Other men would be excited at having a virgin for a wife but not my husband. We are on our honeymoon in Paris and he wouldn’t touch me beyond a few kisses. He has not even provided an answer to my question.
What is so wrong with being a virgin?
If he has no intention of having sex with me, why are we on a honeymoon?
Brandon stares at me for so long I squirm. It’s only one week into our marriage and I’m already having serious doubts. The bed dips with his weight and a painful silence ensues. His fingers caress my cheek but I swat it away. He hoists me on his lap and a deep line mars his forehead.
“Sex in my world is different,” he finally says. He runs his fingers through his hair, letting some of the brown locks fall over his forehead. I palm his cheek, the pad of my thumb caresses his prominent cheekbone. “I don’t love. I fuck.”
Oh. He is a dom. And I want to be his sub.
“You can teach me; you can show me how.”
Brandon’s hand
Brandon and I are not talking. It has been days since the ugly incident and the end of our honeymoon. And we have only managed a few words to each other. The door to the study opens and Brandon walks in. Usually, I’ll plug in my earpiece or pretend to be busy but I do the opposite. I flip to the next page of my study material. He settles down on the couch closest to the fireplace. I’m not sure why she’s here but I’m glad he is. We don’t speak for the next few seconds. I muster courage and walk over to him. His brows shoot up but I’m not deterred as I pry the book from him to straddle him. “Okay, Brandon. I messed that one up but I want to be your sub again,” I say in a voice below a whisper. Brandon is quiet but his arms circle my waist. “I want to be your sub again.” He palms my breasts and my head falls back. “Will you swallow what I give you to swallow or throw up like you did the last time?” My answer is delayed. “Must I?” I ask with a face slight
I am stalking my wife. I am cyberstalking her with no intention of stopping. Elna’s bewitching body fills my laptop screen and I bend the laptop to get the perfect view of her body. A smile curves my lips when her robe drops to the floor to reveal her in her naked glory and a groan slips from my lips. She’s flawless. As always, El traces the stretch marks on her tummy, marks that appeared after the twins’ birth. That odd look creeps into her eyes as she stares into the mirror and I have to push my phone away to stop myself from sending her an appreciation text. She is beautiful just the way she is. Those stretch marks don’t diminish her beauty or awesomeness. For fuck’s sake, she brought two treasures into this world, she needs to give herself and body more credit. And oh, Lord, look at those breasts. Those brown nipples I miss running my tongue over. Sucking them. I know I fucked up badly, causing the break in our marriage but a lot of good h
Birthdays are awkward partly because I hate them, because they hold too many bad memories. But this one is in full swing. Balloons. Music. Tents. Kids from the twins school. Everything, everyone the twins need to make their fifth birthday party a success. From my position by the window, the twins look to be having fun. I drag a seat from the desk to the window to watch them better. I don’t have to be there with them before I can monitor the party. Bren notices me staring and she calls her twin over. Wyn finally notices me and flashes me a tooth-gapped grin. She’s all smiles now till she wants something that’s not good for her health, then daddy becomes the bad guy. They whisper something to each other and chorus, “Daddy, come down. We miss you.” “In a minute,” I say with a laugh. But I don’t move. If I go downstairs, I’ll see El and other familiar faces I don’t like. “I miss you too.” They giggle in unison and run off. People say they
I stare at the invitation card on my screen. A phone rings and I groan before snatching it off the table. El’s call is always welcomed but I know why she called. I stalk to the windows and open it to let in the natural air. Sitting on the ledge, I finally pick. “Hey,” I say. “Hey.” The kids are spending the weekend with their grandparents so I know they are fine. Her hesitation rolls over me. “Did you get it?” “Get what?” I say to delay the inevitable. My fingers run over my trousers. Her tired sigh reaches from the other end of the phone and forms a cord around my neck. “I did. I got it.” “Are you coming?” To the charity ball holding this evening. El is part of the organizers. My hand runs through my hair. My evening is free. I freed it up the day I got the email. I can make it but I say, “I don’t know, El. It depends on you, actually.” “On me?” “Yes. You haven’t given me an answer.” I start counting. One.
El spins to face me, eyes ablaze with fury. She crosses her arms under her breasts, giving me a healthy glimpse of them. A lump wedges in my throat. I miss sucking her boobs. Playing with them. Can’t we fuck and make up? She stretches her hand to the door. “You should leave.” I cock my head, my eyes do a lazy sweep across her body. Her muscles lose some of their tension. “No.” She scoffs. “You can’t be in here.” “But I’m already here.” “Brandon.” “Elna.” A frustrated sigh leaves her, she grabs her purse and I cover the distance before she thinks of escaping. Trapping her between my body and the sink, I trail a finger across her collarbone. She sucks in a breath and looks up to me. The heat from her body warms me, sends a burning sensation pulsing through me. “You danced with T,” I whisper, pushing my nose closer to her neck. I love her smell. I love everything about her. She freezes. I pull my head back
What just happened? I wait. One minute. Two minute. El doesn’t return to the bathroom. I manage to force a foot in front of the other till I’m in the hall. El is gone. She left. Oh my, fuck. Circling the hall proves abortive. T is there but El isn’t. My heart clenches, I hold in the pained sound that tries to escape. El played me. I take one last glance at the hall. No El. The cool air hits my face. I stagger towards my car and straighten up at the figure leaning on it. My footsteps quicken. My smile is instant as I cover the gap between us. “You’re here,” I say, carrying her off the floor in an excited spin. “You’re here. You’re here, my baby.” “I’m here, Brandon. Now, put me down.” I do that and she opens the door. I’m still too shocked to move. “Are you coming or not?” “Right after you,” I whisper. Her laughter tickles my ear as she slips inside the backseat. She curls against the other door and I tug her int
He’s hitting her again. Turning her into his punching bag. I knew that would happen the moment he staggered into the house, drunk and barely able to stand on his own. Oh, well. She chose this. She chose the wife beater. I tune out their voices and her cries, trying desperately to focus on me. Denise screams and a groan escapes my lips. It’s always like this on his drunk nights. Silence for a while, then her screams. I release my dick and blood rushes to my shaft. Another night ruined. Thanks to them, I can’t get off tonight again. I stare at my handsome self in the mirror. Broad shoulders, toned abs and biceps. Wrinkles mar my forehead and my lips quirk. They couldn’t wait for me to finish wanking, eh? Fucking shites. I stare at my erection and back into the mirror. Well, fuck me and say hi to blue balls tonight. I turn on the tap to rinse my sticky hands. The lube didn’t help much. Stupid Tina was supposed to show up today but she c
Breakfast is almost normal without Denise at the dining table. She must be preparing for work. I add more syrup to the mini pile of pancakes on my plate, a sick smile playing on my lips at the amount of sugary stuff I’m eating. I’ll work it out at the gym later. Darius looks up from his newspaper, then at the pancakes. “How’s it coming with the house?” I take a sip of my coffee, all black, no sugar, before answering. “Okay.” Apparently, renovations take half as long as building a new house. “I’ll be out of your hair soon,” I say with a fake laugh. “No, man. I like having you here.” So I can hear the screams of his wife as he beats the shit out of her. No, thanks. In silence, I stir the content of my cup and Darius resumes reading. My hands wrap around the mug, the heat warms my palms and probably melts my senses because I hear myself speaking out of turn. “I thought you said it was a one time thing,” I mutter, meeting his gaz