Blood and Damnation by Belinda Boring

Author:Belinda Boring [Boring, Belinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ang'dora Productions, LLC
Published: 2018-08-03T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Sleeping was such a foreign concept to me, something that I required less of as the years passed. Mostly, I reserved it for those moments where I needed a break from the drudgery of everyday living. The brief respite seemed to soothe my nerves around the edges, making it possible not to completely lose my mind.

Now I was seeking sleep for a different reason, and I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that. Once upon a time, I thought knowing the innermost thoughts and feelings of others would be a useful trick to have, but I still wasn’t convinced understanding Catriona was a good idea.

There was so much that could go wrong. Tampering with another person’s psyche, especially when they were vulnerable, could only complicate matters further. Something told me that my wife wouldn’t appreciate the violation, either.

But my curiosity, once stoked, was a hard thing to quell.

Laying back on my bed, I tried to make myself as comfortable as possible. Slowly I could feel my muscles releasing their tension, and the first telltale signs of sleep started trickling through my body.

It wouldn’t be long now before I ventured into unknown territory.

“Think of her,” I whispered beneath my breath. Images of the beautiful brunette surfaced, and despite the countless times she’d irritated me, there was no denying that my wife was in fact an extremely attractive woman.

I pictured the way her dark locks seemed to have a mind of their own—hanging in long curls that framed her pretty face. I hated admitting that my fingers often itched to tangle in the thickness, missing the way it had felt that day back in my office when we first met. What had started as a way to undermine her confidence had turned around and bitten me hard, because it was often all I could think about.

I wanted to trace the soft curve of her face, relishing the way heat flooded her cheeks at my touch. She was unspoiled and virtuous—the brief taste I’d stolen confirming she would open up like a beautiful flower, each petal begging to be admired.

Her red lips held my attention regardless of what she was saying. Whether it was the way she softly sang to herself when she thought no one was watching or the way they pursed when she disapproved of something I had done, they drew me to her. Her mouth—her kiss—would be as intoxicating as a flagon of ale. I doubted there was a man alive who would escape becoming drunk on such a taste.

But it was her temperament that drew me in like a moth to a flame. She was both fire and tenderness—chaos and stability—strength and fragility. She was a walking contradiction to me, because one moment she would flay me on the spot with her shrewd brown eyes, and in the next breath, gently cradle a wounded bird in her hands. The way she viewed the world was at complete odds with how I had been forced to see it.

She saw injustice and sought to correct it by showing kindness to others.

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