The Human Husband.
1228 Words
The next morning the apartment felt heavier than usual. Adrian had come home late the night before after I confronted him about Olivia. He’d slept on the couch. I’d locked the bedroom door and cried until the rain stopped. Now the sun was up, but the air still carried the weight of everything unsaid.
I found him in the kitchen. He was already dressed for work, but he wasn’t rushing. He stood at the counter pouring coffee, shoulders tense, jaw tight. When he heard me, he turned.
His eyes were red-rimmed. Tired.
“I didn’t sleep much,” he said quietly.
“Neither did I.”
He set the mug down. Looked at me for a long moment.
“I keep thinking about what you said,” he said. “About how I made you feel. About how I’ve been making you feel since the wedding.”
He stepped closer. Not touching me yet. Just close enough that I could smell his cologne and the faint trace of last night’s whiskey.
“When I was a kid,” he continued, his voice low and rough, “my dad was never home. Mom waited up every night. She’d fall asleep on the couch with the TV on. I’d cover her with a blanket and go back to my room. I swore I’d never do that to anyone. Never make someone wait. Never make someone feel invisible.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
“And here I am… doing exactly that to you.”
He reached out slowly and took my hand, his thumb brushing my knuckles.
“I’m scared, Aria,” he admitted. “Scared I’ve already lost you. Scared I’ve turned into him.”
The words landed soft, but heavy.
I didn’t know what to say.
He pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around me. He held me like I might vanish.
Then he kissed me.
Slow at first, like he was asking for permission.
I answered by pressing closer and it deepened fast.
His tongue slid against mine. I moaned softly. His hands found my waist and pulled me against him. I felt him harden against my stomach. Heat pooled low in my belly.
He broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against my mouth. “Please, Aria.”
He kissed me again, desperately. Walked me backward until my back hit the kitchen counter. His hands slid under my shirt, his palms hot against my bare skin. Up my sides. Cupped my breasts and his thumbs gently brushed my n*****s until they peaked. I gasped into his mouth.
“God, you’re so responsive,” he breathed, his voice rough. “Always have been. I used to lie awake thinking about this. About touching you like this and actually feeling you want it back.”
He pushed my shirt up, lowering his head. He took one n****e into his mouth as his tongue circled the sensitive tip before he sucked gently at first, then harder, drawing it deep. The pull sent lightning straight to my core. I arched, fingers threading into his hair, holding him there.
“You taste like everything I’ve been too stupid to deserve,” he murmured against my breast. “I could stay right here and die happy.” He switched to the other n****e, giving it the same slow, hungry attention sucking, flicking with his tongue, grazing lightly with his teeth until I whimpered. “Feel that?” he whispered. “That’s me begging you to let me make this right.”
His hand slid between us. Cupped me through my leggings. Pressed. I rocked into his palm instinctively.
He groaned. “You’re wet for me.”
Fingers slipped under the waistband, found me slick. Stroked slow circles over my c**t. Then one finger inside. Then two. Curled them just right.
I moaned his name loudly.
He kept the rhythm and built on it. He kissed me again like he was trying to communicate to me through it.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Let me see you come apart for me.”
I did.
The first orgasm hit hard, shuddering, clenching around his fingers. I cried out, nails digging into his arms.
He didn’t stop. Kept stroking through it slowly, gently. Until I was trembling, oversensitive, boneless.
Then something shifted in him.
His eyes darkened.
He pulled his fingers out. Spun me around and bent me over the counter.
“Hold on,” he growled.
I gripped the edge.
He shoved my leggings and underwear down in one rough motion. He freed himself and pushed inside me in one hard thrust.
I gasped, surprised, then moaned.
“f**k, Aria,” he rasped, his voice thick. “You feel so good, so tight, so mine”
He started moving hard, deep, rough. One hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip. Every thrust slammed into me, hitting that perfect spot over and over.
“You like this?” he panted. “Like it when I stop being gentle?”
“Yes,” I gasped. “God, yes.”
He groaned then thrust harder, faster. The sound of skin on skin filled the kitchen.
“I’ve been too soft with you,” he said between thrusts. “I should’ve been taking you like this all along. Making you scream my name.”
I came again violently. My whole body clenched. My vision whited out as I cried out his name, legs shaking, almost collapsing against the counter.
He followed right after, burying himself deep, groaning low and broken as he spilled inside me.
We stayed like that for a moment, panting and trembling.
Then he pulled out gently. Turned me around and kissed me softly.
Held me against his chest.
We moved to the bedroom.
He laid me down then climbed in beside me and pulled me into his arms.
We lay there for a long time as different thoughts went through my mind.
His fingers traced lazy circles on my back.
“I love you,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes.
“I know,” I said.
I didn’t say it back.
Then I felt it.
Warmth between my thighs. Not arousal.
My period. s**t.
I tensed.
He felt it immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
I looked down.
Blood all over the sheets.
He didn’t flinch.
Just stood and walked to the bathroom. Came back with a warm washcloth and fresh towels.
“Lie back,” he said softly.
I did.
He cleaned me gently, carefully, without complain or disgust.
He helped me to the shower and ran a bath for me, adding the lavender salts I like.
He held my hand while I soaked.
He brought fresh clothes and clean sheets.
He made tea and sat on the edge of the tub while I dried off.
Wrapped me in a towel then carried me back to bed.
Tucked me in again.
Climbed in beside me.
He held me all night.
No expectations.
Just him.
Whispering against my hair: “I’m here. I’ve got you. Rest.”
I cried again, quietly.
Not from pain.
From the sudden, aching realization that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the monster I’d made him out to be.
And that made everything so much harder.
Because Nikolas was still waiting.
And I didn’t know how to choose.
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