Annika- The Scorned Wife

11. Thief

Sexual content‼️

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Ranveer

It's been weeks since that night I drunkenly collapsed in Annika's room, and my life hasn't been the same since. I was giving her space, time to adjust after everything that happened—but honestly, if I'd known giving her space would be this hard, I might've just handcuffed her to my bed and saved us both the trouble.

She's smart, I'll give her that. Somehow, she's managed to politely, cleverly avoid any situation that might lead to a repeat of that kiss. And God knows I've been trying.

But my wife is infuriatingly good at this game. Leaving early for her university classes before I even wake up? Avoiding long conversations that could lead to something more? It's like she has an internal radar for danger—the "danger" being me losing control and kissing her senseless.

We see each other during dinner, and don't get me wrong, it's all very polite and civil. I'm Mr. Charming Husband, asking about her day, trying to get to know her better. But that's where it stops. No heated moments, no accidental brushes of skin, no chance for me to trap her in a hallway and remind her how much I want her.

And don't even get me started on wanting her. I swear, if I had to describe it, I'd say it's like this constant itch I can't scratch. Annika's the first woman who's ever made me lose my damn mind. I'm Ranveer. I'm supposed to be in control—cool, calm, unbothered. But when it comes to her? I'm a mess. One kiss, and I've been walking around like a teenager with a permanent crush a very evident bulge in my pants.

And don't even think about that kiss. Because it's all I think about. I miss her taste. The way her lips moved against mine, the way she felt pressed up against me, the way her soft tits felt in my hands.... I'm getting worked up just thinking about it.

I'll admit it—she's driving me insane. I'm losing it. I miss her, and not just in a "hey, let's have a nice dinner" kind of way. No, I miss her in the way that makes me want to pin her against a wall and taste her again. I miss her like a starving man misses food. The things I want to do to my pretty little wife are... filthy— is putting it mildly.

But tonight, fate's decided to cut me some slack. I'm home early, earlier than she expected, clearly, because the door to my office is open. The door is never open unless I'm inside.

Everyday in this marriage is a new adventure, goddamn it.

I creep closer, and there she is, standing at my desk, rummaging through my things like a cat burglar who forgot she's supposed to be sneaky. She hasn't even noticed me yet, and for a split second, I just watch her.

Walking behind her, I violently twist her around and keep her pinned to the desk as I grab a handful of the front of her hoodie and leer down into her glaring eyes. "My, my, my," I growl quietly. "What the fuck do we have here?"

"Take. Your. Hands⁠—"

Finally. I missed this fire in her.

"As soon as you tell me what the fuck you're doing in here." My eyes slide past her to the mess of papers on my desk and the open drawers. She was clearly snooping. Looking for something.

She spins around, looking like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. It's almost cute. Almost.

"I—uh, I was just—" she stammers, and it's almost like she's trying to come up with a reasonable excuse for going through my office.