The Obedient Wife (an erotic short story) (3 page)

His footsteps hurrying down the stone case, he left her.

The miller’s daughter sat in the darkness, wondering what she’d done, how she might have displeased him. But another niggling worry entered her mind. All the while he’d taken her, she hadn’t felt his coarse hair abrade her sensitive skin. Not anywhere. And his voice, while still a deep rumbling bass, hadn’t growled.

Had she even been swived by the same creature?

At that thought, she sat upright and wiped the sheet between her legs to dry his seed and snuck out of the room, pressing her naked back against the cold stone wall as she slipped downward.

A light blazed in the hall he’d led her to when she first arrived. She took a deep breath and quickly peeked around the corner, but whoever was inside sat in a high-backed chair, facing a blazing fire. She couldn’t see his face.

As silently as she could, she crept into the room until the profile of the being sitting in the chair was clear. She gasped because he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen—hair black as midnight, a heavy manly brow and strong jaw. His body was muscled, but lean, his cock large even though it lay flaccid against his solid leg. Her breath caught.

A dark, angry gaze swiveled her way, and a loud growl reverberated through the room. “You disobeyed me!”

The voice, although slightly thinner, was indeed her beast’s, but she stared gape-mouthed at the creature in front of her—wholly male and as naked as she. Her body burned remembering how the shaft lying close to his brawny thigh had filled her. “It is you? Truly you?”

“Fool,” he bit out. “It was all for naught.”

“What, sir?” she said, reacting to the despair in his voice. “Tell me.”

With his expression hardening, he waved a hand toward his body. “You see this form that pleases you so? It was mine before I fucked a hag’s daughter. When I refused to wed her because she was not a virgin, her mother cursed me.” He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. When he opened his dark brown eyes again, he revealed a devastating sadness. “Now I spend my days as the beast, my nights as a man. If I’d found an obedient wife, a virgin wife, I would have broken the curse. Now I’m damned to live out my life as neither fully man nor beast.”

The miller’s daughter’s eyes filled with tears caused by a foreign sense of empathy for this man she barely knew. Her heedless action had caused him despair. For the first time in her life, she felt a burning lump of regret lodge in her throat.

She stepped closer, despite the anger tightening his features. “This curse. What does it cost you?”

“I am a fearful sight,” he gritted out. “I frighten the villagers. They refuse to serve me. I fear they will one day revolt and murder me because I am not fully human. And worse, I cannot touch a woman in passion for fear my talons might tear her flesh.”

For the first time in her young life, her thoughts were not for her own comfort or pleasure. Her chest tightened as she realized the damage her damnable curiosity had wrought.

A pulse pounded in her neck. She licked her lips and crept closer still. “If another acts in your stead to acquire those services you miss, is not that problem solved?”

His eyes narrowed, but he gave her a swift, sharp nod.

“If another can acquire the staff and men-at-arms to properly see to your security, is not another problem solved?”

After a moment, his chest rose and he nodded more softly this time.

Beneath his glittering gaze, her resolve grew. “If you found yourself a wife willing to bed the beast
and
the man, would not the last problem be solved?”

His breath left in a long, pent-up sigh. “Yes.”

Hands on her hips, she sniffed and tossed back her hair. “This nonsense about finding an obedient wife, that’s not something you truly desire, is it?”

His beautiful smile took away her breath, and his hands shot out to grip her hips and bring her over his body to straddle his thighs. “I will demand obedience in only one place.”

“And where will that be?” she whispered, a smile curving one corner of her mouth.

“The bedchamber, of course.”

After a thrill flashed through her body, she leaned close to his mouth. “I will be a slave to your pleasure, milord. In the bedchamber.”

He shifted her until his cock sought refuge in her silky, slick well. “Then I shall be your master, and happily so.”

The miller’s daughter smiled, for she had longed for adventure and to see amazing sights.

The man before her embodied all her desires—for freedom to live her life as she willed, for a companion whose desires matched her own greedy appetite. For a beast who could make her tremble with fear and delight.

