My Wife's Lovers Painting Novels & Stories

Koishi replied with the smile on his face dipping the brush coated with the green colour into the water which was turned grey. “You are not replying fairly here two mind games” “No, I’m not it’s just you are the one who didnt give me the right choice to choose” making Koishi “What I gave you the correct one didnt I? Is it me or the painting? It’s not like I’m telling in a way of a comparing it’s just I want to know. That whom do you love the most in between us or maybe-”

And between her thighs, the expert caresses of that afternoon's second lover. She was not a bad person, not at all. She was just a woman in love with her lover, who used all kinds of blackmail and trickery to keep him by her side. For an instant, he thought Arthur would refuse since he wasn't one of those who liked threesomes in that way. But she did it to punish him and show him that she was in charge of their relationship.

“It’s… obscene. And beautiful. And insane. Lorenzo, this is too much.” “What?” he asked, unsure of what I’d just said. “Having a painting of my wife that I can worship every day is the barest minimum. This is only one of my wedding gifts to you. Happy wedding amore.”

he stated as he looked closely at the painting. I cocked my head so it wouldn't touch his jaws. "Put us here," he demanded, pointing the shore. "Uhm. We're not lovers, Delton. We're nothing." We are not really lovers. I said before that I don't even like him, and he said the feeling is mutual. So I have no reason to put us in the painting. He breathed deeply before speaking. "We're married, Baby. Put us here." He pointed again the wide space on the shore, but I shook my head.

“He disowned me because I chose a woman he didn’t approve of.” A woman!! Aaliyah!! The already married woman he paints. This entire tragedy began because of that woman. Before I could respond, a soft voice called from behind him. “Loius? Who is that?” A woman stepped out under the porch light. She was stunning, long dark curls, warm bright skin, Italian features mixed with something Latin, elegant posture. She was the beautiful woman in my fathers painting. The married woman he paints and was dying to get. It was all written in the file Uncle gave that she was once married and her husband died.

She laughed nervously. “I’m glad you like it.” The man was obviously proud of his wife’s works and did not hesitate to show it. Or even express it. The room they were in spoke for itself. The man adored his beautiful wife so much that he dedicated a ballroom to her paintings and photograph. One could see the love he had for her in his eyes and vice versa. The only other people she’d seen like this were her parents and her best friend. Maria was surrounded by people in love. She loved to see them happy and bask in the warmth of their partners. Deep down, she craved that feeling. But she would not admit it.

I really want to stay with you for the rest of my life, but the more I think about it, the more I feel locked in, restricted. And quite frankly, I don't want them to influence us like that. I want that any kind of commitment comes from us, and only us. That's why I asked you, do you really want to marry me? As in, do you feel like you want me to be your wife? Because I'm really having problems reconciling my picture of you with the term husband." My gut still clenches at her explanation, but now that I know where she's coming from, it all makes so

He took a deep breath, attempting to control the storm brewing within him. “I loved your mother more than words can convey, you don't know how much I missed her,” he said, his voice strained. “Don’t question my feelings or motives. You’re too young to grasp the complexities of adult relationships.” But before he could continue, his daughter’s grief-fueled defiance took over. “Did you really love my mom? Or did you only marry her because of her wealth!” Elissa shouted. ‘slap’ In a surge of frustration, Alfredo’s hand met her cheek with a sharp slap. The sound echoed through the room, leaving an eerie silence. His eyes widened, realizing the weight of his actions, while his daughter’s tear-str

“I’m sorry. Carlson’s been a little paranoid these past few years. He’s afraid that I’ll leave him. “What happened to us in the past traumatized him. Please don’t blame him.” Her first instinct was to apologize, and her second was to justify his behavior. I felt an indescribable sense of sorrow. He was the cause of all my sufferings. However, my wife, whom I had once loved deeply, chose the culprit who had hurt me.

I scoffed out a small, bitter laugh at how foolish I was back then. “All the signs were all in my face, but I was too blinded by love and the gifts he gave me to see them,” I continued, tears pricking my eyes as my throat went dry. “That was until I learnt he was married and his wife was in a different country.” Tears made to escape my eyes but I quickly blinked them back, a dull, throbbing familiar ache in my chest making it hard for me to breath.