AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I leave the house, step into my wetsuit, and grab my board. It takes a few minutes to get to the water, and I paddle as far out as possible, past the break of the waves.
For hours, I surf. Adrenaline fills me, and I finally feel alive again, inhaling the salt water and pushing my body to its limit. I catch a final wave and ride it to shore.
I look up at the house and catch Blakely staring out the window. I wave, but she doesn't return it. She spins and disappears.
The feeling of being alive deflates like a balloon. I return to the house, strip out of my wetsuit, and turn on the shower. I stand under the water, staring at the wall, remembering the first time I took my pet and truly made her mine. I do everything in my power to relive what it was like to be inside her then, with her body gripping mine and our tongues in a heated battle.
I had finally allowed myself to kiss her. And I curse myself again for being such a fool. I should have taken every kiss she ever wanted to give me.
The unsettled desire to have my wife only worsens the more I think about that moment. It tortures me until the water turns cold.
I turn it off and reach for a towel. I dry myself off, then wrap it around my body. I go into the kitchen to make breakfast but realize there's nothing here. The fridge is empty besides condiments, and it's another slap in the face that we've been living apart and not here where we both belong.
After some debate, I wander down the hall and stop in front of the guest room. I hesitate to knock. I can't believe she's in this room again and not in our bedroom suite.
Blakely reciting the seventy-two-hour rule pops up in my head, making me wince. I curse myself further for creating that damn rule. I have it in there to ensure that my subs are emotionally stable after they use their safe word.
It's a big deal to use it. It means I've pushed them too far. I've done something they're not comfortable with, beyond their boundaries and limits.
Blakely has never used it with me during any session or when we have had sex. And she used it twice on me last night. The only other time I heard her use that word was the night she left me, but we weren't intimate then. Now that she has, I feel like I fucked up even bigger.
How could I have gotten last night so wrong?
Maybe it was because I chose a woman? Would she have still used the safe word if I'd chosen a man?
I reprimand myself for the thoughts. My pet sounded adamant that she didn't want another Dom or anyone else. Still, the nagging feeling won't stop.
After everything we've been through and the fact that she can't even stay in our own bedroom when we're in the same house, is it still true that she doesn't want anyone else?
I detest that I'm questioning my wife's intentions, especially on something so important. All the times Blakely told me last night she didn't want anyone besides me, haunt me.
Why didn't I listen?
Nothing has changed about how she feels. When she signed the contract and when I brought Aria to Apartment Thirteen, Blakely warned me there should be no one besides us in our relationship. And I never had any intentions of letting anyone else touch her. Yet, I truly thought it was what she needed—what she wanted.
How did our trust in each other get so broken?
My stomach dives with the truth. It's because of me. I fucked everything up. I took the only good thing in my life and destroyed it, and now I don't know how to get it back. But even with us at odds, I know we're still meant to be together. What we have isn't dead.
The door opens, startling me. Blakely's eyes widen, and they dart between my bare chest and face before she asks, "Riggs, why are you standing out here?"
My chest tightens. My wife looks so damn beautiful without makeup, her hair slept on, hanging in loose curls and her pink lips slightly parted. Fuck, I love everything about how she looks right now. It only makes me ache more, reiterating that I need to figure out how to make things right between us.
And I'm not stupid. The longer this goes on, the worse our situation will get. The more chance there is that she's going to leave me. My fear that she'll get a divorce attorney and serve me papers only grows. It's been a constant on my mind that won't go away.
I softly reply, "Morning, pet. We don't have any food here. I thought we could go to breakfast."
She bites her lip, studying me.
The uncertainty about whether she should even spend time eating a meal with me makes me feel sicker. I ask myself again how we got here before I blurt out, "We can go to that little cafe. You know, the one overlooking the cliff? You can have your favorite lemon ricotta pancakes." Nerves dance in my belly, and I can't believe I'm nervous asking my own wife to go to breakfast with me.
Her lips twitch, but she stays quiet.
I add, "Afterward, we can go downtown and walk around the farmer's market."
She arches her eyebrows, declaring, "You hate the market."
"I never said that," I state.
