Cracks in the Mirror

DAMIAN'S POV

The house was empty. I came in with the external chef, whom I met outside the mansion and who had claimed to have been standing there for a while before I arrived.

She went to the kitchen as I moved up to the bedroom.

"Pumpkin... Rain...?" I called out.

No answer.

I checked the bathroom. Empty.

I kicked off my shoes, then sat on the dressing chair. Too exhausted to go get my handset across the room, I assigned the job to my AI assistant.

"Hey, Kel... Call my wife," I ordered. The AI voice came up immediately, confirming and endorsing the task.

It connected, rang, and ended. Repeated a second time—no response. I gave up at the third attempt.

I felt my groin—hard. Man, when was the last time we had sex? Rain and I... She had been showing less or no interest in intimacy with me. She had been carefully avoiding all sexual attempts from me.

I shrugged with tiredness. Lazily, I dragged my feet to the shower for a cold bath with a glass of alcohol to help subdue the insistent bulge.

The cold water doubled the urge.

I ran a hand over my hard cock. I needed to get this off my loin. I tried stroking it to gain release, but release was anything far from coming.

I got tired of stroking. Shuddering in anger, I stepped out from the bath into the bedroom.

A nice idea struck in: my wife's photo portrait by the bedside. Draped in a red dinner dress, she posed like a goddess in the portrait. She looked... sexy.

Blood rushed through my loin, and I felt the hardness triple. Grabbing the photo portrait, I held it up to my face. I ran a finger over it.

With my right hand, I grabbed my hard shaft, stroking it slowly and gently at first, visualizing her in her naked form.

Staring hard into her face on the portrait—her lips are shiny, coated with a red almond lipstick. Red lipstick is my first undoing.

From her lips, my eyes traced down to her neck, and the V-shaped neck dress exposed a better portion of her cleavage. Full and succulent.

I gasped and released a deep groan as my hand worked faster now, stroking and rubbing the tip.

My eyes stayed on her chest for the longest time. I envisioned her bare and naked—her hands replacing mine on my cock, taking her time, stroking me gently but hard.

"Rain... pumpkin... your fingers are magic," I cried out, eyes tightly squeezed shut, lungs dry, seeking air.

I parted my legs wide enough as I dropped the photo portrait gently on the floor. Still stroking my cock, I ran my tongue on my lips to moisturize them while my free hand traveled down to my balls, grabbing both and squeezing them.

The pleasure came up like a wave moving from my cock to my legs, causing a slight shiver. I suppressed a groan, increasing my pace on the hand stroking my cock.

My buttocks felt sweaty as my release surged closer.

I heard someone gasp from behind. I should open my eyes and see who it was, but I'm this close to releasing and can't give it up for anything.

Good thing. The gasp must be from my wife, the one whose naked form I've had to imagine to build up my release. I used the sound from her gasp to my advantage. I imagined her kneeling between my legs, taking my cock so deep into her throat just the way she always does. I imagined the sound escaping from her mouth.

It worked.

My body froze, hips tightening, toes digging into the floor seeking refuge. My release came. My hand stroking on my cock intensified as I massaged my balls in succession.

A few more strokes and I let it out, liquid splashing all over the marbled floor and onto the photo portrait. I let out a soft, drained whimper as release pleasure took me.

"Ahhh... shit... that was fucking good."

My breath came out ragged as I continued stroking till the last bit of my cum dropped.

Satisfied and pleased, I opened my eyes, fully conscious of my environment. My eyes darted to the direction where the sound previously came from.

Just like I anticipated, it was Rain.

Dressed in casual clothes that perfectly hugged her figure—damn, she's super gorgeous.

Her face: expressionless. But her eyes... for a moment, I thought I saw an unpleasant look in them, but it was gone as soon as it came.

Then her eyes were on me, fierce, darting from my naked form sprawled on the bed railing, hand still holding my now limp cock, before they descended to her photo portrait on the floor.

Realization dawned on me immediately: she just caught me jerking off using her portrait, and to make it worse, I had let my liquid splatter on it.

I felt stupid. There's an explanation for using her photo, but splattering the liquid on it is unreasonable.

She didn't talk. She moved like a feather towards me. For a split second, I thought she would slap or hit me for my stupidity.

But none of that came. Rather, she bent and carefully picked up the frame.

Her eyes visibly bore pain and loathing, which she tried little to hide.

I totally understand her emotions. The photo portrait was from an ex-high school lover whose name she has kept undisclosed since our marriage. It always bothers me. She tells me it's her secret to keep anytime I try peeling off the truth from her.

I complained about it to my mum. The elderly woman had dismissed me with a wave of her hand, quoting, "Ladies always have ex-lovers they would rather not discuss."

It made a valid point. The fact that I also have some side flings that I'd rather not discuss with her makes us even.

She treasured the portrait like her own child. And speaking about children, I have been dying to have kids, or even one, but Rain has been blunt about the issue, stating her flimsy reason as not being ready to ruin her hourglass shape while bringing a child to life. She had suggested surrogacy, but I didn't buy the idea.

She silently walked into the bathroom, probably to clean off the mess from her treasured portrait.

I stood up to go take care of myself. Grabbing a towel to wipe the sticky liquid off the floor, my phone rang. Kel announced the caller as "First Lady"—my mum.

The woman hardly rings if the matter isn't about the empire.

Ever since my father migrated to Africa, expanding and developing his new businesses across African countries, he barely has time for the empire over here. I have taken over, making sure that the empire runs effectively in his absence, with Mum helping out on some board matters that felt too big for me to handle.

I swiped the green button, accepting the call.

"Hi, Ma'am..."

Her voice came from the other end—solid and stern.

"No bloody fucking way!" I stood upright, enraged.