Husband by Penelope Skye

“I didn’t ask you to wait.” My fingers dug into his hair, feeling the sweat in his strands as I held on to
him. My other hand gripped his back, holding on as he rocked me back and forth.
His eyes watched mine as he fucked me deep with every stroke. “No. But you made me want to.” He
took a deep breath and groaned as he kept enjoying me, balls deep in my pussy. “And fuck, baby.” He
moaned again. “You were worth the wait.”
IT WAS four in the morning, and lights from the city were visible through the small crack in the
curtains. I lay on the right side of the bed, stuffed with come and so sore that I needed a break for a
while.
Hades was beside me, sleeping on his back with the sheets bunched around his waist. His left hand
rested on his stomach, his black wedding band so strange but also fitting on his finger. His chest rose
and fell slowly as he enjoyed his deep sleep.
He’d taken me over and over again all through the night, fucking me in the exact same position. He
wanted to feel me at the deepest angle, give his deposits in the most intimate way possible.
The sex hadn’t changed much in two years.
Other than the fact that it was better.
I disliked the idea of being married for gain, of forging an alliance for bullshit purposes, but at least
my husband was good in bed. It might make me overlook all his other flaws. Most people were in
love but having mediocre sex. That wasn’t the case for me.
That was something I wouldn’t miss about being single…finding a cute guy, only to be disappointed
by his skills in the bedroom.
There was nothing disappointing about Hades.
It’d been a long day so I should be deep asleep, but my eyes continued to stare at his bedroom, to see
my clothes hanging on the left side of the closet. My wedding ring was still on my finger. My wedding
dress was visible in the sliver of moonlight that snuck into the bedroom. Our quarters were spacious
and plenty big for the two of us, but it was still odd to share everything, from money, to space, and
even a bed.
Fifty-fifty.
I pulled the sheets back gently and slipped out of bed. His white collared shirt had been flung onto the
armchair, so I slipped it on and buttoned the front as I made my way outside. I stepped onto the
balcony and was overcome by the silence. There were no cars on the road at this hour. No sirens. No
bells. The city was asleep. I gripped the rail and looked at the city I knew so well, feeling different
now that I’d changed my address as well as my last name. My fingers rubbed my cheek and corrected
the smeared mascara I’d never washed away.
The door shut behind me, his footsteps echoing a moment later. His bare feet tapped against the