Butterfly Effect

5. Hate Fuck

Would now be the right time to say that she was having an affair with her husband's brother?

Or, should she say, soon-to-be husband.

As she fell onto the bed, naked in all of her glory, their intense eyes met. He had slipped his shirt over his head, working on boxers whilst she took all of him in.

His muscles were bigger than the previous time she had seen them, the ink that decorated his olive skin was more as well. The intricate designs seemed to dance across his arms and chest, telling stories of his past and adding an air of mystery to his already captivating presence.

Each tattoo seemed to have a deeper meaning, reflecting his journey, experiences, and the battles he had fought along the way.

As she traced her fingers lightly over the contours of his muscular arms, she couldn't help but marvel at the way his body had transformed.

The dedication and hard work he had put into his fitness routine were evident, making him even more irresistible than before.

The defined lines and bulging veins showcased not only his physical strength but also his determination and discipline.

The additional ink that adorned his skin only added to his allure. From the dark colours to the intricate details, each tattoo told a unique story. She found herself surrounded by the symbolism and symbolism behind each image, trying to unravel the depths of his soul with every stroke of her fingertips.

With every glance, his tattoos seemed to reveal a part of him she hadn't known before. They were like windows into his past, his passions, and his innermost thoughts. She longed to understand the stories behind them, to hear him speak of the moments that had inspired these permanent marks on his body.

As she looked into his eyes, she saw a mixture of depth and something she couldn't quite describe. The ink that covered his skin was not just a form of expression but a reflection of his identity.

It was a testament to his individuality, a visual representation of his uniqueness in a world full of conformity.

She realized that his tattoos were not just physical adornments but an extension of his being. They had become a part of him, an integral aspect of his personality that couldn't be separated. And as she traced the lines of his tattoos once again, she knew that beneath the surface, beneath the ink and the muscles, lay a man with a depth and complexity.

Missionary was not something they did, so it was strange that she was still looking into his eyes, on her back for as long as she was.

Her words were meek, soaked in the deepest desire. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

The man seemed to snap out of his trance-like state, tearing his stormy gaze away from her and regaining his composure. His fixation on her, his scrutiny of every inch of her body, especially her face, had been unsettling.

She couldn't shake off the strangeness of it all. It was an inexplicable feeling that consumed both of them, evident in his sudden blink and wordless hand reaching for her hips.

In one swift motion, he effortlessly flipped her over, bypassing any need for foreplay. Their unspoken agreement had long been etched in stone.

No kisses. No lingering touches. And certainly no prolonged gazes.

For the past eight years, that had been their unspoken rule. They were both well aware of the boundaries.

But something was off about him, she thought, his behavior so out of character...

"Shut up," his voice growled, rough and gravelly, silencing her.

By now, Jana was on her hands and knees, her round bare ass perked up high. She looked ahead, at the messed up sheets while the feel of his rough hands came to life.