12. Prime
PRIME
“What’s taking you so long?”
Deanna’s voice drifts from my open front door as I lug her suitcase up the stoop. It takes a lot of self-control to keep myself from snapping back, and since I’m light on that whole restraint thing these days, I dump the case down in the hall.
“You can always carry it upstairs yourself.” I brush my hands on my jeans and cross my arms. I like the way her eyes stray to my muscular chest as she puts hands on hips.
“We both know that’s not happening.”
“It’s almost bigger than you are.” I grin and picture her crammed inside. “What’s in here, anyway?”
“Half my wardrobe. Don’t worry, the other half is coming with the movers.” She wanders away toward the kitchen. “Go ahead and get started, darling husband. I’ll make you a drink.”
I rub the tense spot between my eyes. I don’t remember getting headaches before I married Deanna, but now they’ve bloomed anew each morning for the past few days.
The god damn wedding was a clusterfuck. Even worse than I imagined.
With a groan, I get the suitcase up to my bedroom and toss it near the closet. Now that’s her problem to deal with. Satisfied, I amble back down the steps, only to find my wife standing in the doorway of the game room holding two wine glasses.
“Reminiscing?”
She flinches around. “No, I wasn’t, I mean?—“
“Oh wow, you really were. Deanna, my darling bride, you’re positively blushing right now.”
“Shut up, Prime.”
“You’re picturing my beastly mouth between your legs?—“
“Shut up, Prime!”
“And you’re panting with heat as you remember the way my tongue?—“
“I swear I’ll throw this in your face if you don’t cut it out.”
“And will you lick it off me? While I let it drip down to my hard dick?”
She steps forward, eyes ablaze, but there’s not only anger in the way she’s giving me a death stare.
No, my prim and proper executive assistant is practically radiant with how bad she wants to fuck me.
She places one glass in my hands then lets her fingers trail down my chest.
“Prime, husband of mine, if your dick ever gets near my mouth, I’ll bite it the fuck off.” She flicks my right nipple. “Are we understood?”
“Baby, you know I like it when you’re mean to me.”
“God, you’re such an idiot.” She’s smiling as she walks away. I let myself enjoy the soft sashay of her hips before rubbing that damn tension spot again. My headache’s even worse now. I take a long drink, hoping the alcohol will help ease it.
I find Deanna hunched over the table. Light spills from the large back windows.
It nestles in her long, dark hair, and I’ve never noticed the auburn highlights before, and the way it waves down to the edges.
I never noticed the turn of her chin, the quick of her lips, that sexy-and-angry look she’s giving me?—
“What?” she asks. “You’re staring at me.”
“Your shirt’s on backward.” I walk over and join her as she quickly checks to make sure I’m lying.
“Real mature.” She spreads the papers in front of her and nudges a few toward me. “Are you ready to be a grown up now?”
“What’s all this?” I pick one up and start to read.
This Prenuptial Agreement is made and entered into this __ day of __, 2026, by and between Prime Spadaro (“Prospective Husband”) and Deanna Esposito (“Prospective Wife”), collectively referred to herein as the “Parties.” WHEREAS, the Parties contemplate marriage…
and on and on, an avalanche of legalese that manages to make my life sound maximally boring and unsexy.
“This is protection.” She frowns, clicks a pen, and makes a mark. “Read it.”
“No thanks.” I brush the page aside. “Sounds terrible.”
“Prime, this isn’t a joke. It’s a serious, legally binding prenuptial agreement.”
“Aren’t we supposed to sign that before we get married? I seem to remember kissing you in front of a priest.”
“Yeah, I seem to remember a room full of pissed off people watching a murder happen in real time too.” Deanna chews the nub of her pen. “Look, seriously, can you please read it? I don’t want you whining to a judge in ten years about how I forced you to sign at gunpoint or something crazy.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Maybe not but still, it’s for both our protection.”
“My word’s my bond. You know what the deal is. Write this monstrosity however you want. Fuck me over if that’s what you’re into.”
She stops biting the pen. “I’d never.”
“I didn’t think you would.” I put my hand on her lower back. “I’m not reading it.” I walk to the kitchen in search of something to eat, but as always, Deanna follows.
