almost supernatural, like God took pity over the man born from the bowels of Hell and created this perfect being just for him so he can have a little taste of Heaven. Paradise. But there’s a chance that once all is done I would have corrupted her, ruined her, leaving her no chance of being another man’s Heaven.

Good.

I pull my hair back, weaving my fingers through the strands while staring at her bedroom door.

My mind pulls me in two different directions for no longer than a moment. Let her be and give her some reprieve from me. Let her have peace without me filling every crevice of her being by possessing her mind and body. Or be the selfish bastard everyone knows me to be and give in to the temptation that ignites my blood.

No doubt. The latter wins, and I ease open her bedroom door and step inside. My quiet entrance and the click of the lock don’t wake her, and my footsteps don’t disturb the silence. Instantly, I’m wrapped in the soothing relief I feel whenever we’re alone, locked away from the world outside. It’s her and me alone between four walls where nothing can touch us, where nothing can sever the madness we so eagerly bathe in. Like magnets, we’re drawn to each other—whether it means rapture or destruction, it doesn’t seem like we care.

Leandra sleeps peacefully under the sheets hugging the outline of her body and draping effortlessly down her accentuated curves—curves I’ve memorized, her body a map I could trail my fingers over blindfolded.

It doesn’t take long for my eyes to adjust to the dark, the outside lights’ faint glow enough to alleviate the heavy black of night.

I remove my suit jacket and place it over the sofa's armrest before taking a seat, leaning back and just…watching her. She’s wearing one of my shirts, and I find it sexier than any provocative lingerie set I’ve bought her. The crisp white shirt and creamy skin are a stark contrast to the darkness.

The room smells like her—vanilla and the enticing scent that’s uniquely her. An aroma that slowly turns me rabid for her. To kiss her. Taste her. Fuck her deep so I can touch her soul. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined the girl I found in that disgusting apartment eating dry instant noodles would end up being this magical being who has bewitched me, making me question what it is I truly want out of life.

I rub my chin with my forefinger, wondering exactly when this fucking happened. When I got so swept up in this woman, drugged on the ecstasy she’s selling every goddamn time she spreads her legs for me. I’m not a morally gray kind of guy. I’m a pitch-black motherfucker who realized I could not stomach the thought of her walking out my goddamn front door—even though it’s part of our agreement. But it all got shot to shit the moment I sank balls deep into her the very first time.

The girl in the photograph, standing by a grave like a lost little lamb, was the ideal candidate. The perfect prey for me to sink my teeth into while I fulfilled what I thought was a ridiculous request by my father. But there was a slight uptick in my pulse while I stared at that image of her, a gentle hum in my veins. Now I know exactly what it meant. I was drawn to her from that very first moment, the beautiful girl in a picture that depicted my future.

A grave. Grief. Regret.

That slight uptick in pulse, and delicate hum is now a pounding heartbeat and a symphony singing to my blood. If I had only turned past her picture, moved on to the next, I wouldn’t be here mindfucked by this delicate angel raining down hell on my plans to use her while I need her before throwing her aside like the dispensable pawn she was meant to be from the start.

No. It’s not that simple anymore. Reality is setting in, and soon it will be cast in stone. Leandra is not the pawn I intended for her to be. She’s a fucking queen. My queen.

Our bodies are the perfect fucking fit when we’re together. The sexual attraction is liquid fire and potent passion that has the power to bring us both to our knees.

Leandra stirs. A gentle moan rolls from her lips as she turns on her back, slipping a leg from under the covers and hooking it over, bending her knee. The sight of her bare thigh has me biting my bottom lip, my cock stirring to life, and I get up, stalking closer.

I remove my shirt and pants and crawl into bed next to her—her sweet scent enveloping me. She nestles deeper into the mattress, her heart-shaped lips slightly parted, her cheeks painted with a delicate pink. Reaching my hand beneath the sheets, her heat wraps around my naked body as I ease my fingers down her side, slipping them under the hem of her shirt and between her thighs. My eyes are etched on her beautiful face, and I have to suppress a groan when I find her pussy bare. God, this woman. This fucking woman is everything—it’s like she was born to feed my hunger and poison my veins.

I tease her cunt with nothing more than a gentle touch, tracing the outline of her lips. Gentle circles. Around and around. Slowly coaxing her body into an aroused state while my cock is ready to have her walls close around me. But I love watching her. I love studying her face, the delicate furrow of her brows as her body slowly goes from a dreamlike state to fire. I wonder how long it’ll be before she wakes up, how far I’d be able to push this before she opens her eyes and realizes her husband has the power to claim her body even while she fucking sleeps.

Writhing under the sheets, she brings her arm up, slipping it under the pillow, and I still my touch, waiting for her to settle before dragging a finger down her slit, wetness starting to pool there. Is she dreaming of me touching her? Dreaming of me fucking her?

What I wouldn’t give for a glimpse inside her dreams, her fantasies, her wicked desires.

My cock is impossibly hard, and I palm it, squeeze and pump a few times, precum already coating the tip. It’s the knowledge that I have this kind of power over her, over her body, knowing I can do whatever the fuck I want with her right now, and she won’t be able to stop me—and I doubt she’d want to. She’s my little stray, the woman who can transform from my elegant wife to my filthy slut with a mere shut of a door.

Getting on my knees, the mattress dips and her eyes flutter, the sweetest moans escaping her lips and slamming against my motherfucking balls.

“Alexius,” she murmurs, her eyes still closed.

“Shh.” I move in between her legs, still fisting my dick while staring down at her beautiful features touched by the dark shadows. “I got you, stray.”

She doesn’t push me away, nor does she deny me. Not even while half asleep. It intensifies this twisted ownership I feel over her, knowing she craves my touch, my cock, my cum with every breath—even in her sleep. She’s bound to me as I’m addicted to her, and I know we’ll both fall to our ruin. But I just don’t give a fuck.

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