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𝓑𝓪𝓫𝔂, 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵, 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂
𐙚
Miliani was nowhere near calm. Her whole body was ill at ease, fluttering due to his recent wicked demands.
The words, the lines were shameful enough to read to herself, and the mere thought of reading it to the domineering man demanding it was excruciatingly worrisome.
"Do it," he again ordered in a slightly more profound tone, sending a jolt through her already frayed nerves.
Mili gulped out of nervousness.
A quick agitated glance at Daniel enabled her to see that hellishly charming smile dancing on his lips with his ruffled hair falling in front seductively, eyes even darker with something unknown to Mili. No one had ever looked at her with this much of intensity.
"Baby?" He pressed in his demanding tone leaving no room for any more delay. He had already shown enough patience only and especially for her.
Her slender finger trembled while tracing the first line on that page two. She cursed her luck a million times in her mind, she should never have laid a hand on a book like this.
Again adjusting with the anxiety lodged in her throat, Mili, in a timid, soft voice, read aloud, "His veiny hand was not only bold enough to c-caress me through the cloth, but this time he s-slipped it-"
Taking a breath of pause and halting before reading further, Mili stared at her husband for some mercy, but there was only a more demanding aura that was darkening around him.
With a defeated attitude, she tried to continue, "slipped it u-under ... under my b-blouse-" but her words got swallowed up in her mouth as she felt him mirror the act, slipping his hand beneath the cloth of her dress, just as the illicit lines described.
In contrast to the written passage, Mili was wearing a dress, the bottom of it flared around her body on that table, giving him an easy access to her delicate skin underneath.
Mili lifted her eyelids upwards in disbelief, squirming under his intruding touch. But, he had never shown this much patience to anyone, waiting for her to stutter through the few lines, all the while devouring her every reaction, every expression to it.
With his insistent hand dipped inside her dress, deliberately moving upwards on her back, he rasped, "Don't stop reading, bunny. Let me do it according to your taste. Otherwise, I am going to do it according to mine."
Frightened - that's what she reckoned listening to his threat. Her heart was beating at least ten times faster realising he was about to do exactly what she was about to read. At that moment, she wished she were mute; it seemed life would be easier that way.
