Professionally Perfect

Chapter 25

Robert.

If you asked me to describe last night I would fail horrendously. It was a night like no other. We fucked until the sun came up. Until we both passed out. It was times like those in which I was glad we didn't have anyone living with us. To say we were loud would be an understatement.

The moment Milo got us home we stumbled in through the door, Kimberly's lips on mine. I threw her over my shoulder and practically ran up the staircase, only dropping her once we got to the top.

Things got broken. She accidentally bumped into the mirror causing it to fall to the ground and shatter. I somehow broke a bedside cabinet - however that happened I have no recollection.

I was the first of us to wake up. The blankets were half on the floor, as well as two of the pillows. Our room was a mess. Kimberly was laying halfway down the bed, an arm draped over my thighs. I stroked a hand down her back, causing her shirt to hike up a little.

My heart fell.

The first thing to catch my eye was a faint handprint on her waist. My eyes travelled down to find more bruises. Bruises the size of my fingertips. The cuts and bruises on her ass.

I jumped out of bed almost immediately and stepped into the bathroom, feeling as if I was going to be sick. I could still see her from where I stood. She lay so peacefully. How?

Why didn't she ask me to stop? Part of me hoped Kimberly would wake up, see what I had done to her, see just how awful I could be and begin to scream at me. I wanted her to make me feel as bad as I clearly made her. But I knew she wouldn't do anything of the sort. Kim would wake up and give me endless smiles, which would only cause me to feel even more guilty.

I hated myself for hurting her, but I hated myself even more for enjoying every minute of it.

With a long breath, I gathered myself up and made my way down to the kitchen to make some breakfast. I didn't plan on making much, hoping I could take my wife out for lunch instead. So I put some bread in the toaster and fried up a couple of eggs.

My foot tapped against the floor over and over until I was beginning to drive myself insane. I couldn't calm down. I couldn't relax. How come putting a bullet in someone's head caused me to feel nothing, but fucking my wife until she passed out made me want to tear my heart in two?

Two arms slid around my waist along with a head resting against my back. I smiled. "Good morning, sweetheart."

"Good morning, handsome." Her voice was soft. Tired.

I turned off the stove just as the eggs had finished cooking and turned with her arms still wrapped around my torso. Her eyes were closed, head now resting against my chest. I didn't want to say anything, I didn't want to ruin the moment but I just couldn't stop myself. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes opened, offering me a confused look. "What?"

Allowing my hands to slip down to my wife's hips, I lifted her to sit on the countertop. "I'm sorry for last night."

"The club? I'll admit that it felt a little odd, but I was okay."

I sighed. "No, I mean after we got home." I pushed her shirt up, putting her bruises on display.

She looked down at them. I watched her face as she used her own hands to cover the fingerprints on her waist. She didn't react. No sadness, no confusion, nothing.

Finally, she looked back at me. "It's okay."

"No. No, it's-"

"Robert." She pressed, taking my hands in hers and pulling me closer. "I'm not mad at you. I don't regret last night. I'm okay. Please don't beat yourself up over it."