EPILOGUE ONE
Flower (6 months later)
The rapper turned flutist’s music fills the tranquil space as I move into another asana.
Ignoring the door sliding open, I slide into the next pose.
Slowly and with careful precision I move through another and another pushing my body, giving it grace as I lengthen my poses and hold my positions longer.
Sweat clings to me. The valley between my breast feels like a swamp. Part of the practice is not to let little distractions like this or the door opening stop me.
One thing that’s helped me get better maintain my focus is practicing with my eyes mostly closed but that does nothing to stop me from knowing who’s entered or my body’s response to the cool citrus and menace of my husband.
Now, another area lower and between my legs is just as drenched. Not that it matters. In the last six months after the yacht Akchiro hasn’t touched me but in the most vanilla and gentle ways.
Therapy has made our marriage better in every way — except this. He hasn’t made love to me in the way we both like. Joint and individual therapy sessions has led to open and frank dialogue between us and tears, so many tears. I been left raw and so has he but we’ve healed so many wounds. Yet, this is my only complaint and I finally broke down and told my therapist my fears — my husband the big bad ass billionaire doesn’t find the broken, fragile girl attractive; he wants the fun effervescent baddies when I needed to be sex kitten hot, not me, not the real the Flower, her he’s scared to bruise and break.
I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want anyone other than the mean motherfucker he presented from day one. But that’s the problem with pretending you think everyone is in on the con. You think that everyone is wearing a mask. So when you come upon the real deal like Akchiro Motherfucking Tekada you don’t know how to act. He’s square dealing with you so you try to keep up the fa?ade for as long as you can only you can’t. That’s the problem with being inauthentic — you play yourself. Eventually it all falls apart. You’re left tout in the cold looking stupid, striped of everything that made you look like the confident bad bitch you never were. Heart cratering at the thought I know I can’t delay the inevitable reckoning any long.
Pulling out of my last asana I turn to face my husband reclining in one of the plush chairs.
“Hi,” I say. My breath catches in my throat when I see the unrelenting anger etched in his face.
Seconds tick by as his hard gaze rakes my sweat slickened body. I squeeze my thighs tight hoping he doesn’t see the effect he has on me even in his anger. An epic failure if the flare of his nostrils is any indication.
Tense silence envelopes the room and he regards me like a feral predator. I attempt take a step back, but he slowly shakes his head stopping me.
I can feel the pulse in my throat, the speed of my heartbeat.
Now that I’m not activity moving the cool air caresses my body. My nipples bud, I feel the prickle of the raised flesh on my exposed skin. I feel more exposed than ever as I try to figure out what I’ve done to bring this about.
Akchiro is blindingly angry with me for the first time in months.
Crossing my arms over my breast, I tilt my head and try again, “Umm, is everything okay?”
He crosses one leg over the other scrutinizing me as if I’m some equation he can’t figure out.
“You tell me, Flower-chan. How much of my face will satisfy you?” cupping his chin he regards me with unmitigated fury.
“W-what?” My heart plummets straight into my tummy as I shake my head taking another step back.
He’s on me in seconds, snatching me into his body.
“No you fucking don’t,” he grits through clenched teeth.
“You don’t get to fear me.” He shakes me a little. “I’ve never would never hurt you. How fucking dare you? I love you. Flower, you are my life.” Betrayal is rife in every word.
“I—”
“Shut the fuck up.” His eyes are black diamonds, hard, unyielding, cold, unforgiving.
My mouth snaps shut. My eyes sting. We’ve talked about my tears and how they gut him. We’ve talked about my emotions. We talk about how he can love me better. We talked and talked and talked. It dawns on me then that we’ve had yet to live this new life — this new beginning.
I stop my go to reaction. I just stop and see. See the pain in my husband. See how hard he’s worked in loving me. How far he’s come. All the work he’s done to mend our marriage and how much of himself he’s given. Then I think to my recent gripe. My recent spiel to the therapist knowing that she would tell him what I could not. I realize too late it is a gross break in the privacy my husband holds so dear. How much he’s given of his intensely private self in order to help me heal.
This is something I should have trust him with. Instead, I brought an emissary between us when all I had to do was tell him what I needed and he would have complied.
Looking into the onyx abyss of his gaze, I swallow past my trepidation. “I know why you’re angry. I should have come to you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I know better. I got too comfortable.” I touch the hard unyielding visage of his face before I drop to my knees bowing for this grave dishonor to my husband.
“Imagine my surprise when the therapist informed me, how I was neglecting my wife. How she lamented over my milk toast response to her lusciousness. How I was neglecting to her tight little pussy. How she longed for the taste of my come, the burn of my belt and palm. How I left her wanting to for my hand necklace.”
Keeping my head bowed, I hid my smile hearing the cadence and timbre of his voice.
Slowly his hand wraps around the topknot I put my hair in earlier.
“I gave face to your therapist.” Slowly he twines my hair in his fist lifting me. “Now, you will give me yours.” His hold raises me to my knees. “Your mouth.” Higher past his knees. “Your throat.” To his knees.
His dick is jutting beautifully against the front on his pants. “Take me out.”
That’s all the instruction I need. I do as he demands.
His hard heavy dick rises well past his waist but drifts to the left as always. Rising higher I level it with my mouth, taking him in his into my mouth.
