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She rolls her eyes but bends over slowly as she digs around for something to wear. I’ve bought her a hundred different silk and linen dresses, but she refuses to wear anything but t-shirts, jeans, and lingerie. That’s how I know I’m really dealing with an American woman. They’re casual to the point that it’s rebellious.
“Black panties or white?” she asks me, holding up two pairs and arching an eyebrow.
“None, and wear a skirt so I can see your pussy when you bend over,” I reply.
She tries to hide a smile. “Pervert.”
“I’m allowed to be. I’m your husband, remember?”
She doesn’t reply but puts the lingerie back into the drawer and pulls out a skirt, slipping it over her wide hips and struggling with the zipper on the side with her long nails before she’s able to get it up. She turns to me, pouting and lightly raking her nails across her bare chest. “How is this?”
“Better,” I reply. “Maybe you want to keep the top off, too. Nobody will ask you to cover yourself in my house.”
“Your chef is a man,” she replies, her eyes lighting up as she finds a button to push.
I’m normally a jealous man, but my chef would have his arms broken if he even looked the wrong way at my wife. There’s no need for me to have an issue with Taylor walking around with her tits out. In fact, I’d rather enjoy showing her off.
“You belong to me,” I reply, “And everyone knows that. You could walk around naked, begging every man here to stick his cock inside you, and they wouldn’t dare even think about it.”
“You think I’m not sexy enough?” she asks, twisting my words.
“You’re sexy enough, but nobody wants to die over pussy,” I reply, taking a puff of my cigar and blowing a ring toward her. “I would kill anyone who looked at you.”
“Oh, bad boy,” she teases.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
She removes the towel from her hair, pulling a white t-shirt over her head and closing the dresser drawer. “I know that you’re a criminal. You made that clear last night, and I suppose you think that entitles you to treat me like a whore, but you’re mistaken.”
“Notawhore.Mywhore,” I correct.
“Either way, you’re mistaken,” she snaps, turning away from me. “Anyway, was there something you wanted, other than staring at me like you didn’t just steal my virginity last night?”
“We’re going to Antarctica on a submarine tomorrow, so you should pack some warm clothes.”
She laughs dryly. “Funny. We’re already in a frozen wasteland. Nowhere could be worse than it is here.”
Fucking brat. I’m tempted to jump out of my chair and teach her another lesson, but that’s exactly what she wants.
“I wasn’t joking,” I say, standing up slowly and waving my cigar around the room. “Gather up what you need from here. It’ll be a few days before we return to the house.”
“Whatever,” she mumbles.
I’m unable to stop myself from giving her a small spank on her ass as I leave the room. I hope she’s still sore from the last time.
16
Taylor
I’m reaching deep for something, some meaning to put into my life that makes this all worth it, but I keep coming up short. For some reason, I thought that losing my virginity to Danya would complete me, but it’s only left me with a bigger void in my soul.
I’m not satisfied because I know he doesn’t actually love me, and I don’t know what to do about it. Sex isn’t the answer, though I need it more than I ever thought I would. I need Danya, but I feel like he doesn’t need me.
Maybe that’s the problem.
I need him to need me, and I keep pushing him away.
Fuck, I know that I’m the problem. Even if Danya only married me to gain some silly inheritance, he chose me out of the hundreds of other rich girls he could’ve swept off their feet.