Pressing her hands upon his strong shoulders, she fucked the handsome lord until the shadow of the beast reawakened in his dark eyes.

Delilah Devlin is a
New York Times
and
USA TODAY
bestselling author of erotica and erotic romance with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. She has published over a hundred thirty erotic stories in multiple genres and lengths, and she is published by Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Grand Central, Harlequin Spice, HarperCollins: Mischief, Kensington, Montlake Romance, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing.

You can find Delilah all over the web:

WEBSITE

BLOG

TWITTER

FACEBOOK FAN PAGE

PINTEREST

Subscribe to her
newsletter
so you don’t miss a thing!

Or email her at:

[email protected]

S
herry stood so
near the closed blinds, she could feel the heat trapped between the white wooden slats and the double-paned glass. Dust motes floated in the gilded light slipping between the blades. All she could do was stare.

She finally had what she wanted. So, why wasn’t she happier about it? Perhaps because now that the election was over, the whirlwind pace of her life had slowed. And little things became as glaringly clear as the floating specks.

Being mayor of a small West Texas town didn’t pay squat, meant she couldn’t step out of the house in sweats, a holey tee and no makeup, and pretty much guaranteed she’d have to run into her soon-to-be-ex-husband on occasion.

The only upside was if she kept super-busy,
maybe
she would barely even think about him.

“It’s a wet down ceremony. We have to make a speech,” her assistant said, her gaze fixed on the tablet she always held filled with hen-scratched “notes to self.”

Only the notes weren’t to herself, they were to Sherry, the mayor. A strange quirk Sherry tried to find endearing. But Martha had made it very clear, by the way she’d commandeered Sherry’s schedule and made executive decisions about the appointments she ought to keep, that she didn’t consider Sherry mayoral material. Martha likely thought Sherry was too young and flighty. Caldera’s last mayor had retired from public service after twenty-five years sitting in this office. And in the past few, he’d allowed Martha free rein, something Sherry would have to deal with, but was reluctant to approach.

Sometimes, her EA creeped her out with her bifocaled, unblinking stare and constant use of the royal
we
. Sherry was the mayor, not the queen bee.

Although she had been a member of Caldera’s royal court for homecoming. Back in the day when she and Blake had been inseparable. High school football star, homecoming princess. They’d both been so beautiful. So freaking stupid. And there she was thinking about him again.

She flipped the blinds and stared across the street at the fire engine parked on the concrete drive, already looking cleaner than her kitchen counter—and they were giving it another bath? Why? Soon, they’d be retiring the truck because it was too old. She snorted. A fireman
would
have an obscene name for a ceremony that retired one loyal, trusty engine and introduced a prettier, sleeker new model.

Sherry drew in a deep breath. She wasn’t going there. Wasn’t going to imagine what a firefighter’s personal wet down ceremony might entail. Again, she gripped the cord, ready to flip back the blinds. As a force of habit, she kept them permanently turned to prevent even an accidental view of the station across the street. The open bays faced City Hall, and on any given day, she could look out and see the firefighters on shift in their torso-hugging t-shirts and dark pants, looking sexy as hell as they crawled all over their big engines…

Holy shit, her mind was wandering again. “Can’t someone on the city council take the ceremony?” she asked, not looking back.

One of the firemen was speaking to someone just out of sight.

She waited, her breath held as the other man moved into view.
Blake.
Her entire body sighed. Head-to-toe tingled. She might be mad as hell at him, but she still loved everything about the way he looked—close-cut dark brown hair, brown eyes a girl could sink into, shoulders so broad you just knew you were safe when he appeared—and right now, he was shirtless, holding his tee in a crumpled wad and wiping his damp chest. She swayed closer to the window.

Why was he such a sweaty mess? Was he hydrating? Good Lord, did the man never age? She worried about every pound that made its way to her ass, but he looked better than when they’d split. Did he spend all his time in the fire station gym because he was lonely? She stiffened. Maybe she should head to Curves instead of eating rocky road ice cream while watching reruns of Dr. Quinn and Sully making moony eyes at each other.

