Chapter 42
KANE
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve made Delilah come while I watch the sun warm her cheeks as she lays on my chest. Her cunt is keeping my dick warm, but I can’t stop the feeling of hands on my body or the deathly cold rubbery skin.
It’s easier like this though, so I lightly trace her spine with the tip of my finger.
Lennox’s blocker will prevent Helene seeing this moment after she fucked off. The twisted bitch mistook those beautiful screams for pain when my stunning wife was lost in pleasure.
I rest my lips on her crown as I blankly stare at her body on mine. Warm. So fucking warm. Her hands are on my ribs. Legs between mine. All warm. Alive.
She’s exhausted, so I know she won’t wake up as I whisper, “I love you. I love who I am with you. You’ve always made me better, even when I was a dumb kid who was too nervous or shy to speak in front of anyone.
I think my love for you will always be selfish, Delilah.
But…” I bury my face deeper into her hair, muffling my voice.
“I won’t let you go, especially when you hate me. ”
She flinches, holding herself rigid as she slowly looks up. Her eyes are mesmerizing with the sun exposing each shade of blue. They slowly crinkle in the corner as she smiles. “You’re real?”
“Yeah, I’m real.”
Her relief is visible as she slowly closes her eyes while resting her head back on my chest. The crazy cute thing kisses directly over my heart. “Good morning, baby. Can you take your dick out of me?”
“Never,” I say too forcefully, banding my arms around her. “Keep me warm.”
“It’s uncomfortable,” she mumbles, already halfway back to sleep.
Holding her waist, I push my hips down and slowly slide her off my dick.
The cold air makes me cringe, so I kiss her head, her nape, then her shoulder as I lay her on the bed, slipping out from under her to tuck myself away.
I’ll need to leave soon but as I stretch my shoulders after being stuck in the same position for so long, I see the wall. “Did you have make-up?”
“No, paint.” She weakly lifts her hand to show a deep cut on her palm. “I wanted to have you here.”
I’ve witnessed this shit before. When the isolation became too much for people, they’d paint the walls of their cells with shit or blood. Anything they could access became their medium.
The image my beautiful wife painted is my face, particularly my eighteen-year-old face with bloody stars above my head as I watch over the bed.
I can’t leave her with bloody fucking walls.
I get dressed and leave the room, in search of something to clean it away. Helene’s not in the kitchen. The cleaning solutions under the sink sting my eyes as soon as I uncap the bottles, making them unusable. Delilah’s head will be fucked if she’s stuck with the fumes all day.
The lounge doesn’t have anything other than blood stored in wine bottles.
As I walk around the staircase, I notice a cupboard door leading to the spandrel.
I manage to get a grip on the small, painted-over metal knob to turn it.
L-shaped shelves line the walls with different tins neatly stacked on them and old rags wrapped around paintbrushes in varying sizes.
There’s a bottle of turpentine, which will definitely make my crazy girl even crazier.
I grab three of the tins, the paintbrushes, and close the door with my shoulder.
I expect the creepy cunt to be behind me, stick in hand, but there’s no one there. Fuck it, I’m owed some luck. The universe must agree too. I go back to the room without seeing Helene.
Delilah sits in the middle of the bed, staring at the bloody image on the wall. Setting the items on the floor, I climb through the drapes and turn her to face me. “You don’t do that again, okay?”
“You’re leaving?”
“Here. Not you. I will always be with you. Look at the stars, I’ll be there.”
She tucks her chin to her chest, muttering, “What about when I can’t see the stars?” She does the same shit she used to when we were younger as she forces a smile on her face. “I’ll be okay.”
How did I never notice it was fake?
All those times I would watch her, I assumed her mood was because of Asher. I never looked deeper or beyond my own preconceived notions.
She softly kisses my cheek before she gets off the bed while I remain stuck in place.
The woman I love, the only woman I have ever and will ever love, is breaking.
She’s been breaking her entire life. I don’t know how she always manages to climb to her feet.
No matter what happens or who hurts her, Delilah stands tall.
Now is no different as she walks into the bathroom.
I look at the wall, waiting for a sniffle or a sob as the water runs. But there’s only the sound of her stepping under the spray as she softly hums to herself.
