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Breakfast wasa quick meal of toast, eggs, and fruit, after which Alastor grabbed me by the hair and bent me over the table. I nearly combusted while he examined each and every finger-sized bruise he left on my hips the night before; and I impatiently counted the seconds until he pulled his cock free from his jeans and thrust into me with a fury sparked to life by the plum-colored marks on my skin. My body instantly shook under wave after wave of pleasure from the intense orgasm that ripped through it, slowly followed by another that Alastor skillfully teased out of me with two fingers on my clit and the other hand tangled painfully in my hair. My husband rarely takes the kind of care to bring me pleasure that he did this morning, but he knows my body, and even though I fought not to enjoy it, I was left trembling from the potency of his coerced pleasure and my own vile self-disgust.
I now know that I have to move fast because, too many more mornings like that, and I’ll lose us both to his damnable desires; so, I need to gather as much Chasteberry and Licorice as I can carry and get back to the house to prepare it for his evening tea. Thankfully, I can use the berries fresh from the tree, bark too if need be, but the Licorice can be more of a hassle. I have to dig up the root and get it home to cut, slice, smash, and grind it into a fine powder so that I can add it to the other items I’ve gathered. With some luck, he won’t notice a huge difference in the taste and will fall right to sleep, uninterested in any affection from me at all tonight… or tomorrow… or the next day. This combination, once I have him drinking it a few times a day, won’t just kill his sex drive; it will exhaust him. And then there are the bonus side effects: dizziness, headaches, fatigue, muscle cramps, and weakness, and possibly even a touch of psychosis that could set in after a few high intake days. If I play my cards right, my special combination of herbs will weaken him just enough for me to get the upper hand and restrain him while I go after Leiv.
He’ll be furious, but I’ll stay out of his reach and leave as quickly as possible so it won’t really matter what he thinks. The problem is I love my husband and hate the feeling of betrayal weighing on my heart every time I look at him because I had every intention of being the perfect wife for the rest of our lives. I had always wanted to be with Alastor; I craved his touch in every way a wife should and begged him to put a child inside of me as soon as I came of age. Of course, I get everything I wanted the second I find out my husband is a fraud. It would be much easier if he was still ignoring me for that whore in the hole, but that isn’t the case at all. It’s almost as if he knows something shifted inside of me, and he’s pulling me closer to try to stop it. I’m all he truly has left, after all. Not even the slut in the cellar can help him now.
The whore. If he sneaks away to see her and discovers the mess I left in that hovel before I have a chance to make my move, things could really get dangerous for me. I shouldn’t have been so impulsive. I knew better, but I was just so angry. And I was within my rights to kill her, anyway. I’m covered by at least two rules… Kind of.
Rule Five: Protect Family At All Cost.
Rule Six: The Weak Are To Be Eliminated.
If he finds out too soon, though, the question will still remain: Why didn’t I come to him with this problem? Why would I kill her and then pretend it didn’t happen at all? Technically, I’m keeping secrets from my husband, and that is absolutely forbidden. I sigh, kicking out of my shoes, and wade through the ankle-deep water to the opposite side of the creek bed. Then I kneel, digging up a few of the brownish licorice roots, and drop them into my basket. I rinse the dirt from my hands and then walk over to the Chasteberry bush, pulling as many of the dark brown fruits from the shrubbery as I can find ripe enough to use. Today’s haul should be enough to get me through two weeks, at least, so I pick up my shoes and start the short trek back to our house to make lunch for Alastor and get to work on my husband’s new brew. I try to brace myself for the possibility that he will want to take me again after lunch. If he thinks I seem unhappy about it, I could set him off, and that would be far worse than riding his cock. The fact is I still love the feel of his hands on me, and my own anger has made our sex life even better. Maybe Leiv will let me keep him around once he’s been punished and he is clean once again… just for fun.
I wonder what it will be like to have Leiv touching me instead? The thought sends a shiver up my spine right as I’m walking into the kitchen, and my husband smirks at the blush spreading across my cheeks.
“I know that look. Lunch can wait, Wild One.” He takes the basket from my hands and tosses it to the kitchen counter. “Get on your knees and open up.”
* * *
“Another cup of tea, Alastor?”I ask, rinsing the soap from the last of our dishes from dinner, and place them in the drainer. I didn’t waste a single second once he went back to the shop after lunch and his mid-daygiftto me on our kitchen floor. It took me all afternoon to get the berries, herbs, and root ready for tonight, but I managed to get it finished in time for his evening cup.
