All Chapters of Married To A Sex Freak : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

I didn't have a second to waste on thinking. My heart just hammered in my chest, a frantic echo of the sudden chaos that had just unfolded. The warmth of the bed was already fading, and the silence he left behind felt deafening. I grabbed my phone, the screen was a stark, cold light in the dim room, and my finger was already hitting Sarah's name before I could even process what I was doing.It was too early. The phone rang twice before a voice, thick with sleep and frustration, answered."Hey, what's up with you?" Her voice was a low, cracked growl, but I knew she’d picked up because it was me. Sarah would never trade her sleep for anyone, but gladly, I was the exception. I could hear a soft rustle, the sound of her shifting under the covers, and I knew I had woken her up.My plan was simple, desperate. "Let's hang out today," I said, the words a plea. I needed to see someone I loved, someone who made sense. It should have been my husband, but in that moment, he felt a world away—a s

He moved with a chilling precision, taking two pillows from the head of the bed and stacking them beneath my hips. The new position was agonizing. I was now hunched over, my chest pressed flat against the crimson bed as if I were kneeling, and the strain on my arms became an immediate, sharp ache.In the heart of the dead silent mansion, where the stillness was a haunting melody, I found myself adrift in a sea of unease. My navy blue dress, a garment of simple elegance, was a betrayer. Its short length, once a statement of confidence, now felt like a spotlight on my vulnerability. A sudden gust of wind, a mischievous whisper of the elements, lifted the flared hemline, a playful rebellion against the decorum of the moment.A wave of mortification washed over me, a blush creeping up my neck like a wildfire. The cool air against my exposed skin was a stark reminder of my predicament, a sensation that prickled with a thousand tiny needles of embarrassment. My heart hammered against my rib

I took a slow, deliberate breath. My trembling hand reached for the doorknob, its cold metal a stark contrast to the fire in my veins. With a slow, deliberate twist, I opened the door, the hinges groaning in protest. The sight of him, his back to me, was a quiet ache in my chest. He turned his head, a slow, deliberate movement, and our eyes met. The worry etched on his face was a language I understood, a silent apology that spoke volumes."I know you hate me for this," he said, his voice a low, remorseful murmur.I didn't hesitate. I crossed the threshold, the silence of the room swallowing my footsteps. My hands, still shaking, reached for his, and a jolt of recognition passed between us. His skin was as cold as mine, a shared tremor of fear and uncertainty. The air crackled with unspoken emotions, the weight of them settling on my shoulders like a heavy cloak."No," I whispered, my voice a silken thread in the quiet room. "I don't hate you. And I never will."As the words left my

I held my chin high, a desperate, fragile armor against the fresh wave of shame. Mary stood rigid, a dark silhouette against the deepening twilight of the crimson room, and her presence was an instant, unsettling judgment. I cleared my throat, forcing the air past a constricting fear.“What brought you here?” I demanded, attempting to inject a cool, unquestionable authority into my voice.“Ma’am,” she began, her smile a thin, fake and stifled thing, like a secret she was struggling to swallow. “Your dinner… it is ready.”The answer was mundane, yet her delivery was not. It was the hesitancy, the eyes that flickered away from mine, that solidified my suspicion. An impulse, sharp and utterly blunt, cut through my attempts at composure.“Did you just get here?” I asked.The question was a direct accusation. Mary’s composure fractured. She stammered, the sound a dry, nervous flutter. Her gaze darted from the immaculate floor to my face, then back down.“Ma’am… He asked me to—”I cut her o

I gently and modestly sank back into the plush dining chair, my spine rigid, mesmerized by the strange ceremony of his serving. Well, I'm the wife, and I should do whatever he wants.Collins stood swiftly, a figure of abrupt, kinetic energy, his hand closing around the long silver spoon with the grim competence of a man performing a distasteful but a task that only seems necessary to him.“Seems someone had forgotten that he is married now,” Robert’s voice sliced through the tension, light and edged with playful malice. “Not just married to anyhow lady, but a beautiful angel.” He wore a practiced smirk, his teeth showing slightly. The comment was meant as a jest—a brotherly tease about domestic duty—but in this charged atmosphere, it felt like an observation of Collins’s rigid control.Collins merely responded with a guttural grunt, a dismissive, heavy sound that seemed to absorb the light energy Robert had introduced. He began to serve the meal.As I raised my head, catching a glimp