He rubbed his chest again, and then lifted the shirt to swipe the back of his neck, revealing his pale underarm. Oh, she’d loved that dark tuft of hair beneath his arm. She smiled as she thought about the time he’d awoken to discover she’d made a teeny-tiny braid with that silky hair. He’d chased her through the house, threatening to spank her for disrespecting his manhood, but when he’d caught her, he’d bent her over the kitchen table and given her a different kind of pounding instead.

“We’ll make sure Lois Freely from Texas Weekly is invited, too,” Martha said, her pencil scratching across the pad.

Her warm and fuzzy regrets dried up in an instant, and Sherry flipped the blinds, cutting off the delicious view. “You do that,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from sneaking into her tone. “Can’t have her missing out on watching a fireman use his hose.”

She remembered what her granny had said about wishes and assholes.
Ever’body has ‘em, shoog.
At least, she could cut one asshole out of her life. The papers were in her top drawer. The sooner she had them served, the better.

Of course, she’d have to check her schedule first to see when she’d have time to call a process server. Hell, she should have done exactly what Blake’s brother had advised when he’d drawn up the divorce papers.

“Honey, let me handle this for you.”

She’d noted the sparkle in his eye and knew he didn’t believe she would ever go through with ending her marriage. Did he think she kept him on retainer just because she needed an expense to write off her taxes? Never mind the fact he only charged her twenty-five dollars a year.

Years ago, Blake had asked Ryan why he’d accepted her as a client, seeing as how Ryan was
his
brother. Ryan had smiled. “Bro, don’t you want someone in this family knowin’ what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of hers?”

Well, she would have the last laugh. Her puny retainer still ensured attorney-client privilege, and she’d specifically forbidden Ryan from warning Blake about what she was up to. If she worked up the nerve, maybe she’d deliver the papers herself and slap his naked, sweaty chest with that thick sheaf of legalese that would finally, and permanently, put an end to their seven-year marriage. Then she wouldn’t care how many wet down ceremonies he had. He could leave all the women of Caldera, Texas shiny and clean and wondering how the hell they’d ever find a lover like him again.

From the corner
of his eye, Blake glanced up to the second floor window across the street. The blinds flipped closed, and he let out a deep sigh. For a moment, he’d felt her gaze all over his body. Back in the day, he’d been able to feel her gaze slipping over his skin, lifting goose bumps. A long, long time had passed since he’d felt that burn. Maybe he’d just been imagining the sensation now. Sherry had made it plain she was over him.

“Benny, you send the mayor our request to hold a fundraiser?” he asked his sergeant. Didn’t matter it was his job to interface with the city. Regarding the mayor’s office, he just didn’t have the stomach to pretend Sherry was a stranger. He couldn’t keep it strictly business.

“Yeah, boss. That dragon of a secretary said she’d pass the word. I told her it’s a good time, that the public would enjoy it. Sure could use the money we’d rake in with the spaghetti dinner.”

Blake pursed his lips. They needed the funds to send the new volunteers for training in San Antonio. Perhaps he should deliver the request in person. Make sure that secretary of hers was giving her all of his messages. “I’ll follow up with the mayor,” he said, eyes narrowing.

Benny’s lips pressed into a thin line.

He was trying to hold back a smile. Likely thought the cool weather between him and his wife was just their latest tiff. Benny hadn’t been there the last time things went sideways.

“You let her slide down your pole?” Sherry had said, her tone low and deadly.

“You make it sound like she was sliding on this pole,” he said, cupping his dick. “She’s a reporter. Maybe she wanted her Bridget Jones moment.”

Her arms crossed over her chest. “She was in a dress. Did you stand at the bottom of the pole?”

He’d made the mistake of shrugging—something that made her nostrils flare like a bull’s when a toreador’s cape flapped. “It was her first time. I couldn’t have her injuring herself.”