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"There’s no need to hide your sexual perversions with me. There’s no reason not to revel in your kinks, baby."
She half smiles. "I didn’t realize I was looking for permission?—"
"Until now."
She nods, then cups my cheek. "You’re spoiling me."
“Of course, I’m spoiling you. Who else would spoil you?” Darkness sweeps over my mind. I hadn’t wanted to fuck her. I stayed away from her, hoping to wean myself off of her. I hoped to put distance between us so I could work up the courage to tell her I was leaving her. But one look at her on her knees in front of me, and I wasn’t able to stop myself from fucking her. The connection between us is stronger than ever.
At this rate, I’ll never be able to leave her. And I must, or risk hurting us both in a way that ensures the kind of pain from which we'd never recover.
I lower her to her feet, then walk out of the shower cubicle to grab a washcloth and wet it. I return, wipe between her legs, and throw the washcloth aside, then straighten her clothes. "You should go."
“What? Why?” The light in her eyes fades. “Aren’t you coming with me?"
When I don’t reply, her lips turn down. "But I've missed you, Q.”
I've missed you, too. I want to tell her that, but my tongue seems unable to form the words. Instead, I dry myself with a towel before dropping it in the laundry basket in the corner. I open the door set into the wall next to it which leads to a built-in closet. I pull on my pants, and a button-down shirt.
I sense her moving toward me and know I have to stop her. If she touches me, I won’t be able to stop myself from fucking her again. And I can’t afford to do that. Not now. So, I scowl at her over my shoulder. "What are you doing here anyway?"
She pauses halfway across the bathroom. "Shouldn’t I be the one to ask those questions, considering I haven’t seen you home in the last four days?”
A flush heats the back of my neck. She’s right to ask, not that I have any answers for that... At least, none that I’m prepared to give her. So instead, I pretend to be occupied with buttoning up my shirt. "Do you need anything? If it's about your painting supplies?—"
"Thanks for ordering them, but that’s not what I need right now."
“Oh?” I tuck my shirt, zip my pants, then turn to face her. “What else do you need?”
“You.” She closes the distance to stand in front of me. “I need you, Q. I need my husband.”
My heart fucking hurts, but I keep my emotions off my face and school my features into a bored look. “I fucked you already, didn’t I?”
She winces. “That’s not what I meant. And you know that. You weren’t like this on our honeymoon. What’s happening, Q? Why are you pulling away from me? Why are you trying your best to hurt me?”
Because I want you to realize I’m not good for you. I’m not right for you. I want you to realize you married the wrong man. A man who’ll never love you the way you deserve to be. A man who’s going to hurt you even more. Because I want you to hate me, so when I leave you, I can do so without breaking your heart.
She searches my features, sadness writ into hers. “I thought, especially after what happened with Karma, you’d realize life is short. That you’d cherish every moment we have together.”
The disappointment in her features cuts me to the core. I take a step in her direction, intent on soothing her, then stop myself.
"Why should I, when what we have is not a real marriage?” I make sure my voice is cold when it feels like someone has gouged a hole in my chest.
She looks stricken. The color fades from her features, and she swallows hard. Then her eyes flash. “How dare you! How dare you insinuate what we have isn’t genuine? And after everything we’ve done together!” she spits out.
My entire body feels like I’ve turned to stone. Sweat pools under my armpits. I move toward the dressing-bench in the closet and take a seat, then begin to pull on my socks, so I have something to do with my hands instead of pulling her into my arms. “Just because I taught you to enjoy kink, and gave you a few orgasms, doesn’t mean what we have is real.”
She gasps. “I can’t believe you said that.”
“Believe it.” I slide my feet into my shoes, then rise to my feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?—”
“No, I won’t.” Her eyes spit sparks at me. “Not until you tell me why you’re working so late every day? Why are you avoiding me? What are you not telling me?”
Rage turns her cheeks into a shade of dusky pink which stops me in my tracks. She’s magnificent, my Raven. My wife. And I’m forcing myself to do this.
"Not everything I do is about you.” I slide my hand into my pocket and look her up and down, managing not to show any emotion. “You forget, I have a business to run. Which necessitates putting in hours in the office when needed."
"So you can add to your billions?" she scoffs.
