Chapter 43

Vivian

He distracted me with that kiss. I knew that's what he was trying to do, and I let it happen. In my defense, that kiss was sweet and tender and life affirming. Warmth bloomed in my chest and spread to my extremities. My fingers tingled, and my toes curled. My heart began to race, and all thoughts fled from my head.

I held his face between my hands and deepened the kiss, and he let me. For the first time, he let me lead the kiss. It filled me with a sense of power that was heady. A part of me was also taken aback, and a kernel of worry was born inside me, but I pushed it away. I crawled into his lap, and he held me and continued to kiss me and nibble on my mouth all the way home. Then, he led me into our bedroom and made love to me.

It was slow, and intense, and he made sure he made me climax thrice before he came. I fell asleep in his arms, and the next day. I woke up to find him gone.

I didn't see him all that day, nor the day after. Last night was the third night we've been apart since we returned to London. I waited up until two a.m. but fell asleep before he came home.

This morning, when I wake up, there"s a dent in the pillow, which shows he came to bed. But he was gone before I woke up, which means he"s getting very little sleep.

I swallow down the mounting panic which bubbles below the surface of my thoughts. This isn"t a sign of anything but his grief over Karma, I tell myself sternly. He"s not avoiding me on purpose. He's not. Besides, he texted me a few times and apologized that he wasn't around. He also made sure our belongings were returned from his country home, so it's not like he hasn't been thinking of me.

He insists he has work to catch up on after the couple of days he was away, which is fair enough, I suppose. Of course, he has a business to run which takes up his time. But it would be nice if he also made time for me. We are newly married. Isn't this the time husbands can't get enough of their wives? Isn't this when every night is supposed to be a fuckfest? And our honeymoon has shown me how much he wants me. So why is he staying away from me?

Then there's our conversation before he kissed me in the car which I can't get out of my mind. His words hinted that he foresaw a future when we weren"t together. Of course, there are no guarantees in any relationship, but my subconscious tells me there's something more behind his keeping his distance from me.

At the same time, I don't want to come across as too needy, so I've decided to give him space. Still, a part of me is a little angry, and also sad, that our honeymoon ended so quickly.

Less than ten days into our marriage, and I"m rattling around his empty house on my own. I know he has business to attend to; but he could, at least, spend the nights with me? I need to talk to him, but damn, if I'm going to have this conversation over the phone. On the other hand, damn, if I'm going to wait around here for him to turn up.

I reach for my phone when it buzzes with an incoming video call.

"Zoey!" I accept the call. "How are you?"

"Hey, how are you doing? Did you hear about Karma?" Her features fill the screen.

I swallow around the ball of emotion in my throat. "Q got a call when we were on our honeymoon at his country estate. We left and came straight to the hospital. We were there with Summer and Sinclair when the doctor broke the news."

Zoey sniffles. "It's so sad. She was so gifted, so talented and now—" She shakes her head. "Those poor kids of hers. My heart goes out to them."

I feel my own tears well up and blink them away. "Yeah, it's such a tragedy. I had no idea she was that sick. And to think, she took time out to leave me that video message." My heart squeezes in on itself. I manage to get my emotions under control to ask, "Have you heard anything about the funeral?"

"Not yet. I didn't want to bother Summer with my questions. She has a lot on her plate right now," Zoey murmurs. "I also didn't want to bother you, in case you were still in honeymoon land, but I couldn't stop myself from checking in to find out how you"re getting along, you know?"

"We're okay... I guess?" It seems wrong to complain about how my husband is keeping his distance from me, when Karma's kids have lost a mother.

"Uh, oh"—Zoey's forehead furrows—"trouble in paradise already?"

"Eh, nothing like that…" I hesitate. "Maybe he's been busy with work since we got back, is all."

"But doesn't he come home at night? You two are sharing a bed, aren't you?"

"We are"—I sigh—"but he's gone before I wake up, and by the time he returns, it's so late I've fallen asleep." Damn, my woes seem so insignificant compared to what Karma's family is going through. It makes me want to see my husband and be with him, and have him cuddle me and hold me even more. I hunch my shoulders. "I guess, I miss my husband. But I'm allowed, aren't I?"

Zoey's eyes round. "Wow, are you in love with him?"

"More like in lust," I mutter under my breath. Gah, did I say that aloud? My cheeks redden, and I toss my hair over my shoulders. "So, what"s going on with you, anyway?"

