The Wedded Whore (Completed)

Chapter Six

Obi looked out at the garden which was awash with rain. His lips curled into a smile of wry amusement as he looked at the greenery of the garden. The completely unexpected downpour had inhibited him from going out to the office and had likewise compelled his totally rebellious wife to remain in bed after she had cancelled her morning appointment with her belly dance choreographer and the group of female dancers she intended to use in her much-anticipated upcoming single that she had released a lot of teaser videos for and which had her legion of fans waiting with bated breath for her to send the video out to the world to see.

He knew that she considered her life to be simpler when she had not married him, and she often told him that she would never have the time to think about him, or to trust him. She had told him that their marriage was one huge disappointment, one that was given the green light by the media who adored them wherever they went.

As he spent time with her, he'd gained considerable insight into the psychological makeup of her life. She was an extremely stubborn woman, and she resisted him in every way possible_ it was as if she was bent on making their time together as unprofitable as possible. He'd let her have her way sometimes, but when it related to sex, she was more than compliant to him with her body and her sexual affections. In bed, she was a completely different woman, and what she did to him whenever they were naked and engaged in hot sex, often made him smile in the mornings and forget his sorrows. She was an expert in the art of lovemaking, giving him small tasty bites that often had him begging for more. There she would be, licking at his body with her tongue and eating his cock with her lips, sucking and licking his balls, fondling him, teasing him until he was almost at the point of release, and then she'd withdraw from him, smiling at him teasingly and calling him a bad boy in that voice that was like a caress to his senses.

She was also very strong-willed and opinionated, a very a stubborn and independent woman with beauty and brains to boot, a roaring flame who was swift to say what she wanted to say, when she wanted to say it. He was thoroughly fascinated by her; the flash of humor in her eyes when she engaged in stimulating talk with his mother_ Hope still lived with them, though in the east wing of the huge house_ his wife had bluntly refused that the woman would leave her matrimonial home for other lodgings, and he was grateful to her for it. But what he really wanted was to make her his, to break down the barrier that separated them. He wanted to claim her love just the way he'd claimed her body. He knew she didn't love him; the unmistakable flash of hostility and anger in those bewitching luminous eyes of hers pointed to it unwaveringly. He hoped to one day make her love him and care for him the way she loved and cared for her children and those around her.

He pondered to himself what it would be like to be loved by a woman like her, and he was often so aware of her that he could think of nothing else. The black hair that gleamed like spun silk ,the smooth, fair skin, the long legs she loved showing off in her short skirts she enjoyed wearing because she knew how they teased his cock, the way her long body moved with the grace and effortless flow of a model. He often felt an urgent desire to own her, to touch her and never stop, to be closer to her, to be the bane of her existence, and none of her petty scheming would deter him from achieving his objective.

Crossing over to the master bedroom from his vantage point, he eased the polished door open and walked into the room to find his wife lying on the bed, her body posed seductively like the cover model of a magazine. He felt a stab of desire, and he was sure the woman was aware of the effect she had on him, for he felt the stiffening of her body and the hardening of her eyes. She had been reading a fitness magazine, and she put it down, and the look she plastered on her face was one of indifference. It was what he invariably called her poker face.