Secret Husband Read online

  “Technically, my given is often associated with a curly-haired blond baby with wings, so I’d like you to call me ‘Q’.”

  She laughed. “So you’re not a blond baby with wings?”

  His voice was a deep baritone when he chuckled back. “Oh, I’m hardly a baby.”

  She gulped. There was something so sexy in the way that he said that, she felt a twinge of excitement between her thighs.

  “I see. Well, I’d like for you to call me Kiki.”

  “Kiki it is.” Rays of red and blue light raised a glass to hers. She couldn’t think of anything else to say, so she took a sip of champagne instead.

  The fiery red that dominated his aura exuded power and confidence. If he wound up being anything other than passionate when he took her to bed she was going to be supremely disappointed. She imagined his hard body moving firmly against hers, taking what he wanted and leaving her a sopping mess, ruined and sated by his love.

  “Are you happy with the accommodations here?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “What’s not to like?”

  “Good.” She thought she heard a smile in his voice. “There’s nothing I want more than for you to be happy.”

  “Thank you. I hope I can make you happy as well,” she said shyly. And she didn’t say this because she was supposed to. Something about this invisible man made her want to please him more than anything.

  They ate the rest of their meal in silence. With Psyche occasionally marveling at the way the food on his plate or the wine in his glass disappeared before her very eyes even though she couldn’t see where they’d gone. It was like watching a movie with special effects.

  Since she’d been a girl, she’d known about the magic in the world, that the gods came down from Mount Olympus occasionally. Her mother had told her that in the 2050’s the world had become so chaotic that the gods returned to Earth to sort things out and gain control of the world. These days they lived quietly adjacent to the world of humans, only interceding when necessary. Every so often there was a story on the interwebs about some havoc or other the authorities traced to the gods and their tempers or passions exploding, but she’d never experienced anything so otherworldly in her own life.

  But there was something magical about her husband. He was something other than human, of that she had no doubt.

  And she was eager to learn more. So after they finished their meal, when he said, “Are you ready to retire to the marriage bed, my pet?”

  Her heart skipped a beat, but she managed to breathe her answer, “Yes.”

  Chapter Three

  “SHOULD I CARRY YOU over the threshold?” he asked.

  She found this early twentieth century tradition refreshing. “If you like.”

  Then she felt her body being lifted from her chair as he whisked her through their home. It was like flying through the rooms on a swift tour of the luxury surrounding them.

  “This is my bedroom,” he said, setting her down next to an enormous bed adorned with opulent dark velvet linens.

  We won’t share a bedroom?” she asked.

  “That will be your choice. I find either arrangement acceptable.”

  Having yet to share his bed, she refrained from saying so, but she didn’t care for the idea of sleeping alone, unless she discovered a good reason to do so. The idea of separate bedrooms did not bode well for an intimate marriage.

  “That is thoughtful of you,” she said in an attempt to frame his comments as considerate rather than cold.

  “May I take off your dress?”

  A shiver of anticipation ran up her spine. “You may.”

  The warmth of his fingertips pressed ever so lightly against her back. She heard the zipper and felt her dress unfurl and slide to the floor. A light breeze blew through the room, and goose bumps rippled across her skin.

  Behind her, he whispered, “You are so very beautiful, my love.”

  It felt odd to hear a stranger called her his love, but she would adjust to this new role in time, and so far it was not unpleasant.

  “Thank you.” She could not return the compliment of course, because she had no idea what he looked like.

  “Climb on the bed and open your legs for me.” His words gave her a twinge of excitement and she scrambled onto the bed. She couldn’t help but feel modest as her own nudity was on display, and his was not. With a gulp she rolled onto her back and took a deep breath in an attempt to slow her rapidly beating heart. Hoping this didn’t mean he planned to dispense with foreplay, she slid her legs shoulder-width apart.

  This movement was met with a groan from him, and she felt a gush of moisture pooling between her legs. As crazy as it was, something excited her about the mystery of her invisible partner. Her breathing grew shallow and her nipples pointed at the ceiling, hard little buds begging for attention.

  “Wider,” he said gruffly.

  She opened them farther apart.

  “Now raise your arms above your head.”

  She did as he asked.

  “May I turn off the lights now so that I might be myself with my bride?”

  A flicker of excitement jolted through her belly. “Yes of course, husband.”

  She wanted this man no matter what he looked like. She wanted to feel the weight of him on top of her, wanted him inside her, devouring her. If he needed darkness to be who he truly was, she welcomed it.

  With a clap, the room became black as pitch, without the slightest glimmer of light. It was as though she wore a blindfold, and each of her other senses intensified tenfold.

  Then he lay upon her, his entire body covered hers. The heft of him filled her with pleasure. She longed to throw her arms around him and hold him close to her, but she dared not move without his permission.

  “May I touch you?” she asked.

  “Not this first time. Not with your hands. Feel my skin on yours. I want you only to imagine what my flesh will feel like under your fingertips.”