I sit on the edge of the bed with my knees spread as I blankly stare at the cans of paint beside my feet. My dick is still hard after I couldn’t come. There was a mental block every time I worked myself closer to release. I can do it for her though.
Popping the metal lid off each can, I line them up between my thighs. One is a deep charcoal, near black under the separated oils, the other a steel grey, and the one closest to me has a thick layer of yellowed oil above the thick white paint.
I set the darker colors aside, leaving the can of white paint between my feet as I lift my hips to free my dick.
Every time Delilah came, I was closer to release, so I accidentally edged myself for hours.
At least it’s useful as I wrap my hand around my length and spit down into my palm.
My eyes close, replaying the beauty of my filthy wife spraying me in her cum.
“Fuck,” I groan, my head falling back. The taste of her is imprinted in my mind. It’s not the same as when my tongue is inside her cunt. It’s so sweet I can smell it. Pure fucking sex—there’s no other way to describe it.
“Kane,” she snaps from the bathroom doorway with only a towel wrapped around her, suds on her shoulders, her hair dripping. It’s her eyes. Angry and wild as she flicks them down to watch me stroke my dick from base to tip.
“Drop the towel,” I beg. “Crawl to me.”
She grips the knot at her chest tighter as she grits, “Get whoever you’re thinking about to crawl to you.”
“I’m trying to.” I add more spit to my palm, rolling it over the head of my dick. “But my wife is a stubborn fucking thing.”
A small smile lifts her lips, one she tries to fight as she tilts her chin in the air. “I’m not stubborn.”
“Oh, koukla mou, are you finally admitting you’re my wife?” Before she can take it back, I order, “Come. Here. If you make me chase you, I won’t give you my cum.”
She slowly unwraps the towel from her decadent body before she lowers, pushing her beautiful ass in the air like a fucking taunt. My marks are scarred there, the new skin shining in the sunlight.
K + D
There’s a fucked up part of me that wants to put the same marks on her face so everyone knows she belongs to me.
Her tits softly bounce as she eagerly crawls.
When she stops in front of me, I hold her jaw to keep her in place, staring into her eyes as I slap my dick against her cheek.
“Beg for your husband’s cum, my little slut. ”
“Fuc—”
I shove my dick into her mouth, cutting off her lies.
She gags as I thrust up into her mouth, dragging her head down to meet me.
I fuck her face without any comment or anger.
It’s need. Need for her, need to be fucking human.
Her mouth is warm and the sun is on my skin.
Like she knows I need the warmth, she tugs on my shorts to press her hot palms to my thighs.
Choked gags mix with my moans as I watch her eyes fill with tears.
Tears for me. My god is weeping for me, giving me the most sought-after thing she possesses—her raw emotions.
Holding the sides of her head so my thumbs can feel those tears, I stand, pushing my dick further down her pretty little throat.
I don’t look away from her as I spit down in a line.
The desperate little slut seals her lips around me, trying to suck more of me down.
“Open.” I knock my knee against her shoulder. She glares at me, so I do it harder. “Open your fucking mouth.” As soon as her lips part, I add more spit as I gently thumb her tears off her cheekbones. “Good wife.”
She preens under the praise, lapping it up as she pushes her head forward to get more. There’s still a gap, something stopping me from being able to come. I have my wife on her knees, my dick in her warm and welcoming throat, but there’s this fucking thing stopping me.
Pain.
I need it to be able to function.
I grab her hair in my fist as I take my knife from my pocket. Her jaw turns slack. My shirt parts along with my skin, the frayed edges turning red, and those little fucking crimson drops hit my dick, racing into her mouth.
That gap is bridged.
Using my hold on her hair, I drag her up and down my dick as I make another cut. Deeper this time, sending more of my blood dripping down to her waiting mouth.
Delilah fucking moans as her lips become stained.
“Fuck. Close,” I moan.
She lifts her hand to my forearm, squeezing more proof of life out of my arm as I slam into her mouth.
My balls are aching for release, begging to be allowed a reprieve only she can provide as she holds my hand, bringing the knife to the inside of her bicep.
The cut isn’t deep enough to drip but as soon as the first crimson bead escapes, I stumble back.
My cum hits her chin and I drop to the edge of the bed as I furiously tug, emptying every drop into the open can on the floor.