And it belonged solely to me and my wife.
I placed Darla on the ground and she sauntered forward, eyes roving around with the eagerness of an innocent soul.
A vast room with tall Roman pillars encompassing the perimeter, the dark ambiance was illuminated by fire-lit torch lamps hanging on the stone walls and flirting with the kind of energy writers had tried to emulate in their elegiac poems and provocative sonnets. I had no doubt my wife too would immortalize us tonight with her sultry, penned words.
I followed after her, letting her soak in the space. There were various tools and toys mounted on the walls—blindfolds, canes, chains, riding crops, whips—and large ornate mirrors resting along the room for those with the tendency to watch themselves in the throes of passion. A deep underground pool with warm water that was once used to waterboard enemies but now used for washing away your sins sat on the left end.
The centrepiece of the room was an altar.
A raised slab of marble sitting in the middle of the room—with heavy chains attached to its four corners—and surrounded by a circle of glowing candles.
My wife would look delectable lying on it, restrained at my mercy.
I’d remind her tonight there was only one way to repent for her mistakes in this marriage.
With her body.
Darla was busy admiring a black leather flog when I came up behind her. My arms found their rightful place around her waist and pulled her back to me. She melted, her hands curving over my forearms. I murmured in her ear, “Do you really want me tonight?”
Her eyes met mine in the mirror. “Yes. All of you. No holding back.”
Keeping my eyes on her, I mapped my hands over her front until I reached the neckline of her long dress. I ripped it down her torso with two tugs. Darla gasped and I pushed the ruined chiffon down to her hips.
Naked except for black heels, a black thong and a thigh holster containing my gifted gun, she was the personification of my wet dream.
My wife’s plump ass and generous tits were worth a million odes. I could just picture her cushioning my shaft between her cleavage and tonguing my swollen tip with the expression of an eager beginner.
“Mrs. De la Croix, you are exquisite.” I grabbed the underside of her tits and licked her neck. She shivered at the roguish display in the mirror. “It’s an honour to experience you. The most beautiful woman I’ve seen in this lifetime and I get to call her my wife.”
She watched me with glimmering eyes, gratitude, and a flash of self-consciousness swirling in her expression.
Unfortunately, Darla was horrible at taking compliments.
Her mother’s fault, no doubt. I despised how Diane Hill tried to break this strong woman’s confidence for absolutely no reason by planting seeds in her head that she wasn’t perfect because of some stupid standard.
I’d take extra care in our marriage to worship Darla so she never forgot her worth.
My hands skated down her flat stomach, her shapely hips, and her thighs, where I stopped to finger the beauty mark I first spotted at Chaleur. I loved Darla’s body. Tight and curvy like an hourglass. “You were put on this earth to torment me.” I angled her beautiful face my way and kissed her lips. “I will never have enough of you.”
“I…” She gulped, struggling with my praise. “You should have just unzipped me. I really loved this dress, Zeno.”
My nostrils flared.
Anger unfolded in my chest.
Not at her.
Never at her.
But at every motherfucker who made this woman feel less than stellar. I wanted to throw each one at her feet and demand they apologize for ever saying a bad word about her.
Knowing she wouldn’t be able to handle any more tenderness from me today, I brought us back to safer grounds.
She didn’t want a doting husband right now.
She wanted her filthy animal.
“You’re skating on thin ice after your little stunt today, so I’d watch your mouth.” I spun her around and squeezed her jaw. “Not answering my calls, driving me out of my mind with worry. I was sick with the thought of you hurt. So fucking sick thinking I’d never see you again.”