Chapter 6
Damien
‘Provider’ – Sleep Token
With a sharp inhale through my nose, my eyes snap open.
The room is dark, and the only source of light is from the moonlight beaming in from the windows.
Our bedside clock reads just after two in the morning, and she’s sound asleep beside me.
She’s got a little bit of drool slipping out of her mouth, and it instantly eases my mind.
I just shake my head and grin. Seeing her in such a deep, peaceful state soothes whatever destructive sting forced me to wake up.
Her mere presence silences whatever war is waging between my psyche and my physical form—it always has.
I drag the pad of my thumb across her bottom lip slowly and wipe the drool away before I slip it on my tongue.
My eyelids fall closed as I taste her, and my chest instantly rumbles, charging my muscled form like a machine.
My cock instantly stiffens in response, and I bury my nose in her hair.
Her scent causes heat to bloom in my chest. A soft hum follows and bursts throughout my entire body like static as I start to caress her skin.
I move across her stomach, over her hip, down her thigh, and pretty much anywhere I can reach without causing her to stir.
Every inch I graze causes that hum to pulse, and it sends shocks through my limbs.
I pull my hand upward to trace a line along her stomach and between her breasts, until I get to the scar that makes my throat constrict.
Memories from that live stream play in my head instantly, and it causes me to stop.
The way she gritted her teeth and endured the pain for me charges forward like a hallucination.
I recall how her blood immediately rose to the surface and dripped down her body, but most importantly, how I wasn’t there to stop it.
She lived through hours of torment, both physical and mental, and all I could do was watch from a God damn screen—observe in agony as she took every blow to heart.
The words that vile piece of shit said still linger in her mind, and occasionally, I can almost hear them.
They come alive in the most unexpected moments, and I can always feel when they return.
None of what he said was true. Not a single fucking word.
I still think my wife is the most beautiful being to ever walk the earth.
Her face is the muse sculptors yearn for, and her body is a fever dream, constantly lighting up any space she walks into.
I’m still just as obsessed with her as ever, and these past five weeks without feeling her pussy strangle my cock has almost killed me.
But as much as I want that, it’s her head I’m worried about—her emotional state and how she sees my failures.
What if I don’t do it right? What if I can’t show her how I feel properly?
That’s never been an issue for us before, but as much as I hate it, things are different now.
Her mind, while in a better spot than it could be after what she went through, is still processing what happened.
I don’t want my touch to have any doubt, and I know the slightest bit will cause her to spiral.
I know deep down she’s afraid that he was right, and that I won’t ever view her the same way again.
Which would never. Fucking. Happen.
Ashia is the strongest person I know, and her scars only prove that.
But what if after everything, I can’t convince her of that? That every time I look at these scars or see the sadness in her eyes, it’s not her that I doubt, but myself? What if I can’t get over my own self-deprecation long enough to give her what she needs?
There’s no question here, though. I have to—need to.
My failures are not something that need to burden her any longer, and I won’t allow them to.
The only place they need to exist is inside my mind, where they can no longer hurt her, because I would rather drown myself in despair than splash her by accident.
If it didn’t mean never laying my sights on her again, I would claw out my own eyes so she couldn’t see the sorrow behind them.
I would willingly rid myself of any visible trace that could cause her to doubt herself if I knew it wouldn’t hurt her in the process.
I’d give her every sacrifice she demanded and more.
If she wanted my hand? I’d give her both.
She could ask for my head on a pike, and I’d cut it off myself.
If she truly wanted to hold my heart in her hands, I’d carve it out as I stared her in the eyes, and I’d make my last movement placing it in her palms. My last breath would be used to thank her.
I would deny her nothing. All she needs to do is ask, and I would provide it for her, no matter the cost. A week ago, my wife asked me to pleasure her, and it’s time I fulfil her wish.
My nose drags through her hair as I seek out more of her scent, needing her essence to heal me.
