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“Try me.” The conviction in her voice has me heeding her warning, and my dick loves it.
Down boy, it’s not about sex right now
“Be careful what you wish for,” I warn her anyway.
“Trust me, I know all about that bullshit.”
Tilting my head, I smile at her as I remember something.
“That statement has nothing to do with you wishing to marry me when you were younger, does it?”
Her face would have been a wonderful screensaver. Instead of responding, Karessa rolls on her side, giving me her back. Her perfect ass cheeks peek out from under the lace. I want to bite them again.
“You’re not respecting my decision,” she sings like there are consequences. I’d love to see what they are.
“If you make a decision, make sure you have the power to enforce it.”
Her face isn’t visible, but her tone is very similar to when she told me to try her. “What makes you think I don’t have the power to enforce it?”
Ignoring her, I lie down on my side of the bed and pull her close. “Well, I decided we should cuddle. It is our wedding night, wife.”
“In name only. Cuddle yourself.”
I pull her close once I turn off the light. Her soft body makes me wish we’d cuddled a long time ago.
“I just want to verify, are you knowingly ignoring my decisions?”
“Pretty much,” I retort near her ear. “Cuddling feels good.”
“I’m so happy for you. Shut it. I’m trying to sleep.”
She gave in too easily, I should be on guard, but it’s been an exhausting day and I quickly drift into sleep.
* * *
Four slices of turkey bacon, three eggs, two slices of sourdough toast with apricot jelly, and one cup of orange juice or coffee. That’s been my standard breakfast almost every morning since Karessa moved in. Waking up, I stretch from some of the best sleep I’ve had in a long time and inhale the scent of the missus cooking.
Jumping out of bed, I perform my morning routine and make my way to the kitchen. The island, counters, and stove are all clean and empty with no food in sight.
“Good morning,” Karessa greets me far perkier than she was the night before.
“Morning,” I grumble as I look around. “I thought you were cooking.”
“I did. Then I ate it,” she informs me. Her perky ponytail bounces when she whips her head back to the computer screen.
“Okay, why didn’t you make me a plate?”
She grimaces and looks up at me, baring her teeth, silently saying, ‘This is awkward.’
“Those are wifely duties.” Her answer is dismissive as she continues whatever she’s doing.
“You are my wife.”
This time, she doesn’t look up from the screen. “In name only.”
“Is that supposed to be one of the consequences?” I laugh. “I was feeding myself before I met you.”
Her new look, eyes bucking with her head tilted, is Attitude for “and?” Karessa sweeps her hand toward the kitchen. “Then continue.”
