Marco was right. I’d never really thought about it.

Oh God.

And now, I couldn’t think of anything but.

* * *

Ettore

“I’m sick this,” Vittoria uttered into the bathroom mirror, wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of navy underwear. As she leant in, her stomach pooched a little and all I wanted to do was walk in behind her and put my hand to her softness. “I don’t want to wash my hair.”

“So don’t,” I replied, as if we were in the same room.

“But it’s greasy,” was her sad admission.

“Who cares,” I sipped at my black coffee, glancing down at the paperwork I’d been neglecting for days. “Tie it up.”

“I could always wear it up,” she muttered thoughtfully.

Without glancing over, I pointed my pen at the phone screen. “There you go.”

“Or maybe,” she drawled, “I should just cut it.”

I sat up straight, paperwork forgotten. My brow furrowed and I snapped, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

I loved her hair as it was. It was thick and lush, and shiny, and it smelled good.

“I’ve never had short hair.” My charming wife made a face. “What if it looks weird and then I’m stuck with it?” She shook her head and blew out an irritated, “Forget it. I’ll just wash it.”

My posture lessened as I leaned back in my chair, relieved. “Good.”

As she entered the shower, I tried to get as much work done as I possibly could knowing the second she was out, I would become distracted again. And when she stepped out, deliciously wet and shamelessly nude, my cock jerking behind my slacks, coming to life. She gathered her hair into a towel, twisted it then threw it back, leaving it sitting on a mound on top of her head.

“I wish I could go for a swim,” she said under her breath.

But I shook my head as I signed the papers. “Not a chance. You’re grounded, baby.”

She sighed long and slow and it caught my attention. She rested her hands onto her bare stomach and slowly trailed them upwards. Her fingertips glanced the buds of her nipples and when she covered her breasts, squeezing them hard enough to make her soft flesh swell through the gaps of her splayed fingers, I stilled as she uttered absentmindedly, “I would do anything for a swim.”

“Well.” My cock stood full mast now. I unconsciously placed a hand over the hard length of it. “I guess I could reconsider. Maybe.”

It had been twelve days since Vittoria began this monologue and, in the beginning, I was quietly surprised but weary of her intentions. That first day, I kept a closer eye on her than usual. Hearing her speak directly to me, without fear or anger or tears in her eyes, was a pleasant surprise. And so, an internal dilemma brewed.