Page 9 of Deliria

I lock up entirely as fear takes over me. I don’t even know what it is I’m meant to have done, but I can see I’m doing exactly what he wants, reacting how he wants.

He stares back at me, his hips still driving in and out, still seeking his pleasure while he clearly gets off on the terror my body is completely overcome with.

“I…” I don’t know what to say, how to placate him. He may be my husband, but he feels as good as a stranger to me. Whatever this forgetfulness is, whatever this confusion is, it’s stolen my memories, turned me into little more than a damn zombie.

“I told you to rest and you disobeyed me. Didn’t you?”

My eyes widen and I gulp back tears as I realise he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t have a clue what I was really up to, thank fuck.

And I nod, acknowledging my guilt, submitting to him while the relief I feel is palpable.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper. “I was bored, I wanted to see your home, to understand…”

His mouth crashes into mine, his tongue swallowing the last of my pleading words. He’s always been a good kisser; he’s always been a good everything. That’s how he won me over, how he bagged a wife more than ten years younger than him. Because, while his money was an appeal, it was also a turnoff. I wasn’t a gold digger; I wasn’t dreaming of being merely a trophy bride. I had dreams of my own, dreams that didn’t always align with my dear darling husband’s.

And yet he won all the same.

A tear streaks down my cheek, but I ignore it. There’s little point in reminiscing on past mistakes. Alex is my husband, even if I don’t remember our wedding day.

And this great monster of a house is now my home as well as my prison.

I raise my hands, twisting my fingers through his immaculate hair, giving in entirely. And it feels like I need this moment just as much as he does.

His right hand remains where it is, wrapped around my throat and for a few brief, beautiful moment, I forget everything, I forget that I have no control here, that I have no power. I give into the pleasure; I give into that desperate need for human connectivity and I fuck him just as hard as he fucks me.

He groans, he grabs, he obviously revels in my body, which, despite my illness, still clearly remains womanly enough to satisfy him.

His thumb finds my clit and I moan, slowing my movements so that he can play with me better.

“My little wife wants to come, does she?” He murmurs, his words so close to a sneer.

“Yes,” I beg. “I need it. I need this.”

I’m suddenly ravenous. Starving. And no matter how good his cock feels, he’s never been able to make me come with penetration alone. I don’t hold it against him, I know it’s not uncommon for women to struggle to orgasm that way, but I see that old familiar glint in his eye all the same.

His lips curl, turning into a taunting smile. He shifts back, releasing his grip from my throat as he reaches over to flick the side lamp on.

Warm light bathes us both, highlighting his toned and muscular body. One I used to drool over, along with half of Manhattan.

“Go on then.” He says once he’s back, buried between my thighs but no longer thrusting. “Show me what a little whore you are.”

My cheeks flame but the insult doesn’t land, at least, not fully. I’m too far gone, too needy, too damn fucking turned on to give a shit what he has to say. Besides, isn’t this the point of us having sex? That we both have our release?

With my right hand I reach down, spreading my labia wider, giving him a full view of everything I have. Apparently, I’m fully shaved, though I don’t remember making that change.

Does Alex do that?

Do the maids groom me down there? Fuck, I hope not.

He drops his gaze, tilting his head, staring as if he’s comparing me to something.

“You should paint this.” He says. “Paint your cunt. I bet you’d actually sell some of your so-called art then.”

The sting of those words does make me flinch, but I don’t show any other reaction.

He thrusts again, before leaning over and spitting right on my clit. “My cock isn’t enough, huh?” He says before pinching hard with his fingers. “No one else has ever complained before but my wife, oh no, my wife needs more. My wife, the woman who is meant to love me more than anyone needs to feel pain, needs to be jacked off like a filthy slut whose cunt has been so overused she can’t tell if she’s even filled up or not.”

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