His soft fingers gradually fell off her hand. “Something we need to discuss?”
Yes.Later. “Thought I made myself clear. Or would you rather keep it simple tonight?”
“I know better than to question what ‘keep it simple’ means to you.”
That brought a smile out of her. “Idoattempt to be transparent to my husband.”
Henry’s head slightly turned at her words. It was close enough to her lips to kiss him on the forehead. “You must have had a long weekend if you’re in need on a Monday night.”
“When am I not in need of you, sir?”
He brushed his knuckles against her chin. “Your husband is tired after a long weekend of his own. He might need some inspiration.”
“That’s the idea.” She gently massaged his shoulders as he turned back toward the fireplace. “All I want is to take care of you tonight.”
Henry didn’t have to say what he was probably thinking.“So I can then take care of you.”Such sentiments were implied. After a decade together, Monica swore she and Henry knew how to read each other’s minds. They were so in sync that they spoke in cryptic emojis over text and had code words in public that conveyed what they meant without intruding upon anyone else’s mood. For if there was one thing Monica prioritized after ensuring her daughter’s health and well-being, it was finding solace in submission.
She had been like this her whole life. Back before she even knew what the words meant or how to parse the thoughts in her head.
Henry would have loved her no matter what she desired in and out of their home. But he was a Dom, and maintaining a lifestyle with his wife was as easy as kissing her goodnight.
They exchanged no words as her thumbs searched for his troubled muscles right beneath his neck. Henry set aside his drink as he sank into the chair and closed his eyes. Monica almost lost her grip on his shoulders as she saw a few fine white hairs spread throughout the mellow blond that had been there his whole life.We’re getting older, aren’t we?Henry was in his mid-40s and Monica was in her late-30s. While he focused on rejuvenating the family business, she fussed over their food, exercise, and vices. Genetics willing, they were both living until at least 85. Monica was determined to say they had spent sixty years together in coupled bliss, even if they grew so old that they physically could not indulge in each other’s sexual desires any longer.What a far-off day that still feels like.Monica yearned for her husband just as much now as she had when they first met in her Château.
Their courtship had been short but determined. They both knew what they wanted. They knew they were compatible. Monica simply needed to accept that she was ready to move on from her previous relationship.
She lifted her hands off her husband’s shoulders. The last person she wanted to think about now washim,the man who had tried to consume her life.
As the fire crackled and Henry finally relaxed since coming home, Monica rounded the chair, kneeling on the floor and resting her head against his knee.
She wanted to feel small. To forget that government agencies were thinking too much about her, that her baby was now old enough to have an opinion about things and a liability at her mother’s work. If Monica could have anything, it was to travel back in time, when this marriage was young and everything wasahead of them.When I hadn’t become jaded by my work and hadn’t decided to stop at one child.Henry was fine with having however many children his wife desired, but also probably preferred just the one, if he were finally honest with Monica.
“I love you,” she cooed into the calm air as he brushed the top of her head with his hand. “Tell me you need me.”
His strokes slowed until his hand remained on the back of her head. “I love you, too. I thought about you all weekend. How I’d rather be up in the mountains with you than brokering deals in soulless conference rooms in Toronto. At least with you, I’m always in a good mood.”
“Henry…”
“Yes, I need you. You’re the sunlight in my garden.”
She sighed against his knee. “You’re the sea that surrounds my island.”
Her husband slightly stirred against her cheek. Such a simple movement shuddered her whole body, naked beneath her robe. Monica lightly touched her covered breast and realized she had been ready since before he walked into the room.
I need him wrapped around me. On top of me. Inside of me.
This was how Monica responded to stress. Stepping back from being the madam of a house of sex workers who catered to some of the richest men in the world made her remember why she was the perfect candidate for bringing luxurious pleasure to the world. Funnily enough, she had never properly worked as a sex worker, but she knew exactly what clients and patrons wanted from their experiences. Monica always followed the energy of men and women who exuded dominant sexuality. She knew it would lead her to her happily ever after.
Knowing that even ten years later, she still ached for her husband? That was bliss.
He said nothing, not even offering a grunt of approval when she buried her face in his lap and searched for the belt to histrousers. Fire roared behind her and warmed her from behind, but it was the front of her body that burned for him. Her breasts were loose beneath her robe and needed his touch; her entire pelvis was heated for what she knew he could do in bed. Their daughter had been a happy accident when they were engaged but not married, but Monica never forgot the night she must have conceived. It had been so full of love and worship of one another’s mortal bodies that it couldn’t have been any other night.
Monica always chased that high. She would be reliving that night for the rest of her life.
Henry’s eyes were closed and his head against his chair. Finally, she sensed his natural musk beneath his clothes. It would have made her feral if it weren’t for her determination to be as attentive as possible as she pulled his cock out of his trousers and wrapped her hand around his shaft, massaging him to life.
She didn’t need to gaze into his eyes. Nor did she care to acknowledge her womanhood as she licked his tip and recalled everything she knew he liked. Gradually, he stiffened, and when the first light moan echoed in his throat, Monica took him into her mouth and lavished him with her oral attention.
Getting lost in his body like this was sometimes more fulfilling than the other way around. As much as she enjoyed his gifts, Monica had been built to serve. To provide. To submit. Henry was her perfect foil because he knew how far was too far for a woman who sometimes couldn’t stop digging herself into a deeper hole of depravity. He respected her even when she spent the night debasing herself. He saw her as a wife, a mother, and a businesswoman as well as his pet who sucked his cock on command and spread her legs, sometimeswithouthis command. Playing the coquettish mistress sometimes invigorated her, but at the end of the week, Monica preferred tobe ordered around and even denied his touch if it led to greater rewards later.