She accepts my change of subject. "I come bearing huge news. Huge." Her lips curve in a big smile. "Remember my friend, the gallery owner in Soho who I sent the pictures of your paintings to?"

I nod.

"She loves them. She wants to do a showing in four weeks."

For a second, I'm not sure I heard her correctly. Then I register what she"s saying, and my heart jumps into my throat. "Wait, what?" I splutter. "What did you say?"

"You heard that right, babe," she says with satisfaction. "She wants to do a showing of your paintings."

My pulse rate spikes. A fierce burst of joy crowds my ribcage. "She wants to do a showing?"

Zoey nods madly.

"Of my paintings?"

"No, of mine," she deadpans. "Of course, your paintings, dummy. I showed her the pictures of your paintings I took on my phone, and she loved them. Turns out, one of her other artists can't make it, so his slot is yours."

Goosebumps pop on my skin. Excitement floods my veins. "Oh my God, oh my God, this is unbelievable!" This is the chance I've been waiting for. Something not even money can buy. A chance to prove myself. This is what I hoped, and secretly prayed for, for so long. Then it sinks in. I wipe the smile off my face. "Did you say within four weeks?"

She nods. "Twenty-eight days."

"Jesus, that's very little time." I knit my eyebrows, and her face falls.

"Is it too little time to get a few more paintings ready? You had a good number in the flat the other day that I saw…"

I nod slowly. "I have about twenty, I think."

"She needs at least twenty-five," Zoey adds.

"Twenty-five?" I gasp. "So, I have to create another five?"

"You said you can create entire paintings overnight."

I laugh. "That was one painting. An outlier. It's never like that, normally."

"You did it once; you can do it again," she says with a confidence I don't feel.

"Can I?" I hunch my shoulders.

"Of course, you can."

"I... I'm not sure…" I begin to pace the floor of the living room.

"But you have to try, right? Didn't you say you've been wondering what to do with yourself while your husband is busy at work?"

I pause, struck by her words. She's right. I've been moping around the house when I could have been painting. For some reason, I hadn't even thought about it. How strange. I've been wanting the mind space to paint, and now, when I have it, I'm not using the time wisely? And if I missed out on this opportunity, would I ever forgive myself?

"What do you say, can you do it?" Zoey pushes her glasses up her nose. "Or should I tell her?—"

"I'll do it." I nod. "Tell her I'll do it."

Perhaps, it's the relief of not having to earn a daily wage, or maybe, it's the knowledge that I"m married, beginning to sink in. Or maybe, a part of me has been unlocked by Q's dominance. Or maybe, it's Karma's sudden death that shifted something inside me. Maybe, it's that I subconsciously feel my husband pulling away and I can't understand why. More likely, it's a combination of these factors, along with the deadline that Zoey's gallery owner friend imposed on me, but when I sign the contract, she sent me, a familiar excitement grips me.

Adrenaline laces my blood. That tingling that starts at my fingertips and extends to my heart, and then to my head, the one that tells me I'm ready to start painting, has me marching into one of the guest bedrooms that Q told me I could use as my studio.

He had my paintings moved in there, along with my art supplies—and new ones he bought for me, which I notice now as I stand in front of the easel. I allow the painting to take shape on the canvas, let my thoughts turn to the man who's at the forefront of my mind and guide my fingers.

I dip my brush into the paint and slash it across the canvas in one bold stroke. Where the hell is my husband? I load the brush again, and the trembling of my hand sends a spray of crimson across the black.

I step back and brush my hair out of my eyes to examine the effect. For some reason, I can hear Q"s voice in my head, telling me to let go. I fling my arm out, and another spray of crimson splatters like blood. My bleeding heart would look like this canvas.

I dip my brush in purple and splash the purple over the crimson. And those are my desires, bubbling to the surface. Yellow for the need. Green for the yearning I feel for him. Pink for the tenderness I glimpse in him. Black for the darkness that connects us. Blue for his eyes. I set down my brush, then pick up my palette knife and begin to etch out an outline.

I paint into that night and the next day. I end up sleeping on the daybed in the room and break to eat when I'm hungry. I'm almost done with my first painting. That's not bad, considering I haven't painted in so long.

I look away and toward the window. It's dark outside. Gosh, another day has passed, and I haven't seen my husband yet. Where the hell is he? The need I bled out all over my canvas has me trembling. The idea of heading off alone to my cold, lonely bed brings tears to my eyes. No way. I"m not waiting another night.