“Fuuuuuck yes,” he growls. He doesn’t move, doesn’t thrust giving me time to adjust. He is delicious. All man. Snaking my tongue around the head, I lick him with my tongue, taking my time savoring every delectable inch of him until he’s wet and come his dripping from his slit.
Again and again like his head as come seeps from the tip. He’s everything sweet, salty and spice. Taking my time, I savor every drop he gives me. My husband is delicious. His hand flexes in my hair but he doesn’t thrust letting me have my way.
Sliding my tongue along the length I make sure not to miss nary a ridge. He’s been so patient, so kind…
Dipping lower I suck his sac into my mouth rolling his balls on my tongue.
“Damn, girl,” he arches into my mouth letting me do as I please. Inside I’m giggling an kicking my feet finally getting the change to pleasure him.
Lower still I lick. He grasps my head then keeping me there letting me fuck him with my artful tongue.
Shuddering he releases my hair to grip the base of his dick. “You’re about to make me come, wife.” His breath saws in and out as he pulls away.
Hiding my smile, I duck my head kissing from one leg to the other from ankle thigh. He’s all citrus, spice and the heady musk of man.
“Fuuuck,” he groans when I take him again. I go as far back as I can until he touches the back of my throat but still it’s not enough. Easing back out until his head emerges with a loud pop, I look upi with a challenge dancing in my eyes.
“You gave face, husband. Now fuck mine, unless you need to use our safe word.”
I see the moment surprise gives way to resolve.
“Just make sure you don’t use it my little cumslut, not even when they hear your scream and come running to save your little ass.” He grounds out his words like sharp knives skating over my sensitive flesh.
There is something about his words that makes my tummy drop and my pussy tingle. I can’t fathom why or how he does this to me, why I love it so much or how I ended up loving a villain more than I love the man he tried to be for me for so long.
The realization hits me and when it does it heals more than years the of therapy — there doesn’t need to be an explanation it just is; we just are. Tow imperfect being doing our damnedest to love each other the best we can and that is enough. We are enough.
Letting the smile spread across my face I look up to hard gaze. “You promise?”
Strong tapered finger spear into my hair steadying me. “Open your fucking mouth, wife. ” The guttural words have my essence leaking from me as I do exactly as he commands.
Hard, ridge muscle slide past my welcoming lips, push past my ready tongue deep into my thirsty throat in one relentless drives.
My husband fucks my face in the way he made me come to crave. Everything in that moment tunnels down to only us and the deliciously filthiness that emanates for the way he dominates my very being as he finds the pleasure that only I can give him.
In one particular drive he thrusts and hold himself in my throat. He pinches my nose close. My eyes fly open to a cruel malicious quirk on an otherwise impassive face. “Yeah, take that shit.” He pushes holding me firm. “I’m going to come and so are you.”
He fucks my throat alternating each drive with a suppression of my breathing. My pleasure ratchets higher and higher until he’s holding me in longer intervals. I can see, I can only feel. My thighs are clamped to tight again the pressure spiraling in my pussy.
“Come for me, baby, take me, Hana.” He grounds out as stars dance behind my eyes, tears flow and the orgasm he’s forced shakes me to my very foundation.
“Fuck yeah, pretty as motherfucker.” Hips rocking, dick spasming he nuts rope after rope down my eager throat.
“Come here,” he pulls me up positioning me over the sofa so that my bottom is tooted up and open to his hot stare.
No sooner than I’m draped with my arms spread against the back does a resounding slap fill the room.
“Very bad little lotus flower. Did you think there would be no recompense for your behavior beloved?” Another smack make my ass jiggle and shake.
“Fuuuck,” he growls dipping low to take me from pussy to take with his mouth. I tremble and shake, my eyes rolling in the back to the back and the decadent way my man is feasting on me.
“Akchiro,” I cry as he assiduously eats my pussy and ass. His tongue delves deep sucking my slit then speats inside. He dips a ling finger into my rosette long since training me to take him there.
Shaking, trembling, crying he takes me to the precipice of pleasure. Begging for more and pleading that his stops my words jumble into incoherence as he rings a shattering orgasm from me.
Air spills from my lungs in huge surges but a respite in not in the plans. Gathering me up he puts me on the yoga mat bowing me up and drives his long as fuck dick into me. My teeth snap hard enough to chip as he pile drives into me. all niceties were literally left at the door I belatedly realize as he fucks me for old and new. Balls slapping against my ass with each past he fucks me so deep. His mouth is cast in a grim determined line. Our lovemaking is quiet at times, so I’m surprised when he says, “Aishiteru yo,” like he’s mad about it.
“I love you, too,” Whimpering the barely intelligible words, I pull him down to takes his lips while he keeps driving into me like he’s trying to find the secret to life.
“I’m going to fuck my baby into you, Flower. I can’t help. It the way pulling my nut from me — fuck. Are you ready for my baby, girl?” He cupping my cheek he works hard and deep, swerving to hit my spot with each past. I’d promise him anything but I’ve been waiting for him to ask since the yacht.
“Yes, baby please, fill me up and give me a baby.” I plead.
Immediately he complies, lifting my leg pressing home again and again until we both are crying out as bliss becomes a blessing.