My Teyonah.
My love.
My wife.
Just seeing her name on my phone made me yearn to devour and be devoured.
I froze as my pulse hit a rhythm that wasn’t entirely human.
Our room.
Not the bedroom with the view of the huge garden and the sheets that still smelled like her lush scent.
A wicked smile spread across my face.
The sex room.
My entire body went electric.
Heat shot through my veins so fast it was dizzying.
For a second, I had to steady myself against the doorframe.
Fuck yes.
The air in the hallway shifted as soon as I stepped away. The silence stretched long and charged, alive with a hum I could almost taste.
I hit the staircase and each step down deepened it.
By the time I reached the second floor's west wing, a primal hunger had consumed me—darkness spreading through my veins like ink in water. My cock strained painfully against my pants.
I stopped before the gilded frame of Klimt’sThe Kiss.
Even the painting seemed to know. The gold leaf shimmered faintly, like it could feel the heat rolling off my skin.
The numbers on the keypad blurred for a second as I typed them in.
My pulse was already climbing—a steady escalation I could chart if I wanted to.
Seventy-two beats per minute at rest.
Eighty-five when I first read her text.
Ninety-eight now, standing in front of the painting.
Sympathetic nervous system fully activated.
Adrenaline rising.
Vasodilation in progress.
I couldfeelit—the precise chemistry of arousal taking over like a system reboot. The slight tremor in my fingers as norepinephrine flooded my bloodstream. The tightening in my abdomen, low and hot, as every survival instinct reoriented itself toward one goal: her.
Even my breathing had changed.
Shorter inhalations.
Longer, deeper exhales meant to steady myself, though they did nothing of the sort.