“Ahem. Schedule A — Spousal and Familial Support. This is the good stuff, Prime, so please pay attention.”
“I’m not listening.”
“For the duration of the marriage and continuing thereafter without regard to divorce, separation, or the death of the Husband,—“
“Wait a second. I’m paying for your shit even from the grave?”
“Damn right. The Husband shall provide for the full financial maintenance of the Wife and of her parents, Rosa and Vincent Esposito, including but not limited to housing, medical and long-term care, and all reasonable living expenses?—“
I cut her off again. “Hold on. That reasonable living expenses language is pretty vague.”
“No kidding.” Her eyebrows arch. “I thought you trusted me?”
“I do trust you,” I snarl, walking toward her. She dances out of my grasp as I try to take the paper from her hand. “But I’m also not paying for your yearly trips to Bali.”
“Oh, I like that. I should add in a vacation subclause.” She hurriedly scribbles as she keeps moving from my reach.
“Deanna, darling flower, I fucking swear?—“
“It keeps going. —for so long as each of them shall live. This obligation shall survive the termination of the marriage by any cause and shall be binding upon the Husband’s estate, heirs, and assigns. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds like you’re saddling my kids with this shit.”
“Pretty much.” She pretends to pout. “Or do you mean our kids?”
I stop chasing her. My pulse rockets at the idea of thrusting deep between her legs, fucking roughly into that tight, heaven-tasting pussy of hers and coming with a roar.
“I want to add some wording to that stupid thing.”
“Awesome. This is what we’re here for.” She returns to the table and sits down, her back straight, and finds some space on the documents. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”
I clear my throat and try to summon the best lawyer-bullshit language I can come up with. “The Husband reserves exclusive rights to the Wife’s tight, beautiful pussy, at all times, in all circumstances?—“
“Prime!”
“And the Husband retains the ability to use said pussy for whatever carnal, sinful, beautiful, and otherwise incredible gratifications as he sees fit.”
“I’m not writing that.”
“I have more, don’t worry.” I start pacing, getting into it now. “In event of any disagreement, the Husband requires all fights to end with sweaty, filthy, scream-filled fucking, including sloppy oral sex on the Wife or the Husband, or ideally both at the same time, as benefits each in the Party.”
Deanna’s mouth falls open. “Sloppy oral sex?”
“The Husband requires the Wife to suck, drool, lick, slurp, and otherwise orally please him, and will repay in kind at least three—no, five times per week. The Husband prefers to fill the wife’s pussy with a large, realistic toy?—“
“Toys?!”
“While she sucks his cock and moans with his dick deep down her throat.” I loom over her, smirking. “Shouldn’t you be taking notes, darling?”
She shakes her head as if clearing a dream. “You’re not a serious person.”
“I’m deadly right now, wife of mine. I want a vigorous sex life, and since you’re my only partner now?—“
“Who said that?!”
“—I expect you to be well prepared.”
“Prime.” She puts the pen down with a snap and crosses her arms. “Who said anything about being sexual partners?”
I drop to a knee beside her. She shies away, clearly excited.
I want to bury my mouth between her legs and breathe in her smell.
The rise and fall of her chest, the swell of her lips, she fucking makes me want to break here and now.
I started this as a joke, but there’s a glimmer of truth in every just kidding.
“I’m a loyal man. I don’t cheat on my wife.”
“But we’re fake married. You practically forced me into it.”
“That changes nothing. I said the words. And you—“ I catch her hand in mine and run my finger over her skin. “You’re wearing my ring. That means you’re mine.”
She makes a soft, strangled whimper as she wraps her head around what I’m saying. “That’s not… we never discussed…”
“How did you think this would work?”
“I don’t know!”
“You imagined I’d cheat on you?”
Her cheeks flush pink. “That never bothered you before.”
“I’ve never, not a single time, cheated on a partner.” I tighten my grip on her hand. “Do you hear me, Deanna? I’ve fucked around plenty, but every woman I’ve ever been with knew exactly what I wanted.”
“Oh.” She bites her lower lip. “What do you want now?”
