Deniah listened to her husband say the words and her heart stopped, then pounded in an uneven rhythm. She didn't know what was different this time, but sensed they had reached a cross in the road, and he was choosing the path less traveled.
They'd made love every night since Bianchi's party, sometimes slow, sometimes hot and frantic. He whispered erotic words and compliments, telling her she was beautiful and he wanted her.
But he had never looked deep into her eyes like he knew who she was. As if the outside layers peeled off to reveal the ripe pulp of fruit beneath, she felt exposed to him. She held her breath and waited for him to back away.
Instead, he cupped both of her cheeks in his palms and spoke directly against her lips. "You're my wife and I want to make love to you."
Then h
