Husband by Penelope Skye

4
HADES
I WALKED WITH HER UP THE STAIRS TO HER FRONT DOOR. SHE WAS IN A BLACK DRESS WITH MATCHING
pumps, sterile in her work attire but still sexy in anything she wore. Her ass shook from side to side
as she walked, her long legs carrying her like a queen without a crown. She occasionally brushed her
hair behind her shoulder with her fingertips, showing her fair cheeks and painted lips.
I didn’t want to wait.
She stopped at the large mahogany doors and faced me. “Goodnight.”
“Thought I’d say hello to your mother.”
“You can say hello when we move in together.” She grabbed the handle to open the door.
I wanted to grab her and keep her close, but I refrained from touching her. “You never answered my
question.”
She halted and turned back to me, still significantly shorter than me despite her formidable heels. Her
long brown hair was in wavy curls, and her thick eyelashes were curled with dark mascara. Even
after a full day at the office, she looked just as fresh as she did in the morning. “What question?”
“Are you going to make me wait until our wedding night?” It’d only been a week since she’d become
my fiancée and my celibacy had begun, but it was already destroying me. I was a man who needed sex
on a regular basis, and while I could get laid whenever I wanted, I preferred to wait for the best
pussy I’d ever had. If I was going to screw someone, there was only one woman I had in mind.
She looked away when she couldn’t handle the desire in my eyes. “Yes.” She opened the door.
I swallowed the disappointment, fought the demon living inside me. Sitting across from her over
dinner was torture because I wanted her so much, wanted to fist that hair and take her roughly. I
wanted those hot, passionate nights, when she grabbed me by the front of the shirt and kissed me
deeply. I didn’t want any more cheap one-night stands. I didn’t want a stranger in my bed.
I wanted the woman I loved.
If only I could tell her that. If I did, it would just chase her off again.
I was committing myself to the torture the gypsy promised me, but I’d rather be tortured every day