Page 132 of The Bad Husband

I stare at his back as he pours himself a drink before I make a beeline for the bathroom door.

Moments later, I’m in the shower, welcoming the stream of warm water over my skin.

A few minutes pass before I pat myself dry, turn off the water, and slip on a bathrobe.

I walk out, running my fingers through my hair. It smells like jasmine and a little hope.

He sits on the bed, his head propped against the headboard, his eyes closed, his torso naked, a drink in his hand.

He only has his dress pants on. The belt is open, his zipper lowered.

I stop not far away from him and move my eyes over his broad shoulders, the tattoos on his muscular arms, his beautiful V-shaped torso.

Only then do I realize that he’s opened his eyes and he’s studying me.

“Come to me,” he says quietly, sliding his drink onto the nightstand.

This reminds me of that first time in his office when he asked me not to leave. It dawns on me that he needs me.

Usually, I have no idea when he needs me, how he needs me, and what lies behind those beautiful smoldering eyes.

Although now, I do.

I also know that he doesn’t need my questions, my worries, my distrust.

I know that he needs my body, my silence, my understanding, and my patience.

As new as this is to me, I follow my instinct and softly untie my belt and let my robe fall to the floor before moving to him.

His eyes stay fixed on me as I stop next to the bed, reach for his belt, and undo his fly completely.

As he pushes his pants down and removes them completely, his erection springs free, and his muscular thighs are on full display.

He runs a hand into the back of my hair and pulls me down. I fall to him before he wraps his other arm around me and makes me slide next to him.

His tongue pushes through my lips with urgency as everything seems to unfold so quickly.

Just as I expected it to happen.

He lifts my thigh to his hip and slides his cock into me, kissing me with hunger. My arms wind around his neck as he pulls me into his chest––he kisses me and fucks me.

The difference is noticeable.

He wants what he wants, and while he’s trying to pace himself and not entirely spook me, his needs are frantic, simmering just beneath the surface of his touch.

He grabs me more harshly, pounds into me with intense need, and sinks his teeth into my lip as if he’s set to destroy me.

I hold my own, kissing him back, running my nails down his spine, sucking on his tongue, and rocking my hips to meet his thrusts.

He likes it and makes things harder for me. A hand cups my ass as he moves into me with force.

It all feels like a takeover. A blind conquest. A desperate race against time.

Something big must be bothering him, but I can’t read the story of his soul.

Henrietta is out. I’m here. This can’t be about me.

There’s no time to ponder as my body responds to him with spikes of pulsing, and a voracious need to have him.