I lean in closer, tugging her to meet me half way. Her chin lifts as I run my hands through her lovely, silky hair. “I want my wife… and I want contractual language obligating her body to my bed…”
She remains there wrapped in my embrace for several seconds and I’m not sure where this is going. What started out as teasing her is turning into a lot more. My dick’s raging and my blood’s burning, but she yanks back, grunting as I release her hair. She stands, gathering the pages hurriedly.
“You’re not funny,” she says, sounding breathless, and I doubt she thinks I’m messing around anymore.
“Are you giving me permission to sleep around behind your back?” I get to my feet, a flicker of anger beginning in my heart.
“I never expected more.”
“But you didn’t think about it, did you?”
“It doesn’t matter, Prime. This is fake, remember? You need me for social standing and I need your money. What you do with your dick is your business.”
“You are my business.”
“Technically?” She waves the contract at me. “Not entirely.”
“Think about it, Deanna. Picture me taking another woman home?—“
“You think I don’t know what you do? I’ve walked in on you more than once.” Her pretty cheeks are burning red. God, she’s fucking imagining me sleeping with someone else right now.
“Now you’re that woman.”
“No, I’m not. Your life is your life and my life is my own.”
“So now you’re saying you’re going to have other men?” A flash of Deanna in some faceless stranger’s arms sends my guts churning in a mess of jealousy. “Fuck that. Absolutely not. Put it in the contract.”
“Prime—“
“The Parties will refrain from seeking outside relationships, either physical or emotional, for as long as they are married. Something like that. Put it down right fucking now.”
“Prime!”
“I’m not joking.” I grip the edge of the table, fingers digging into the wood. Why do I care so much about this? A few weeks ago, it wouldn’t have crossed my mind to even picture Deanna tangled in a stranger’s sheets, let alone have strong feelings about it.
But now that I’ve tasted her and married her, now that she’s my bride and living in my house?—
The thought of some other man touching what’s mine makes my fucking skin crawl.
Rage burns brightly, and I think I’d kill for her.
“It’s fine with me.” She backs into the couch and stops, hand shaking as she clicks the pen open and scribbles in the margin. “I never planned on there being anyone else.”
“Damn right. You are mine now, Deanna. It doesn’t matter if this is real, if we love each other, if we don’t even fucking like each other very much.
You. Are. Mine.” I’m breathing hard, sucking air between my teeth.
Where did this god damn animal in me come from?
This savage, obsessive beast? I wasn’t aware I could care this much about a woman.
For so long they’ve been nothing but disposable toys.
She’s different. She means so much more.
Which is god damn terrifying.
“I’ll update the contract.”
“Good. Do that.” I turn away, slam back my wine, and get a refill. “One more clause before I go. The Wife agrees always and forever, whenever physically possible, to sleep in the Husband’s bed, to never be apart from him at night, where reasonable.”
“Prime—“
“Write it the fuck down.”
“Where are you going!?”
“To clear my head!”
To masturbate furiously in my car in the vain hope that I might not want to fuck you so bad it feels like my skin’s on fire.
God damn it. I escape the house like bullets are pinging around my feet.
The fresh air helps, but not enough, at least until I’m in my private garage pumping my cock like a maniac and looking at a picture of my wife on her Facebook page smiling and wearing a slightly low-cut top like a god damn fool.
Is this what I’ve become? An obsessed idiot? A pathetic, weak loser, slamming his dick and snarling his wife’s name, all because the idea of her being with someone else was like a knife to his chest?
This isn’t me, damn it. Relationships are poison. I’m fucking death, always have been, always will be. There’s a reason my best friend is a mafia king. Anything else and they’ll be buried in the ground sooner or later.
Now I’m dragging Deanna into this?
I’m going to ruin her. That’s all I can think after I’ve moaned her name and blown a load into a wad of napkins like a horny teenager. By the time this is all done, I’m going to be standing at her funeral, crippled with grief and teetering at the edge, at least if I can’t get myself under control.
Business. Arm’s length. That’s how we’ll play it.
She’ll be enough to make Fontana believe I’m turning my life around. I’ll get closer to the old bastard, and when it’s done?—
I’ll cut her free.
Instead of dragging her down to hell with me.