Tempting Sin

Misunderstandings

She burst into the room without a knock, coming to an abrupt halt when she saw him standing in front of the mirror only in his boxers. His back was on her, allowing her the view of the prominent whip scars marring his back. The scars, even though faded, ran deep across his skin, etched into his flesh- the only flaw to his striking exterior. Her eyes, then, slipped downward to his rear. Her cheeks burned. They had to be the finest pair of ass she had ever seen. Firm and toned. He suddenly turned around and now she was looking at his crotch. Her cheeks flushed deep scarlet as she noticed the bulge in his boxers even though he wasn't hard. No wonder it hurt so much every time he put it inside her.  

He cleared his throat, prompting her eyes to dart quickly up to his face. His expression was neutral, but his eyes held a hint of amusement as he looked at her. She looked away, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. It wasn't that she hadn't checked out men before, but this was definitely the first time she had been caught in the act that too by him.

"Were you checking yourself out in the mirror?" she blurted out in an attempt to distract him from what had just happened. Her eyes wandering everywhere but to him. He smirked.  

He approached her in lazy strides and spoke, "I only have eyes for one person....."  Stopping before her, he added," And that person is my wife." Her eyes connected with his, expressing a hint of doubt. How could this be possible? 

"So you are saying you don't even look at beauty goddesses that hover around you like bees?" she questioned, not believing him. Even she checks them out and he is just a man. She didn't know where she got the guts from to question him, but she didn't hesitate. Having worked in the film industry long enough, she knew a wedding ring didn't stop a man from looking. He chuckled. His eyes twinkled with something intimate as he paused to reply. 

Leaning in slightly, he confessed, "I'll have you know I'm utterly and completely devoted to my own goddess, to even glance at another woman." His voice conveyed sincere affection and devotion. She was speechless, slowly slipping into the beautiful maze that her eyes were. 

"Are you here to help me dress?" he asked playfully when she didn't speak for a long moment, snapping her out of her trance. She blinked back into focus. 

'I..I came.. I came" her mind was too disoriented to remember why she was there. 

"You found the vase," he noted, eyes fixed on the object.  

"Yes," she remembered. "...the vase. How did You fix it?" she asked, curious. Smiling, he held out his hand to take the vase from her. It was then she noticed tiny cuts littering his palms. He must have sustained them while collecting the pieces. He took the vase from her and cradled it. 

"I learned it in my childhood. I once accidentally broke my mother's favorite vintage cup. To escape her wrath, I tried to piece it back before she came home, but she found out," he recounted to her. For some reason, he found comfort in sharing his childhood memories with her. It made it hurt less. 

"What happened then?" she questioned, caught up in his story but also dreadful of what was about to come next. 

"She broke it again and forced every shard into my flesh until it bled," he told her. She was stunned into silence. Too horrified to even imagine a little kid going through such an ordeal. 

"I never tried it again until last night. I did and redid until it turned perfect, just like you," he told her affectionately. She dropped her gaze, caught off-guard by the unexpected compliment. She was far from perfect. 

"You might want to put on some clothes," she murmured, changing the topic. He was still in his boxers, channeling his inner Shakespeare on her.   

He glanced down at himself with an unbothered expression.