“I thought you said you were tired,” he says lazily, probably assuming I’m just being contrary.
“Not that tired.”
A wicked gleam appears in his eyes. “But too tired to do more than just lie there?”
“Well. Yeah.” I put a hand on his chest to ensure he doesn’t try to have his way with me. “Besides, why do you want to kiss my back anyway?”
“Whywouldn’tI want to kiss your back?” A soft laugh. “Back…backside… You’re pretty all over.”
“No.” It comes out a little more decisively than I intend.
He frowns.
“I don’t like it when people see my back.” The deepening scowl on his face compels me to explain, despite my general attitude to offer nothing. “Look. I have a scar I’m very self-conscious about.”
The tension in his brows eases. “Can’t bethatbad.”
I jut out my chin stubbornly. “I don’t care. I don’t want anybody to see it. That includes you, too.” Most importantly him. It’s possible he won’t be weird about my scar. But I’m not ready to show it to him yet. At least his scar is sort of cool—like he got it fighting or something. Mine’s just weird, like I was bitten by some kind of mythological fire hound.
“You’re my wife.”
His wounded tone makes me want to soften toward him, but I stiffen my resolve. “Think about it like Medusa’s head. Something you shouldn’t see for your own good.”Or mine. “We shouldn’t cross each other’s boundaries.”
The expression on his face falls further.
“I’m sure a man of your experience can come up with many ways for us to have fun without looking at my back.” I’m flattering him to wipe the hurt look away.
Ares considers me, his mouth flat and eyes unreadable. I don’t like it that he’s unhappy, and I hate it that I broke our languid morning mood, but my scar is too important for me to stay mum about.
So what? You could’ve kept your mouth shut and just shifted around to hide your scar. Now he’s going to just get up and leave.Doris’s voice, judging me. According to her, I can’t do anything right—a true failure of a human being.
Whatever. I’m not giving those years of being gaslit and emotionally abused the power to ruin my marriage with Ares, temporary or not. Later, when he’s had a chance to calm down, I should send him a gift to cheer him up. Although… What’s a suitable “let’s not fight” gift that’s respectfully indifferent yet thoughtful at the same time?
Finally, Ares’s eyebrow twitches. “Yes, I believe I can come up with something.”
“Good. I knew you’d rise to the occasion.”
“Sit on my face.”
“What?” I almost choke on my own spit.
“You don’t want me to look at you from behind, and you’re tired. So just hang on to the headboard, sit on my face and enjoy yourself.”
What he’s saying is scandalously hot. I’ve read about it, but never really thought about doing it. How does it work, exactly? What if I get too excited and accidentally suffocate him? Such an ignoble death.
Worse will be if I have to call 911.My emergency? Oh, it’s just that I was riding my husband’s face and now he’s not breathing. I don’t know if he’s dead. He feels really warm. No, I don’t know how to do CPR, which is why I called you…
Do men still maintain their erections when they’re suffocated like that? I shake my head.I’m from Nesovia, not Necrovia.Just not happening. No way.
“Don’t you want me to soothe the ache from last night?” Ares whispers, like Satan before the tree of good and evil. He runs his index finger over my folds and shows me the glistening fluid. “We wouldn’t want you high and dry.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”
He laughs. “Exactly.” He strokes the dripping folds, and I bite my lip to contain the moan welling in my throat. “Come on, baby. Let me live my fantasy. I always wanted to have my wife sit on my face.”
“You’re lying.” I aim for stern, but it comes out breathless.
“Never.” He says the single word with such exaggerated solemnity that it feels more like a lie than the truth. “I thought you wanted to be a good wife.” He dips his finger shallowly into my pussy, sending a small ripple of tingling sensation through me.
