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Not used to sleeping past 7:00 a.m., I lay half propped up against the headboard and plucked my phone from the nightstand, checking the news.
Darla huffed in her sleep and I inexplicably found myself threading my fingers into her soft hair and massaging her scalp. She drifted back to a quiet sleep.
I texted the kitchen staff to start preparing chocolate muffins for her breakfast. I knew she liked those and despite our rocky relationship, I wanted her to feel at home here.
I waited two months to get married because I needed to get all my affairs in order. During that time, I made it a habit to learn every single thing about her like a certified stalker. I knew her favourite dessert (crème brûlée), signature scent (gardenia), hobbies (reading, writing, and shopping), and sex toys (portable clit vibrators), so I could be prepared when we tied the knot.
Also, learning that my straight-laced wife was an ex-cheerleader was a surprise in its own.
Thirty minutes later, François knocked on our door with a tray filled with fresh fruits, chocolate muffins, and otherviennoiseries. I deposited it on the bed and sat next to Darla with my cup of cappuccino while she stirred awake.
My wife woke up slowly, like the first ray of sunshine touching a twilight sky. I watched, hypnotized, as she came into her shell, her eyes fluttering open with a hazy glaze.
I leaned down to peck her closed mouth. “Bon matin, bella ragazza.”
Darla flinched.
I moved away and she sat up, holding the sheets to her chest like a shield. It was useless; I’d already seen everything. And if I had my way, I’d be seeing it every night.
“What time is it?”
Even her morning voice was sexy.
“It’s past eight. Your breakfast is here.” I chin-nodded at the tray. Unable to resist, I teased, “You must be famished.”
I expected a glare or a shy look.
Instead, Darla was expressionless as she reached for a glass of water. She drained it and her neck worked elegantly. I wanted to put a collar and leash around it and keep her under my desk as I worked, cramming her mouth full of cock in between meetings just for the sake of coating that talented throat with my cum.
“I am,” she replied tonelessly, reaching for a chocolate muffin.
Awkward tension rose between us like a bubble threatening to burst.
Darla took a bite and I drank my cappuccino, watching her over the rim of my cup. She chewed, lost in thought. A light frown marred her forehead, and she seemed to straighten with every second, her body regaining its usualI-have-a-stick-up-my-assposture.
The bubble burst and we spoke at the same time.
“Are you okay?” I hushed while she breezed, “Last night was a one-time thing.”
My body hardened and the stiff erection in my pants practically sneered at her. “Pardon me?”
“Last night was a one-time thing,” she repeated, enunciating the words as if I were incompetent. “We needed to get each other out of our systems. Now that it’s done, we can move on with our lives.”
My knuckles whitened. I forced myself to deposit my cup with calmness. This was not how I expected our morning conversation to go. “And may I ask why, Darla?”
I waited weeks for her like a schoolboy wearing a purity ring, anticipating what it would feel like to finally be inside this fascinating woman.
She demanded faithfulness like she had plans of fucking me on the regular during our twelve-month marriage and I was all in, considering she had a magical hold on my dick from the minute I’d seen her.
Last night, she had forever ruined other women for me and now she was saying it was a one-time thing?
I hoped for both of our sakes she was joking.
“I may have liked you once, Zeno, but that was before I knew anything about you. Last night—thismarriage—doesn’t change the fact that I’m here against my will. Above all, you’re still blackmailing my family. Sleeping with you again would be a slap in the face to my self-respect.”
Frustration spiked my nerves and I ground my jaw. I got us into this predicament, moving her on my personal chessboard and treating her like a pawn for my own gain.
I should have seen this coming.
