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Not giving it my energy, I shelve my worry about her for now and pray she never comes to mind again.
Chapter 4
Gideon
Walking to my office a couple of hours later, I can’t get my wife off my mind, or more specifically the worry she wore in her eyes as she parted from me. I tried to pinpoint it, but just like the rest of the past few years, I haven’t been able to understand the change in my stunning wife.
Do I not bring her happiness?
Do I not bring her pleasure or joy?
Am I not what I once was as a lover and a husband?
Fuck. It’s driving me mad. So mad that I’ve caught myself occasionally thinking there could be someone else.
No, Gideon. Don’t go down that road. The last thing your marriage needs is a bout of your irrational jealousy.
Tap. Tap. Tap, comes from the door of my office, and I shake my head, forcing myself out of my troubling thoughts.
“Come in,” I respond curtly, hanging the suit in my office closet, then closing the door. Turning, I see Jessica enter the room. “Yes?” My voice sounds short and without any emotion. My mood soured because my wife won’t even touch me at this damn point.
“Sorry to bother you. It’s just your next appointment canceled, and I wanted to let you know. Are you all right, sir?”
Sir? She’s never called me that before, nor have I asked her to. The way she does it makes my spine curl, and not in the good way. It’s… seedy, the way she asks it. I try not to think about it more. Maybe I’m just in a bad mood and reading too much into everything.
“I’m fine. I need to do paperwork anyhow. Is that all you needed?”
“Yes. It was nice to meet your wife earlier. I was surprised by her.”
My eyes shoot up, and I tilt my head, her comment gaining my undivided attention. “How so?”
“It’s just… I imagined someone different. Someone more well-kept, I guess. You would think, being married to a successful plastic surgeon, she would be more—”
My blood boils, rage taking over. I’m not reading too much into that, and I know that for fucking sure. “I’m going to stop you there, Jessica. Your job is to make guests feel welcome, file, schedule, and take payments. You are not to talk about my wife, and the way you are implying that I would want anything more than Scarlett is not only wrong but highly unprofessional. You are never to speak of my wife again. Now, I have work to do. You do as well. See to it.”
I can see her cheeks redden, and she gulps loudly. “Yes, sorry. I was out of line, sir.”
As she goes to close the door, I stop her, my eyes now back on the patient file on my desk. I stay standing, one hand in my pocket, the other opening the manila folder. “And Jessica?” I don’t peer up, but she halts.
“Yes, sir?”
“It’s Doctor or Mr. Pierce to you. Not sir. Now, back to work.”
Jessica retreats, but I don’t watch. Now I’m pissed. Pushed past my breaking point. Whatever her insinuations were, they were wrong. Whether it be Scarlett in a fucking ball gown or a pair of well-worn pajamas, I constantly ache for her. She still gets my cock hard, my pulse racing, and the beast of lust inside me to rise to all occasions.
Slamming the folder on my desk closed, I drop to my chair and scoot back, letting my head fall into my hands. I run them through my hair that is now a disheveled mess.
“Fuck me, baby.” I see her then, in my head. Beautiful, stunning, erotic, smart, perfect without the hands of any surgeon. My job is to aid beauty. Scarlett—she invented it, and she picked me. Now, it seems each day I get closer to losing her, and it’s driving me mad, psychotic even.
Looking up, my hands intertwined, my pointer fingers touching the center of my top lip, I look to the photo of her and me on my desk. Most men would have wedding photos, but not me. Our wedding wasn’t for the two of us. It was a goddamn dog and pony show for her mother to show off. The only thing great about that day was legally owning my wife. I could claim her and tie her to me. Make her have to jump through hoops if she ever tried to leave me.
It’s sick, obsessive, but at one point, Scarlett loved that about me. The photo on my desk was taken on the day she realized I was absolutely mad and would do anything to keep her and claim her.
My perfect girl ate it up, and that day, she gave herself to me—mind, soul, and virtue.
Sitting back in my chair, I stare at that picture, my cock hardening instantly, straining against my fitted slacks. The ache of desire mixed with the ache of restraint is too much, and I know what I need. Unbuckling my belt, then undoing my pants, I release my cock, and just to relieve some of my extreme need, I squeeze my shaft tight. And yet, it can’t even compare to the tightness of my wife’s glorious cunt.
