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I want to ruffle those feathers, though. Not out of spite, but because it’s fun, and I know he likes to do the same for me.
And on top of all that, I might be sexually frustrated because he is always walking around shirtless now that he has a sling. He doesn’t like to have to take it off and put it back on over his shirt, which makes sense, but then I’m left staring at his body all day and night.
The man has an amazing body and he flaunts it in front of me—which I’m sure is part of the reason why he decides not to wear shirts around the house—but I’m still human. I’m a woman who has never experienced another man’s touch and I’m craving his. The slight touches, the kind caresses, him being gentle with me and not pushing me, aren’t enough for me anymore. I don’t know how to act on it either. I don’t know how to take that next step, especially when I know I’m not ready yet. I don’t know him well enough.
Then, another part of me doesn’t care.
I should just tell him I want him, but the thought has nerves floating around in my stomach. What if he says no?
I’d rather just take care of it myself.
Finally, I roll out of bed and head to the bathroom, doing everything I need to before getting into the shower. I wash my hair and body, shave, and then stand there under the hot water, letting images of Ari run through my mind.
And he never gets tired.
One hand plays with my nipple and I imagine him sucking it into his mouth. I gasp, arching my back, then slide my other hand down between my legs. I pass my clit. I know a lot of women love clit stimulation and I do too, but I get the most out of fingering myself.
Inserting two fingers, I groan, as I pump in and out easily. I’m already slick at the thought of Ari going down on me, finger fucking me with aggression because the harder the better in my opinion. A constant moan leaves me, echoing in the bathroom, and I almost don’t care who hears me.
“Oh god,” I toss my head back, lifting my leg to the edge of the tub so I have better access, then slide in another finger.
God, it doesn’t feel like enough. I ache. I need more.
I want Ari.
I pound my fingers in and out, driving them in with such force and speed, the water makes the sound louder as my skin slaps together.
“Ari,” I whisper just before my orgasm explodes through me, my vision blurring for a split second as my climax takes over me.
Slowly, I stroke my fingers in and out, milking every last drop of my orgasm and igniting new, smaller waves of pleasure until I’m relaxed.
All the negativity is gone. The anger has dimmed. And all I want to do now is cuddle up in my husband’s arms and have him hold me. I want to try to give into this arrangement. My luck definitely could have been worse when they dropped a mafia boss in front of me at the store.
I could have been left with someone like Bianchi. And who knows what would have happened to me then?
I’m thankful to have been allowed to save my family and myself and it is in the form of Ari Milazzo.
I turn the water off, more relaxed than I have been in a while, and a rush of disappointment drifts over me when I notice the bathroom is empty. I don’t know why I expected him to be in here, maybe overhearing me groan his name while I orgasmed from the thought of him, but I did expect him, and all that’s left is steam rolling through the air and a foggy mirror.
Alone.
Isn’t that what I wanted all along? Even before Ari, I wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to take care of people anymore. And now Ari gives me space. It’s exactly what I wanted.
I swipe the mirror of the condensation and stare at myself, my curls dripping with water. Being alone is overrated especially when the person who wants to get to know you isn’t so bad after all.
I dry my hair, bunching the curls up while I squeeze the ends in the towel. Next, I use product and a ton of it, then blow dry, and head to the closet.
I decide to go for a pretty sundress Ari bought for me. It’s yellow, airy, and the opposite of my normal doom and gloom. I really need to change my way of thinking, or I’ll find myself on an island all alone, but I couldn’t complain, right? Since that’s all I wanted.
I drop the towel and slip the dress on, then open my drawer and snag a pair of panties. As I put them on, I notice something…different.
The middle of my panties is gone. The entire crotch has been cut out. My raging temper flickers to life and I dig through my drawer to find all my panties have been butchered.
“Oh, you son of a—” I catch myself before I say a curse word even though he isn’t around. “This won’t deter me from wearing them.” I know that’s what he wants, but I’m going to wear them and I’m going to show him what he has now when he signed up for a wife.
I slam the drawers shut and decide I’m going to spend my entire day in these panties. Let’s see how his control is tested when he gets a glimpse of what he hasn’t seen of me yet. With that plan in mind, I slip on a pair of nude heels, and I might put on a little makeup. Two squirts of perfume later, I’m strolling out the door, feeling bare because I can feel the slight chill of the breeze caressing my exposed pussy.
I’m not even in front of anyone and I blush.