  A slight groan fell from her lips.

  He laughed softly. “Am I frustrating you, wife?”

  “Yes, husband. If this is what marriage is going to be like with you, I’m not sure how I will enjoy it.”

  “Then I’m not doing a proper job of loving you. I don’t want you to doubt me, ever. Making you a happy bride is of the utmost importance to me.”

  His head dipped between her legs. He kissed the insides of her thighs, and she trembled with desire.

  His mouth sought her core where he licked her lower lips up and down. Then what felt like his fingers toyed with her as well, moving in and out of her dripping channel. Stroking. Sucking. Pressing all the right buttons until she shattered under that most intimate kiss, sending her over the edge into the abyss of ecstasy.

  He paused to let her catch her breath. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

  As she lay there panting, she considered lying, but decided not to. “No, husband, I am not. I’m sorry if that disappoints you.”

  “No need to be sorry. I appreciate your honesty. But if I’m not to be your first, I want to be your most memorable, as well as your last.”

  No one had ever wanted that from her before. In the past men had always wanted her beauty. They’d treated her like a prize to be captured, consumed, then discarded. Could he really want her for herself? And what about the long term—when her beauty faded? Would he still love her then?

  Before she had too much time to ponder these sorts of things, he covered her with his body again. This time his mouth found hers.

  Since she couldn’t touch him with her hands, she let all her passion for him come through her mouth. Taking his tongue deep in her mouth, she joined his in an intimate dance. Hungrily, she opened for him, pressing her lips hard against his. At the same time she raised her hips, letting him know how desperately she wanted him to claim her.

  She could feel the length of his erection pressing against her pelvis, and she strained against him with a fervent need.

  “You’re amazing,”
he whispered in her ear as he filled her with his cock.

  As he moved in and out of her, she clenched her muscles tightly around him, rocking her body in time with the rhythm he set. Her every nerve felt as if it were on alert, and every thrust brought her a wave of pleasure so exquisite she couldn’t help but cry out.

  He made love to her with all the strength and power of a god. And he worked her body, driving her to orgasm after orgasm with an endurance that couldn’t possibly be human. Until finally she was completely spent. Her limbs felt like they belonged to a rag doll, and she struggled to keep her eyes open.

  The last thing she remembered was her husband folding her into his arms and holding her tight.

  “I think you’re the one who’s amazing,” she said with a yawn.

  He gave her a squeeze then kissed her hair. “My beautiful Psyche.”

  Just before she fell asleep, she realized there was no other explanation for all she’d witnessed on her wedding night. She had to conclude that her husband was no mere mortal.

  Chapter Four

  “YOU HAVE A GIFT FOR capturing your subject’s beauty from the inside out when you draw their portrait,” Q said, commenting on her work.

  It was several weeks into their marriage, and Psyche and her husband had fallen into their version of domestic bliss.

  They spent their days apart, and their nights together.

  Not once had they slept in separate beds, nor did they do a lot of sleeping while they were there. The honeymoon, as it were, was still in full swing, and Psyche couldn’t have been happier.

  “You think so?” she asked.

  “Not only do you portray what the person looks like. It’s as if you convey their very essence,” he said.

  It was still a bit strange talking to a person who was invisible, but she was growing accustomed to it.

  “Their soul?” she asked.

  “That’s it!”

  In addition to the painting studio and art supplies, Q had also given her a pair of horses. She planned to practice drawing them in the future, but for now she rode them up and down the hillside trails that seemed to go on forever. She spent her mornings creating, and her afternoons exploring.

  Throughout the day she and Q texted back and forth. His texts made her feel loved and cherished, like she was always on his mind.

  Will you be ready for me tonight? he’d ask.

  Yes, I’m lying here naked, waiting for you, she’d text back. Of course she’d be fully dressed when she texted that. Then with a giggle, she wondered if he suspected this.

  He never mentioned it, and she decided that’s the sort of thing married people did.

  Good. I can’t wait to ravish you, my love.

  His words make her tingle with pleasure. Being desired by men was not new to her, but being cherished by one was.

  In the past she felt like an entity—producers, fans, directors, etc.—always used her in order to create the entertainment they wanted. With Q, she believed he loved her for her. It made her feel like she could be her true self, and she didn’t have to worry about being a certain way to try to please him.

  In fact, the main thing she did for him was accept him and love him for who he was in return. She didn’t place expectations on him. She didn’t try to change him, or force him to be different.

  The key to our marriage, she determined, was for her to accept him for who he was. And if that meant not being able to look at him, she’d go along with that—whatever his reasons were.

  Q said he didn’t want her spending too much time on social media or watching videos, but this hadn’t been a problem for her. She liked her unplugged life much better than getting caught up in the pressured cycle of the news and the world of digital entertainment.

  Another condition of their marriage was that Psyche wasn’t allowed to talk about Q or their marriage. He permitted her to post pictures of her art and occasionally of herself, but the topic of their life together was off limits. She assumed this had to do with his obsessive need for privacy, and she was fine with that.

