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ChapterOne
Belle
Wouldyou believe it if I told you I was a virgin?
Yup.
A twenty-eight-year-old virgin.
My husband vowed he would rectify my issue once we were married. We would have been married a year on Christmas Eve, and he hasn’t touched me.
I have no idea what it actually feels like to be worshipped in the way that I read in my romance novels. Whenever I approach the topic, he shuts me down in an instant.
I’m starting to believe it’s me.
And if it was me, then why marry me?
I know I’m not ugly, I turn heads all the time which only angers him more.
My hair is honey blonde and sits just under my shoulders, my eyes are emerald green, and I have lips that most men dream about having wrapped round their cocks. Or so I’ve been told. I might be a plain jane and try to sink into the shadows, but I still gain attention.
Just not off my husband.
My late father promised me to my husband’s father to try and appease their rivalry in the business world so maybe my husband felt resentment when he looked at me, but that wasn’t helping me.
Despite his disinterest I stayed at home like the good little wife and made sure his dinner was cooked and waiting on the table, the house was spotless and I stay patient, waiting for the day my husband comes home and devours me, taking us to the next level in our relationship.
I felt like one of those pretty, pristine China dolls that sit perfectly on the shelf. Never allowed to be played with. Never to be touched.
To just sit and collect dust.
And I was silently begging to be touched, to be played with… to be loved.
So when my darling husband asks for my Christmas list, that’s what I am going to ask for.
To be touched, played with and loved.
Dear Santa…
ChapterTwo
“Belle,”I hear the sound of my husband, Stanley’s voice floating through our large home.
“In the kitchen,” I reply sweetly, spinning so I’m ready to greet him. His black hair is messy, his grey eyes dull and he looks tired. “Are you okay?” I ask as he takes a seat at the breakfast bar.
“I will be when we break for Christmas.” He sighs, scrubbing his face with his large hands.
“Not long, a few more days to get through and we will be spending Christmas together,” I smile as I turn back around and plate his dinner up. I made a fully loaded Sunday roast; it was a Wednesday, but I felt like he needed a good meal.
“Thank you, sweetness,” he doesn’t even look at me as I slide him his plate of food.
It’s nothing new.
I go about beginning to clean the kitchen as he scrolls on his phone and my dinner sits there getting cold, like it always does. He never invites me to sit with him, he never offers to help clean up once he has eaten his dinner, but we have fallen into this rut. Little does he know I have an early Christmas present for him upstairs.
Me.
Wrapped in just a red bow.
