TOXIC

Mr. Rojanapat

I roll over, taking off my t-shirt and straddle my husband who is lying on his back. Our combined weight sinking into  the fluffy mattress.

"I am really a lucky man.", P'Arthit says as his eyes skim over my skin.

"Indeed, Mr.Rojanapat.", I smugly reply when his fingers spread in a possessive grip on my hips.

I grab his hands and pin them on either side of his head and kiss him...deeply, passionately.

"Ready?", I moan against his lips.

"Yes...", he groans, tilting his head, once gain catching my lips.

Just like that I slowly lower myself on to him. We gaze at each other as we pick a rhythm. I know he likes it..when I control, and he lets me dominate. I love him, this beautiful man who has shown me the world in all senses.

Our moans mixing with the crackling of wood in the fireplace. The frozen lake and the mountains blanketed in thick layers of snow as we move together under our white blanket. Our personal lake cottage bearing witness to our own whirlpool of unending passion.

"Kong......"

"mmmmm..."

"Kongpob..."

"........."

Why does this sound diff.....

I am jerked awake from my very pleasant dream.

"Kongpob...wake up.". I stare at the beautiful orbs of my husband. "You can sleep all the way to home, then continue sleeping once we reach."

I take his extended hand and leave our private jet. Once we are out, the hot wind hits my face immediately making me extremely stuffy that I tug at my turtle neck t-shirt.

Wait...why am I wearing this? Okay...now I remember. It's all his fault...not exactly, but still. I glare at my husband as he tightens his hand around my waist, as a smirk plays on his lips.

We just had our adventurous winter honeymoon, my first time experience of snow. Christmas went by as we explored the European cities while our new year was celebrated watching the iconic ball drop in New York City.

As a final stretch of our vacation, we visited the beautiful Croatia. Buzzing with excitement of warmth the private beach could provide after the month long freezing, I wore a simple shorts and a printed shirt before making my way to my husband.

"What do you think you are wearing?", he asks walking to the shoreline, all wet from the swimming.

"What do you mean?", I frown when he reaches to close the three top buttons. So according to him, my shorts are too small, and with three buttons undone I shouldn't bend since it's showing too much skin. I don't understand. What's the logic behind it?

"People are watching.", he says as if reading my mind. But there is no one around. It's a private property, and the only people around are our staff and security who are nowhere to be seen.

"Trust me, there are.", he says dragging me back to the beach house.

There were definitely people taking our pictures, paparazzi to be precise. I clearly remember what P'Arthit's mom told me last week, some of our pictures while roaming around the cities have been circulating in the internet for the past few days. They've decided to let it go since they are seemingly not harmful, furthermore the pictures are blurry. But I shudder at the memory of being surrounded by a couple of paparazzi at Paris courses through my mind.

He leads me to our bedroom before pushing me to the mattress as I bounce off. My punishment for being careless didn't end there. Later, he had hastily undressed me onboard the bedroom in our jet, and ravaged me thoroughly as the airplane soared above the clouds. I can't blame him since I was a willing participant.