  Psyche was so content in her new life, almost a month passed before she resurfaced from her isolation and made contact with the outside world.

  Whenever she wanted anything all she had to do was ring a bell for Pierce, so when she decided it was time to contact her sisters, she called for him.

  “Pierce, may I use the viewing screen?”

  “As you wish, Madame.”

  A screen appeared in front of her in her studio as if by magic.

  These days people conducted their social interactions much more frequently via holograms than in person, but there was still much information and entertainment on the interweb. Teleporting and the current technology made communicating easier than ever before, but humans were also more isolated than they had been several hundred years ago.

  They made up for this by communicating with each other through social channels.

  Psyche also used these channels to get inspiration, to sell her work, and to reach out to other artists and buyers.

  But there were rules and she knew she must follow them if she wanted to continue with her social channel privileges.

  It was on one of these channels where she saw the rumors about her husband.

  Searching around, she happened upon a conversation between two people discussing her new marriage.

  “How could she have married such a monster?” one user asked.

  “I know, right? She could have done so much better,” another user posted.

  Psyche felt like she’d been punched in the gut.

  A monster? Her husband was anything but a monster. Whatever gave them that idea?

  She opened a direct line to one of her sisters and asked Marsha if she had heard these rumors.

  “Well, Psyche, of course we have. That’s what everyone thinks,” Marsha answered.

  “Why would they think that?”

  “I don’t know. Probably because you never post any pictures of him.”

  “And just because of that he’s a monster? Maybe we simply want some privacy.”

  “That makes sense,” her other sister Rachel said. “Remember how crazy things got when she was doing that show, Marsha?”

  “True. She had no privacy at all. The public thought they owned her.”

  “Hey, guys, I’m still here,” Psyche piped up. Her sisters always did this. They were twins, and the conversation always wound up being between the two of them, with Psyche being left out.

  And they were right. During the time she had her own channel, fans and haters alike constantly hounded her family members trying to get inside information about her. They attempted to bribe her friends for information, all attempts to create fantastic stories with no basis in reality. Psyche had lost several friends who had given into the temptation of a big payday and told some of her secrets in exchange for cash.

  Fortunately, they’d been insignificant things like information on how she got detention as a kid in school, or who her first crush had been. There had been times she’d even questioned whether or not her sisters had gotten swept up in spreading stories. It became difficult for Psyche to trust anyone. Q was the first person she’d trusted in a long time, which was why she felt so shaken by this rumor.

  “But I’ve left that life behind. I don’t know why they’d still care about making up rumors about me.”

  “Well, show your husband the stories. If he’s not a monster like you say, then squash the rumors by posting a picture of him. Then we will all see he’s not, and we’ll know everything is fine,” Marsha suggested.

  Psyche didn’t tell her sisters that she had no idea what her husband looked like, that she’d never seen him herself. She feared they’d think she was naïve, that she was indeed married to a monster.

  But she touched Q regularly, enough to know that he was no monster. He did not possess a tail or fangs or anything deformed in her experience. Besides that, he was never evil or unkind. She couldn’t imagine where thi
s hurtful notion came from.

  But she wasn’t going to admit she didn’t know what he looked like. They’d think she had lost her mind.

  She thanked her sisters for the chat and rang up the person besides Q she trusted most—her mother.

  “Hello, darling. I’ve missed you,” her mother enthused. “So how are things going?”

  Psyche assured her that everything was fine, but relayed her concerns about the rumors about her husband’s true identity. Because she was so lost about what to do, she decided to confide in her mother, and admitted she had no idea what her husband actually looked like.

  “Oh, Kiki, I have heard that rumor too, and the only way you can gain peace of mind is to find out while he is sleeping.”

  “But, mother, I am forbidden to look upon his face.”

  Her mother shrugged. “You asked me for my advice, and that’s what I’m telling you. That’s what I would do, but suit yourself.”

  Dejected, Psyche agreed to consider her mother’s advice.

  That night after their lovemaking, she couldn’t stop thinking about.

  Huddled in the crook of his arm, she tried to decide if she should bring it up with him.

  No, she shouldn’t. That would be just giving credence to nasty rumors.

  But, if it wasn’t true the matter could be cleared up on the spot, and she could stop worrying over it.

  On the other hand, she decided to accept him for whoever he was. If that meant he was a monster, then so be it.

  Except—what if he were the sort of monster that might eat her while she slept?

  With a gulp, she began. “Q, something’s been troubling me.”

  He ran a hand over her buttocks then rested on her waist, pulling her closer to him.

  “Yeah, what’s that?” he asked, his voice drowsy, a result of the physical effort he’d just put into satisfying them both completely.

  His embrace felt so good she wavered, wanting to curl up in his arms and forget the rumor. But she couldn’t do it. She had to say something.

  “There’s a rumor going around about our marriage.”