The Unwanted Wife(8)

By: Natasha Anders

He usually slept naked but she had honestly believed that he would drag on a shorts or something after the events of that evening. No such luck, she felt him lifting the covers and sliding beneath them. He smelled divine and she had to fight the impulse to turn toward him. He didn’t say a word and made no move toward her, staying on his side of the bed. No surprise there… he usually stayed on his side of the bed anyway, unless he felt the need to work on his long-term project to sire a son, only then would he move toward her, touch her, caress her… do everything but love her. Theresa never instigated their intimate encounters. She had learned early on that any move toward such intimacy was usually rebuffed and her fragile self-esteem didn’t deal well with rejection, so she had stopped trying.

Ironically enough tonight, after her decree that he not touch her, was the first time in a long time that she was actually tempted to move toward him. She clenched her fists and curled into a ball, trying not to think of all that tempting naked, male flesh lying next to her. She knew he was awake, she could tell from the rhythm of his breathing and obviously he knew she was awake, she was way too tense to be asleep.

“Just go to sleep for God’s sake,” his impatient voice suddenly rang out in the darkness. “I said I wouldn’t touch you and I won’t… so you can relax!” She tensed even more at the sound of his voice and he swore softly.

“If you can’t sleep, I have the perfect solution for your insomnia,” he murmured suggestively, leaving her in no doubt as to his “solution”.

“You’re not helping matters,” she gritted through clenched teeth and he laughed quietly.

“Well if neither of us can sleep…”

“We haven’t been in bed long enough to fall asleep… just hush!” She hissed.

“You know you’re being ridiculous, right?” He murmured in his most patronisingly logical voice. It was a voice that usually drove her absolutely crazy.

“I don’t care how ridiculous you think I’m being,” she flipped over to face him and could barely make out his profile in the dark. He was lying on his back, with one arm tucked beneath his head. When he felt her turn over he turned his head to look at her. She could see only the whites of his eyes in the dark. “This is what I want, Sandro.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” he maintained, reaching out to touch her face with one gentle hand. “The sex has always been good between us, Theresa… that’s one thing that’s never been in doubt. It’s the one damned thing that’s working in this marriage.”

“It wasn’t working for me,” she muttered defiantly. That bruised his masculine ego; she sensed it in the way he tensed.

“You weren’t faking those responses,” he negated stiffly.

“No, I wasn’t. You’re really very good…” she agreed, realising too late that she didn’t sound very convincing at all. “It just isn’t enough for me anymore.”

“I’m not enough for you anymore?” He asked flatly and she knew she had to tread carefully here.

“That’s not quite what I meant…”


“Sandro, you’re being deliberately dense.” Okay that wasn’t quite the right thing to say either. She could practically feel him bristling next to her.

“It’ll probably be best if you didn’t say anything else, Theresa…”

“Look you’re deliberately misunderstanding me here…” She began.

“Not another word…” He warned.

“But…” suddenly she was on the flat of her back with him straddling her hips. She gasped and writhed as she tried to dislodge him.

“I warned you,” he growled.

“Get off me,” she hissed angrily pushing futilely at his hot, naked chest.

“No.” He settled himself more firmly against her, moving his hips until her thighs reluctantly parted and he was lodged between them. Her t-shirt had ridden up to her waist, leaving only her small bikini panties as a barrier between them. She was achingly aware of his bare flesh rubbing against the tender skin of her inner thighs and felt herself responding, moving with him, wanting more contact. He groaned and buried his face in her neck, his lips nuzzling her neck, moving up over her jaw line, her chin, skirting past her mouth before finally brushing over her cheek and capturing one sensitive earlobe between his teeth. It was the blatant avoidance of her mouth that quite effectively doused the flame that had started a slow burn in her gut.

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