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A relationship that feels like, in time, it could even become something I hadn’t dared to even think about—one where there’s love, as well as affection or friendship.
When I kiss her, she leans into me, returning it with as much desire as I could possibly hope for. She’s wet and eager by the time I slip into her, her moans filling the air as I make her come, and when I thrust into her for the last time, feeling the exquisite pleasure of my cum filling her, she orgasms for me again, tightening around my cock in a way that makes me wish I could keep her in this bed all day.
I don’t notice, until we’re lying there after, the empty suitcases by the wall.
“You didn’t have to put your own things away.” I brush a lock of blonde hair away from her face. “The cleaning staff will be here today, while we’re out. They could have done it for you.”
There’s just one flicker of a strange, almost anxious expression on her face before she smooths it away. “I like having things in order,” is all she says. “I’m not used to living out of suitcases.” A small smile flickers at the corner of her mouth, and she kisses me again. “Besides, it makes me feel more at home.”
That’s enough to make me forget about the odd look on her face—almost.She just might not have wanted strangers touching her things,I tell myself, but that doesn’t entirely add up either, because Marika has grown up with staff touchingeverythingaround her, doing everything for her, her whole life. It’s strange that she would feel uncomfortable with the small staff I keep here unpacking her suitcases.
But it also doesn’t seem important enough to ask anything else about it.
I kiss her again, getting out of bed as I walk towards the bathroom. “Come shower with me,” I invite her, turning so she can enjoy her own view as I stop just short of the door. “And then I’ll make you breakfast while you get ready.”
“I don’t think I can argue with that offer,” she murmurs, and I’m treated to the view ofhernaked body as she pushes the covers back, the slick hint of my cum on her thighs as she walks towards me, joining me in the shower.
—
Thattakes longer than I meant for it to, also—I couldn’t stop myself from fucking her in the shower, bending her over with her long blonde hair wet against her skin as I took her from behind. I haven’t been this constantly aroused in longer than I can remember. I adjust my cock a little in my suit trousers as I go downstairs to make that promised breakfast, feeling a little sore myself. We might both need a night off tonight—but I’m not sure how that’s going to go. I don’t seem to be able to be near Marika without being so hard that coming feels like a physical necessity rather than a pleasure.
She comes downstairs thirty minutes later, in a striped sweater dress that falls just below her knees and low brown boots, her blonde hair soft and shiny around her face. She’s put on just a little makeup, from what I can tell, and I feel an odd warmth when I see that she’s wearing the pearl and gold jewelry that I gave her. It’s the same feeling I have every time I look down at her left hand and see that she’s wearing my ring.
It’s not something I ever expected to feel, and yet, with Marika, it’s there.
“Breakfast is almost ready.” I nudge a drink towards her, a homemade bloody mary, and she wrinkles her nose. “What?” I look at her, frowning. “You don’t like these?”
“No one in the history of civilization haseverwanted to drink vegetables for breakfast.” She pushes it back. “I’d take literally anything else.”
I smirk at her. “I don’t think I can justify two before a meeting, but if you want something else, I’ll happily make it for you.”
Marika hesitates, looking at the red liquid, topped with citrus slices and a small pickle. “Fine,” she says with a sigh. “I’ll take a sip—ohgod.” Her entire face contorts, and she pushes it away again. “Never mind.”
I can’t help but laugh at that, retrieving the drink and going to the refrigerator for champagne and orange juice. “I see I’ve found your one flaw,” I tell her teasingly, making a mimosa and exchanging it for the bloody mary. “There had to be something.”
“Not wanting spicy salad for breakfast is not a flaw.” She takes the champagne flute and closes her eyes in obvious bliss as she takes a sip. “This tastes fresh-squeezed.”
“It is.” I slide the quiche out of the oven, reaching for a knife. “I’m very domesticated, Marika.”
“I see that.” She raises an eyebrow. “Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me you don’t want a nanny when we have children, that you’ll do midnight feedings and diaper changes yourself.”
The last word trails off suddenly as she says it, her face tightening in that odd, anxious expression again, and this time, I can’t help but question it. I turn to face her, reaching for my own drink to have something to do with my hands.
“Youdowant children, don’t you?” I frown. “I know it’s expected of you, Marika. I know you will have been told your whole life that it was. But I want to hear from you that it’s whatyouwant.” Truthfully, I don’t know what I’d do if she said no. Children are both expected and a necessity—I can’t have a wife who doesn’t want children, or isn’t willing to have them regardless. Ineedan heir. It never occurred to me to think, before, about my wife’s own opinions on the matter.
But I find that it matters to me a great deal, whether or not Marikaactuallywants children, or if she’s only doing her duty.
“Yes, of course.” She says italmostfirmly, setting her glass down, but I can hear the slight waver in her voice.
I let out a slow breath, leaning back against the counter. “I want to tell you that we could take our time, if you want, Marika. That we could be careful, even, until you’re ready. But I can’t give you that. Part of the reason the Kings insisted on this marriage—”
“—is because they want an heir on the way. I know.” She touches the edge of her glass. “It’s just nerves, Theo. That’s all.” She forces a smile, and I want to believe her. Ineedto believe her, because I’m beginning to care about her more than I thought I would, and I don’t want to think she would lie to me. That anything about this marriage is a lie. “My mother died when I was young. I have no idea how to be one. And it’s a scary thought. Especially—” She waves a hand in the general direction of the house. “My father was hands-off, and even before my mother died, she was distant a lot of the time. But I don’t think that’s what you want. And I don’t know how to have that.”
This time, Icanhear the honesty in her words. I see the glimmer in her eyes, and I know she’s trying not to well up with tears.
Quickly, I cross to where she’s standing, smoothing my hands over her arms. “I do want that,” I tell her gently. “A family like what I’m accustomed to—better, even. But we’ll figure it out together.” I reach up to brush away a tear, acutely aware that just last night, I was doing the same thing. “Who knows how long it will take before you’re pregnant, anyway. And once you are, I’ll be with you every step of the way. You’ll start wishing I paidlessattention to what was going on.”
She laughs, but it’s unsteady and strange, not the kind of laugh I’m used to hearing from her. It concerns me, but I don’t know what to do about it. If she’s not being honest with me, I don’t think pushing the issue will help. And even if she told me flat out that she doesn’t want children, what the hell would I do with that information?
