I stabbed out the cigarette in the driveway and locked the front door, tapping the code in and waiting to hear it click before I moved into the kitchen. Sienna’s glass of milk was still sitting by the kitchen. Seeing it there sent a twinge of arousal at the memory of her on the sink, her legs parted and her breasts naked beneath my hands.
Her reaction to the way I’d spat in her pretty mouth had sent my mind spiraling to darker places. I’d been hesitant to push her because she wasn’t ready for sex yet. That much was obvious. The clear gap in our sexual experience made me mildly uncomfortable and I didn’t want to ruin the fragile trust we’d already built.
I’d been having sex regularly since sixteen. I knew exactly what I liked and what I didn’t like and I’d spent plenty of time experimenting and testing my limits. But Sienna was a virgin, and not only was she much younger than I, she probably had no idea what she wanted in the bedroom.
I needed to keep it zipped in my pants and take it slow with her until she was ready.
After I checked the lock on the front door, I showered in the hall bathroom so I wouldn’t wake Sienna. Then, wearing only my boxers, I went upstairs and slid into bed beside my wife. She rolled onto her back, fast asleep, and the blanket slid down to reveal her breasts. My cock twitched and hardened in response as I lay on my side, taking in the gentle glow of the moonlight on her naked body.
The next several days passed without incident. We were growing more comfortable with one another in our daily lives. She often came into the bathroom while I was shaving and perched on the edge of the tub to watch me while she sipped her morning coffee. It was a nice feeling, even if I did have to listen to her constant questions and arguments.
We ate breakfast together when I had time. She could cook well and I was putting in extra time in the gym to combat the meals. I made her traditional food, which she enjoyed, but I could tell she preferred American breakfasts more so I let her do most of the cooking. It was nice to sit back and watch her cook, especially when she wore only my t-shirt and panties.
The evening before I left for Cairo, I came home after spending the day at my office in the city going over plans for Boston. The kitchen light was on and there was a pot of something bubbling on the stove. I paused in the doorway and pulled off my suit jacket slowly. An unfamiliar warm sensation crept through me as the scent of cooking food and the warmth from the stove enveloped me.
So this was what it felt like not be alone. I stood there for a moment, letting the feeling soak in, and then the back door slammed open, making me jump. Sienna came stomping down the hall in a pair of rubber boots, shorts, and a hoodie. Her cheeks were pink and her dark eyes glittered. In her right hand she carried a bucket that she sat heavily onto the table as she walked past me to stir the pot on the stove.
“Hello,” I said lightly, taking off my tie. “What are you doing?”
“Feeding the birds,” she said. “And making dinner. Do you like gumbo?”
“I don’t think I’ve had it,” I said, leaning over her shoulder. Through the spicy, amazing smell wafting from the pot, I caught the faint scent of the marsh. I glanced down at her muddy boots.
She dipped a spoon into the gumbo and blew on it, her eyes fixed on me with that wary gaze I’d grown accustomed to. Then she lifted it and I let her put it in my mouth. The taste was amazing, spicy with a hint of sausage and seafood.
“It’s good,” I said.
She narrowed her gaze. “Do you actually like it?”
“I mean it. It’s very good.”
She shrugged, satisfied by my response, and stirred the pot a few times. “One of my friends from school was from New Orleans and she taught me how to make it. I figured if I’m going to be a housewife, I’d better learn to cook like one.”
“Who said you’re going to be a housewife?”
She turned and regarded me, watching as I unbuttoned my shirt and stretched my neck. The muscles at the base throbbed in protest. It had been a long week of planning for our next move in Boston and the late nights were beginning to take a toll on me.
“Well, I’m in your house and I’m your wife,” she said, sighing.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “What were you expecting when you married me? That you would work?”
She stepped back against the counter as I closed the gap between us. Her thighs pressed against my legs as I bent her soft, little body back over the counter, caging her in with my arms on either side. Through her shirt, her nipples puckered and my cock twitched in response.
“Maybe I like the idea of keeping you,” I murmured. “Spoiling you, giving you what you want, keeping you satisfied. Putting you in pretty clothes and fucking you until you’re pregnant with my babies.”
She gasped softly, her pupils dilating. “God, you’re so misogynistic.”
I flicked my eyes down. “Judging by how you’re riding my leg right now, I’d say you like it.”
She flushed, forcing her hips to stop grinding against me. “I can’t help it, damn it. Sometimes I swear I can’t stand you, but then my body just gets…confused.”
I traced my lips up the side of her neck. “Maybe give in once in a while.”
“Give in?”
“Like you did on the kitchen sink. Let me taste you, enjoy your body. Make you come so hard you can’t remember your name.”
“What would that prove?” She sounded breathy.