I’m convinced she’s the only remedy left on the planet—one especially made for me and the disease that crawls through my mind.
She’s the only one that bears witness to how it latches on, and she’s the only one that holds the power to fight the demons off.
They can’t touch me while I’m in her presence, and I worship her for it.
Even the slightest inhale or lingering taste eases the muscles that allow me to breathe.
She controls every aspect of this body, allowing my lungs to work and my form to move at her command.
She expects nothing but my love in return, and I willingly gave her everything, including that, the moment my eyes first laid upon her.
I start to move again, forcing my hesitant hand to run along the ridges of every new scar.
Each bump and dip serves as a reminder of how we heal each other, and how her strength will always prevail above anything else.
As my hand moves to the scar I left for her, that realization hits even harder.
She stared at her attacker in the eyes as I left my mark on her.
His last images were of me claiming my wife in a way that she has never trusted anyone else to do—no one but me.
She proved that his attempts to break us failed, and that even something as vile as the acts he committed could never tear us apart.
The feeling of that one scar gives me all of the confidence I need.
My lips move across her neck just before I graze my teeth along her delicate skin, and I adjust my hand to her swelling breasts.
Her soft, tender flesh fills my palm, and I start to knead the plump tissue—grasping it just roughly enough to pull a small moan slip from her lips.
That little sound is enough to make my spine rattle, and I catch myself grinding against her ass.
“That’s right, little wolf. Crave me,” I whisper in her ear.
My tone is soft enough to keep her asleep, but it’s meant to bring her mind a little closer to reality.
I tuck my other arm underneath her just enough to trace the underside of her small belly.
The feeling of her growing form runs along my fingertips just before I dip my hand into her shorts.
I find her needy, swollen clit immediately, and the moment I graze it, her skin pebbles with electricity.
My middle finger swirls around the small bead in slow motions, teasing the bundle enough to stimulate it before I move quicker for a beat.
I slow it back down after about two seconds, because I know how much my girl responds to the alternate speeds.
Her nipple peaks in my other hand, and I give both sensitive areas a small pinch.
She moans again, and my throbbing cock reminds me how impatient I really am when it comes to fucking her.
I take my hand off her breast and start to push her shorts and panties down.
She moves exactly as she should, and I can’t help but smirk against her taut skin.
My love has always been a kinky little thing, even if she didn’t used to think so.
She loves being fucked in her sleep, and I take every opportunity I can, knowing that I can dive into her decadence in her most peaceful state.
As she rolls on her back, I move carefully, ensuring to shift swiftly and hover over her ethereal form. I’m careful not to disturb her quite yet. She’s most responsive when she’s in limbo, and I want our first time in a while to be exactly what she needs.
My wife wants a good, hard fucking? She’ll get it.
I gently pull her clothing down and off her legs, watching as they lazily fall open the moment the fabric is gone.
My mouth waters as she willingly presents herself to me, and before she can fully rest her leg on the bed, I tuck my arm underneath it, so it lays over my shoulder instead.
Her skin prickles with more goosebumps as I trail my fingertips along the inside of her thigh.
My desire urges me further, and I start to pepper soft kisses along the sensitive skin there, feeling the texture along my lips.
The softness sends a warmth through my body, and I feel the heat in the room rise as I get closer to her core.
The moment my face inches close enough, I stick out my tongue and barely touch her slit.
She squirms just a little, and I slide my palm from her thigh up to her hip.
Her skin rubs against my hand with perfect softness—a silkiness so pristine that my hand glides as a whisper and causes the already-electric feeling in my chest to pulse.
I dive in a little further, licking her center with a smooth swipe, and direct my gaze to her face so I catch her reaction.
Her lips curve into a small, seductive grin, and when she snakes her hand down to lay on top of mine, I know she’s really starting to wake up. My eyes catch the small glint of moonlight off my wedding band, and as our hands lay on top of her small belly, a different fire blooms throughout my body.