AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’m wakened by someone pounding on my bedroom door, and I’m still shaking off sleep when it flies open, and a drenched, furious Dante storms in.
“What thefuck!?”
The initial burst of him storming into my room has my pulse racing, and, shamefully, a throb aching in my core. But then, when he flicks the lights on, and I drink in the sight of him standing there in the doorway, dripping wet, I grin.
“Oh, so youdolive here.”
It’s not—or at least, I’vetold myselfas much—that he’s not here enough. It’s the principle of the thing. If I damn well have to be stuck here “living with” my husband, then he fucking should be, too.
So my idea tonight was to prop his bedroom door open and balance a paper cup full of milk on top of it, so when…or if…he opened it, he’d get drenched.
Looks like it worked.
“Milk?!” he seethes, looking disgusted.
In the five days I’ve been living here, I’ve noticed something: Dante doesn’t keep milk in the house. Or any dairy product, actually, except for butter. No milk, cheese, yogurt, nada. I actually had to go out and buy some from the bodega down the street to set my trap.
Why milk? Because getting drenched with water is an easy fix. You dry off and go on with your life. But getting drenched with milk, even if youlikedairy, is objectively disgusting.
“Uh oh, are we going to need a lactose pill or something?” I grin smugly.
Dante glares at me. “I’m not lactose intolerant, Tempest. I just think dairy is fucking gross.”
I’m about to open my mouth to make some crude joke when he starts to yank off his shirt. My lip retreats between my teeth and my face flushes as I watch him peel his dress shirt off his insanely toned, muscled and grooved body.
There’s a chance my juvenile antics are at least half fueled by sexual frustration. And Ihateadmitting that, even to myself.
I’ve gone years without even having the slightest desire to have sex or do anything sexual, with anyone, anywhere. I’ve beenfineusing my own fingers and the occasional battery-operated assistance.
But thenheshows up, pins me to the wall, rips my wedding dress off, and shows me what arealorgasm could feel like.
And now, fingers won’t do. But therealpisser is, in the seven days since I came harder than I’ve ever come in my life, Dante hasn’t made the slightest move to touch me again.
And now I feel like a junkie being denied her fix.
“Are you bored?” he grunts, glaring at me. “Is this fucking cabin fever? You’re not a prisoner here, Tempest. You can leave and do whatever you want.”
I shrug. “I know. But if I have to sleep here and live here, so do you.”
“Club Venom is open untilsix in the morning,” he seethes. “I keep late hours. That doesn’t give you the right to douse me in fucking milk!”
I swallow as he storms toward me. My pulse quickens, and my whole body tightens with need and anticipation.
But he still doesn’t touch me. He just grabs my favorite t-shirt—black, with a photoshopped picture of Dolly Parton wearing KISS makeup—off the bed.
“Hey!!”
Dante ignores me as he blots the milk out of his hair.
“That’s my favorite shirt!”
“Aww, really?” He hurls it back onto the bed. “Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to shower.”
He turns and storms back to the doorway, where he pauses and glances back at me.
“No more fucking pranks, Tempest.”
“Fine.”