I square my shoulders. No way, am I waiting another night, only to find I've missed him again. I throw down my brush and take off the apron I've been wearing over my clothes. I rush to our bedroom, jump in the shower, then pull on a dress that comes to mid-thigh. I throw a jacket over it, pair it with ballet pumps, then rush out of the house. The car and chauffeur he's put at my disposal is parked outside.

It's nearly nine p.m. by the time I arrive at his office.

I take the elevator to the penthouse and walk down the deserted corridor. I haven't been here before, but my name was on the list and the security guard downstairs told me where to find my husband. I reach his door and push it open. The room is empty.

I walk in, my feet sinking into the plush carpet. The spicy scent of woodsmoke and pine, which is so very Q hangs in the air. It's as if I'm surrounded by him. I walk toward the desk that takes up almost the entire back wall. The swivel chair behind it is empty. I glance around the room, then slip into the chair.

It's so big, it overwhelms me. I sink into the plush leather. The seat is warm, which means he must have vacated this chair recently. I place my arms on the armrest and close my eyes. There's so much of him in this space, I can almost pretend he's right here in the room with me. My nipples tighten, and my pussy clenches.

Oh god, I miss my husband. I wish he were here with me.

If he were, would he squeeze my breast? I bring my hand to my breast and squeeze it. Would he touch me between my legs where it hurts?

I flip up my dress, thankful I decided to eschew my panties, then slide my hand under and cup my pussy. Sensations sizzle out from the contact. The hollowness in my core grows, and I squirm. I squeeze my thighs together, but that doesn't help.

I could stuff my fingers inside my throbbing pussy, but the girth would be nowhere close to the size of his fingers or his dick. Perhaps, it'll alleviate some of this emptiness inside, though? I brush my fingers against my entrance when I hear a groan.

Was that me?

No, it sounded too masculine.

It sounded like?—

I snap my eyes open. Wait… Wait… Another groan… This one deeper, more insistent than the first.

I whip my head in the direction of the sound and notice the door to the ensuite bathroom is ajar. Is he in there?

Is there… Someone with him?

I swallow, then slip off the chair. I head toward the bathroom, when another guttural noise reaches me. That sounded almost painful. I wince, reach the door, and push it further open.

The sound of wet flesh hitting flesh reaches me.

It's so explicit, there's no mistaking what it is. Heat flushes my skin. Is there someone with him, and are they doing what I think they are? Does she have her hands and her mouth on his cock?

I shove the door open all the way and barge in.

And come to a stop because there's only one person in here, and it's my husband. With his cock in his hand.

He's pushed his other hand into the bathroom tile to balance himself. He's standing in profile to me, which means... He's in the shower stall, but the shower is not running. The door to the stall is open, indicating he was about to step out but stopped halfway. Judging by the wetness of his body, he's also just finished. The shower, that is.

As for his other business, his shaft is long and thick and stands upright, and when he squeezes it from base to crown, liquid gleams on the head.

My cheeks flush. Oh, my God. He's jerking off.

I've missed him all these days. I was sure he was avoiding me, his wife. Apparently, he also decided to take care of his needs on his own instead of fucking me? Instead of commanding me, his submissive, to get down on my knees and suck him off, he's using his hands to give himself relief.

I should leave.

No...

Anger squeezes my chest. I take a step forward with the intention of telling him off, when he throws his head back and begins to pump himself harder.

The squelching sound is impossibly loud in the space. It arrows straight to my clit, which throbs. As if of their own accord, my feet carry me closer. My gaze is riveted by the sight of his cock growing thicker. As I reach the open door to the shower, I can make out the thick veins that stand out in relief on the underside of his shaft. He continues to stroke himself from base to crown, and again. Each time he reaches the head, more cum oozes out from the head.

My scalp tingles, and my throat dries. My stomach is so heavy, it feels like I've swallowed a stone. I watch closely as he continues to wank off, his shaft growing more purple by the second.

For a second, I'm jealous that he could give himself so much pleasure. Then the tendons of his throat pop and he growls, "Fuck, Raven, fuck." I know he's thinking of me as he jacks off.

I allow my knees to hit the floor, and when I look up at his face I gasp, for his eyes are open. His blue eyes are filled with lust. But the expression on his face is one of agony and an impending ecstasy. It's how he looked when he came inside me.

When his stomach muscles convulse, I know he's close, and before I can stop myself, I arch up and close my mouth around his cock.