7. Brady
Brady
Fuck me, that was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Pushing myself away from her like that. She was trembling in my arms. Shivering with the same need that I was feeling.
She wants me just as badly as I want her.
I know it.
With my cock hard as iron, I walk away from my wife. It takes a deranged level of willpower for me to abandon her there. I go into our suite’s bedroom. Alone. I leave the door wide open behind me.
Just in case she changes her stubborn mind.
Not likely.
I run a tepid shower and step in. Thinking about Cora’s pouty lips around my cock, I finish myself in two strokes. Then I turn the shower to cold. She will beg me for it. On her knees, her mouth open. On all fours, her ass in the air. Or even on her back, her legs spread wide for me.
Goddamnit, this water’s not cold enough.
She wants it. The way she kissed me back. The way she arched into me. And then that soft little moan she gave me at the end.
I turn the shower to freezing.
The only thing that’s in the way is her damn obstinacy. It’s something I’ve never had to deal with in a woman before.
In the past, if a woman played coy or hard to get, I usually didn’t bother. I enjoy challenges in general, but for years I’ve had my plate full. Keeping the family businesses thriving. Keeping Seven off our backs. Conquering those challenges has been satisfying enough.
I didn’t need the rush of conquering a challenging woman. And since I’ve always known my marriage would be arranged, it didn’t seem worth it to get invested in a girlfriend.
For me, women have been like movies. An entertaining escape from the real world that’s over in a couple of hours.
If it’s a high-octane thrill ride, awesome.
If it’s one of those confusing artsy movies that’s annoyingly hard to get into, I’ll leave the theater.
And unlike some men, I rarely enjoy seeing the same movie twice.
But this woman. Fuck.
Since she is my wife, I’m already invested. Not bothering is not an option. Unfortunately, neither is sneaking into a different movie. I may seem unprincipled when it comes to killing men and rival businesses, but I’ve always abided by my duties. And marriage is an inviolable duty.
I step out of the shower and dry myself off. Vaguely I remember selecting these towels when we opened this hotel. Only the plushest ones for our luxury suites. Each fiber scratches my skin like tiny knives. I’m still too on-edge from my exchange with Cora. From her outright refusal of me.
If she says she won’t be performing her wifely duties, so be it. But if she claims she doesn’t want to do anything of the sort, that’s a downright lie. Problem is, she’s not just lying to me. She’s lying to herself, enabled by her misguided stubbornness.
But I’m stubborn too.
In my experience, stubborn versus stubborn equals someone’s annihilation.
When I apply my brute force, I’m used to bending the world to my will.
But headstrong as she is, Cora isn’t a steel bar to be bent into shape.
If I’d been given some insipid nineteen-year-old for a wife like I’d expected, that’d be one thing.
Easy to shape however I want. But Cora’s too feisty to be forced into some mold.
And if she came out of a mold, she wouldn’t be Cora.
My wife isn’t raw material. She’s fully formed. In the few hours that I’ve known her, I’ve seen that beneath all that stubbornness, she’s complex and intricate. An enigma to decipher. My challenge isn’t to bend or break her, but to solve her.
Somehow I need to get her to admit the undeniable truth to herself: that she wants me. If she’s a puzzle box, then I need to locate the secret latch. Find just the right spot, apply just the right pressure, and she’ll spring open.
The problem is how fucking fascinated I am by this puzzle.
I can’t lose my head over this woman. I have shit to do that isn’t her. Businesses to run, people to manipulate, strategies to execute.
As long as I can keep my fascination with Cora in check, I’ll be fine.
It won’t be difficult. I’m not the type to get obsessed or infatuated.
Conveniently enough, I’m also not the type that others get obsessed or infatuated with.
There’s too much monstrosity in my life for me to bother being lovable.
Too much monstrosity in me.
It’s a credit to who I am. Given my line of work, empathy is foolish.
I throw back the covers and climb into bed. My wife is more than welcome to join me, but I’m guessing she’ll insist on using the separate bed in the bridal suite. A queen instead of a king, but outfitted to the same level of quality.
The sheets are eight-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton. The finest available for breathable softness. They suffocate me like a sleeping bag full of burrs. I toss and turn as I consider my approach to this woman, this challenge I’ve been given, equal parts frustrating and intriguing.
It’s a matter of showing my wife how badly she wants me. So badly she won’t be able to deny it. Not even to herself.