Didn’t she see? I wanted to fuck her so hard she couldn’t walk, wanted to spill my cum down her throat, wanted to claim her. Her green eyes swam with need and desire, and that alone might have convinced me to throw her on the bed and show her how much I wanted her. But behind the apparent desire, I detected her insecurity, her anxiety, her need for tenderness. I stroked my finger up to her clit, rubbing it with the pad and Valentina’s eyes widened in shock, her perfect lips falling open, as she came under my hand. My cock was painfully hard as I watched her succumb to pleasure, knowing I could give her so much more, show her different forms of pleasure.
I wanted Valentina, had never desired a woman like I did her. And that was the problem. She was my wife. I’d made a vow to be good to her and I would keep it. I wouldn’t fuck her, not when she deserved lovemaking and tenderness. My wife, not a whore. “I do. That’s the problem.” I released her before I did something I’d regret, and definitely something she would regret. I didn’t look at her again as I strode out of the bedroom, needing to bring distance between my wife and me.
I didn’t slow my steps until I reached my office and closed the door. I went straight to the liquor cabinet, fixing myself a strong drink. The moment I brought up the glass with the whiskey, I released a harsh breath and closed my eyes. Valentina’s scent lingered on my fingers. The sweet scent of her arousal. I wanted to taste it, taste her. I downed the whiskey in one gulp and put the glass back down. My cock pressed against my pants, hard and leaking pre-cum. I resisted the urge to jerk off in the middle of my office. I wasn’t a goddamn teenage boy and even then, I’d possessed more self-control than that.
I walked around the desk and sank down, my eyes going to the picture frame on the mahogany surface. An image of Carla and me shortly after we’d married. My chest tightened as it always did when I looked at the picture. A flicker of guilt filled me. It wasn’t an emotion I was very familiar with.
I’d sworn to Carla that I would always love her, always remember her. I’d sworn it on her deathbed, had made a vow. I had never wanted to marry after she’d died. I’d wanted to live with her memory like I’d sworn.
People thought I was the epitome of control but I wasn’t. It hadn’t taken long after Carla’s death before I’d broken the first promise, before I’d sought whores to fuck. It had been angry, desperate fucking, a way to relieve tension and pain. I’d made peace with my sinful nature, had told myself it didn’t affect the vow I gave because these women were nothing but a fuck thing. They might as well have been rubber dolls for all I cared about them.
But things with Valentina were different. I desired her, wanted to fuck her, but I respected her, not only because she was my wife, but also because of her cleverness and her backbone. She was a good woman. A woman who deserved a good husband. Sighing, I opened my laptop, deciding to bury myself in last month’s numbers to distract myself, and knowing full well it wouldn’t work forever.
It was way after midnight when I moved up to the bedroom. Instead of heading into the bathroom to get ready, I went over to the bed. Valentina lay on her back, face tilted toward my side of the bed. In the sliver of light streaming in from the hallway, her skin glowed enticingly. One long leg peeked out from under the covers, making me want to trace her smooth skin again, to reach higher and slide a finger into her.
I turned and grabbed pajama bottoms on my way outside. It was better if I spent the night in my office as long as I didn’t get a better grip on my desire.
PART THREE
My mind wandered to Valentina, to her admittance.
I’d chosen a married woman because I didn’t want the burden of being with a virgin because I knew I couldn’t be what an inexperienced woman needed. A gentle lover who held them in his arms as he whispered words of adoration in their ear.
The man capable of that kind of thing had died with Carla. That man had only ever existed because of Carla.
It wasn’t in my nature to be gentle or loving, now less than ever.
Still a depraved part of me, the part I hid behind expensive suits and a mask of utter control, rejoiced at the knowledge of Valentina’s innocence. That part of me wanted to lay claim on her.
I fought the desire, held on to my outward control, when I knew it was a losing battle. I wanted Valentina, wanted her like most men would want a woman of her beauty and inexperience. Wanted to own and corrupt her. I hadn’t been with a woman since I’d married Valentina and even before that my visits with whores had been infrequent. My body screamed for release, and not just of my desire, also of the pent-up anger simmering in my veins.
But Valentina was my wife and she deserved better than sex out of anger. I knew I wouldn’t be able to give her much more.
After two cups of black coffee, I hid in my office again the next morning. I’d never avoided someone. It wasn’t in my nature. I thrived on conflict.
My eyes darted to the picture frame with a photo of Carla. I grabbed it. These last few days fewer of my nights had been filled with the memory of her last breath. Instead fantasies of claiming Valentina had occupied my nights.
Valentina opened the door.
I quickly set down the frame. “What are you doing here?”
My voice was harsh.
Valentina froze for a moment before she squared her shoulders. “This is my home too, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is, but this is my office and I need to work.”
“You always do. I wanted to see if you were all right.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Why? Because you acted very strange yesterday. One moment you’re touching me and the next you can’t get away from me fast enough.”
If only she knew… “You don’t know anything about me, Valentina.”
“I know, and I want to change that, but you keep pushing me away.”
My eyes darted to Carla once more. “I never wanted to get married again. For good reason.”
“I didn’t ask you to marry me!” Valentina snapped, surprising me with her unbridled anger, so unrestrained and exhilarating.
She whirled around and rushed off, throwing the door shut with so much force that a book tumbled off the shelf. Like a hunter awakened, I chased her and gripped her wrist. “You have an impossible temper.”
Her eyes narrowed, and fuck, I wanted to sink my cock into her right in the middle of the hallway.
“That’s your fault.”
“This marriage has always been for practical reasons. I told you that.”
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t try to make it a real marriage. There are no logical reasons why we shouldn’t sleep with each other. You slept with prostitutes, so why can’t you sleep with me?”
Her eyes swam with confusion and hurt. Valentina was young and in some regards naïve, even if she often put up a sophisticated front. “Because I was angry and I wanted to fuck someone. I wanted it rough and hard. I wasn’t looking for closeness or tenderness or whatever it is you want. I took whatever pleasure I wanted, and then I left. What you’re looking for, I can’t give you. The part that was capable of it died with my wife, and it won’t come back.”
Valentina shifted closer. “You don’t know what I want. Maybe we want the same thing.”