Deprived Wife 1
Zara
A firm knock on the front door made me jump just a bit as I tightened the sash around my robe.
I paused near the mirror by the hallway, catching a quick glance at myself. My hair was thrown up into a lazy bun with my robe slipping off one shoulder, silk camisole clinging to my breasts in the heat. A little too thin and little too noticeable.
Victor would’ve made a comment. Something passive, or impatient. But Victor was already at work, and the house was quiet.
I padded over to the door barefoot, opened it just enough to peek through.
And there he was.
He stood tall, dressed in black, shirt rolled to his elbows, pants fitted but modest. His skin was a rich brown, smooth, stretched over lean muscles that didn’t quite fit the image of a house driver. He looked lik