“No,” he huffs, dropping the piece of wood and his favorite pocketknife to the table, and drags his right hand roughly through his hair. “I’m exhausted. Finish cleaning up this mess and come to bed. I’m going to go shower; I want you in position and waiting for me by the time I get out. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I reply and hurry to wipe down the counters and sweep under the table. Once I dump the contents of the dustpan in the can and put away my cleaning supplies, I rush up the stairs, stripping off my clothes as I go, and make a mental note to gather my things off of the floor before he wakes up in the morning. If he’s as tired as he looked, he will shower quickly, and I don’t want to be on his bad side just in case his evening tea does exactly what mother’s book claims it will. I can’t imagine he will be in a pleasant mood when he realizes he can’t get hard.
I rush into the bedroom and slide into our bed on my back, bouncing once as the bathroom door creaks open and Alastor emerges with only a towel around his hips. He may be fifty-seven years old, but his body doesn’t look a day over thirty. It has to be all of the heavy lifting he has to do while making each custom piece of furniture out in his workshop and then loading all of them up on his own and taking them into town for delivery. I tried to help him by cleaning up his shop one boring afternoon, and he just sat back and watched, laughing when I attempted to move what looked to be a small side table that actually weighed a ton, and fell on my ass. At the time, I felt truly safe knowing I had such a strong and capable husband. Now, I’m painfully aware of what kind of fire I’m playing with since his strong muscular arms could more than likely bring about my death instead of my forever.
Alastor drops his towel, climbing into bed, and tugs me on top of him. “You know what I want, Wild One. No playing around. I’m too exhausted for your games tonight. Do your best, and show me how good my girl can really be.”
“Yes, sir.” I lean back and grind against him; angry the tea didn’t work when I realize… it isn’t working, at least, not like it normally would.
He reaches up, grasping my breasts painfully, and twists, bringing tears to my eyes, and I have to focus not to get lost in the biting pleasure of his touch. I reach down between us to help him along with my hand to avoid being accused of not trying hard enough and becoming the target of his savage temper if this goes any further south, but he grunts in irritation, tossing me off of him, and rolls me onto my stomach.
“Ass up,” he orders, kneeling behind me with one of his hands stroking his length while he slides his other between my legs, pushing three fingers inside of me, and pumps them in and out furiously.
“Tell me, Carwen,” he barks, moving his fingers faster inside of me, and I can feel him actually growing hard against my ass. “Say. It.”
“Yours.” I moan out, succumbing to the pleasure, and I willingly lose my battle to stay in control. Daddy always wins.Every. Single. Time.
“What’s mine?” He demands, releasing his dick and dropping a stinging slap on my ass.
“Me,” I scream out, shaking on the verge of a climax, and he removes his fingers, sliding his cock inside of me, and that’s it. I completely spiral into ecstasy as Alastor shoves me over the edge. I drop headfirst into an inky pit of his delicious deceit, a pleasure so intense nothing could stop it, when he wraps his hand around my throat, squeezing until I’m seeing spots. I don’t resist. I just shut off my mind and feeleverything. My anger. His irritation. Our unspoken truths: now a silent storm brewing in our home, a rotting corpse between us. It’s all there, swirling around the bed. A ticking countdown to our own willing destruction.
When I lift my head from the pillow I’m using to muffle my shouts, glancing into the mirror beside our bed, our eyes connect. The tears rolling down my cheeks from lack of oxygen now fuel his hunger, and he shouts, finishing with a final punishing thrust, and collapses on top of me. Releasing my throat, he rolls to the side, pulls my shaking body against his, and holds me tightly.
“Good girl.” He exhales, and within seconds, he’s snoring.
Not much longer now. Just that little delay threw him off balance, so give it a few days, and let’s see how levelheaded he is once it stops working completely. Tomorrow, while he’s in the workshop, I’ll plan my trip into Teivel. It’s nearly time to welcome my Leiv home.
* * *
I wakeup chilled and roll over, reaching blindly for Alastor, but he’s not there. The bed is still warm, so I stand up and head for the bathroom, but something feels off, making me quickly turn and shuffle to the window instead. I reach for the curtains and pull them to the side just enough to peek outside and panic. There’s not a single star in the dark night sky, and my husband is missing. I pick up my nightgown off of the bedroom floor and pull it over my head, ready to make a run for town if I have to, but the sound of the back door clicking closed, followed by Alastor’s heavy boots stomping across our small porch, is enough to make me weep in relief.
He hasn’t been to the cellar yet.
I tug on my robe and bound down the stairs without thinking, but when I reach for the back door, I freeze. How do I even stop him without tipping him off that I know where he was going… and what I’ve done down there? I grab the handle, yanking it hard enough that the door slams into the wall behind me, and shout his name.
“Alastor!”
