"Are you wet enough?" He questions with hooded eyes.
I nod curtly. "Only the sound of your voice and my pussy jumps in excitement."
"Good. Turn around." He orders as both hands grip my waist, flipping me around before I can argue. "Sit on it and go...
Make sure to read the previous chapter before this!!
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I know, I always find a way to fuck things up.
But it's not that I love messing things up, it's just my fears. I allow fear rule me and ruin things for me.
It's just out of my control.
Earlier today, I had returned home a bit early and decided to go straight into my wife's room. But on getting inside the room, I heard whimpering coming from the washroom and when I listened in properly, I discovered that Mirabella was crying.
It broke my heart but I didn't have it in me to walk into that washroom and ask her what her reason for crying was.
You see, I'm not so good with all these emotions and all the baggages that comes with it.
I'd left the room because I thought it wise to give her some privacy just in case she wouldn't want me to see her in her time of weakness.
I gave it a few more hours until it was the early hours of the night before walking back into our room. But she was still in the washroom and it concerned me how long she'd been crying for.
"How do I tell him about my feelings?" She had asked herself and that was when my fear creeped in.
I know I have feelings for Mirabella, feelings that are beyond physical attraction but when I heard her admit to having feelings for me, it tore me into pieces.
I don't want her to love me.
It never ends well for those who show any genuine affection towards me and I'm scared that Mirabella wouldn't be an exception if we acted upon our feelings.
When she'd walked out of the washroom and locked eyes with me, I knew then that I'd never forgive myself if I were to hurt her and that was how I fucked up a night that should've turned out great.
Without listening to what she had to say, I began blabbing tons of bullshit. Calling her a thing for my pleasure, my whore for the taking, a place to ease some stress.
How fucked up do I have to be to speak those despicable things to my own wife?
Really fucked up.
Of course she lost it on me and demanded that I left her room but I was adamant, causing her to leave instead. So here I am, running my hands through my hair roughly, groaning my frustration as I ponder my next move.
About an hour and a few minutes later and she hasn't returned. "Fuck it. Fuck this," I grunt as I grab a blanket and her sweater. I rush out of my room and head downstairs to look for her as it worries me that she might catch a cold if she stays out too long in that tank top and leggings she has on.
I walk past my office but my movement is immediately halted when I hear faint screaming. Hurriedly pushing my office door open, I run up to the window that exposes a clearer view of the garden. After minutes of observing the garden and finding nothing, I click my tongue and walk back out, heading downstairs.
