NTR: The live-in-husband gets a perverted heart system

"Still there?"

Stella asked then gulped. She hadn’t gotten any response to her question. Instead, there was total silence from the other end.

"Hello?" Again, nothing.

She gulped again when she realized the call had ended. She stood still in the restroom, her phone still pressed to her ear even though the line was already dead. For a few seconds she simply breathed, waiting for her pulse to slow. It didn’t fully obey.

She lowered the phone, straightened her dress with careful hands, and checked her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks still carried a faint flush. She pressed her palms against the counter and closed her eyes.

Before she could draw in another deep breath, the outer door handle rattled, followed by a sharp knock.

She opened her eyes.

"Stella." She heard Adrian’s voice from outside. She inhaled and exhaled deeply then unlocked the door. Adrian stood close, his shoulders rigid. He glanced down the hallway, then stepped in just enough to keep the conversation private.

"You’re wasting my time," he said in a harsh whisper. "I told you we needed to leave."

Stella met his gaze. Her pulse still beat too heavily between her legs. The mismatch between that lingering heat and Adrian’s cold irritation made her reply come out sharper than usual.

"Then leave. I’ll get home on my own. Aren’t we going to different homes, by the way?" she said.

Adrian’s expression hardened.

"Don’t be ridiculous. There are always people watching. If I walk out without you, the photos tomorrow or possibly tonight will say I abandoned my fiancée in public. That kind of story doesn’t help either of us."

"You know that. You know." He added sharply.

Stella held his eyes for a moment longer. Part of her wanted to push the argument further, to see if he would crack and show something else, anything at all. Instead she gave a short, cold nod. He was right about the cameras. He was always right about the cameras. The knowledge sat bitter on her tongue.

Adrian took her hand with the same polished care he showed in public and led her out of the restaurant.

Outside, he opened the car door for her, waited until she was seated, then leaned in and pressed a clean kiss to her forehead before closing the door. The gesture looked perfect but to Stella, It felt empty.

"Call me when you get home, darling." Adrian said after closing the door as he stood, watching the car moved again.

Inside the car, Stella scoffed. But as her driver pulled away, Stella caught the quick flash of a camera from a shadowed corner across the street. Instinct took over. And she turned her face slightly and allowed a small, practiced smile to touch her lips.

Whatever angle of picture they could get, it had to be perfect. As perfect as her life in the eyes of her fans, supporters and followers.

~~~~~~~~~

By the time the elevator opened onto her penthouse floor, the first photos were already online.

Stella stood in the middle of her living room without turning on the main lights. She unlocked her phone and stared at the image of Adrian helping her into the car, his hand resting lightly on her back. The caption called them a power couple. Another post described her as glamorous, composed, and scandal-free - a woman who would make an excellent political wife.

She scrolled into the comments.

They look so perfect together

*Stella is literally goals. That dress + that man*

*The way he looks at her... I need a love like this*

*Zero scandals, always elegant. This is how a future senator’s wife should carry herself*

*Power couple energy. Wedding going to be beautiful*.

Stella’s thumb hovered over the screen. The words were warm. And that got Stella wondering what the words would have been if the cameras had caught them going home separately.

Or pictures of her while she was pressing together her thighs during the phone sex.

Stella shuddered at the mere imagination of how horrible the comments would have been.

"No." She shook her head in response to the hollow voice in her head reminding her the memory of a different voice telling her to touch herself in a restaurant bathroom.

"I won’t chase that thrill anymore." She told herself firmly but one part of her seemed to have a contrary opinion. She pushed it down.

Then she went to her contact... Tom’s phone number was still. Her hand hovered over it for a few seconds, one part of her yelling no, then her thumb moved. Delete Contact. The phone asked if she was sure. She confirmed. The name vanished from the list.

She exhaled sharply as if she had been holding her breath all along, locked the phone and set it face down on the table. For a moment she only stood there. Then she reached under her dress, hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panties, and pulled them down. The fabric clung slightly before coming free. It was still damp.

She walked to the fireplace, opened the glass door, and dropped the damp lace onto the cold logs. The gas caught with a soft rush. The panties curled, blackened, and disappeared.

The faint smell of burned fabric began to fill the room.

After that, she went to the bathroom and turned the shower on hotter than she usually allowed. She stepped under the spray without adjusting it and stayed there, her hands were bracing on the tiled wall, letting the water beat against her shoulders and back.

Every so often her body gave a small, involuntary pulse of memory - the filthy calm in Tom’s voice, the way she had obeyed. She turned her face into the water and held still until the heat became uncomfortable.

Afterward she dried off, pulled on a silk robe, and sat on the edge of the bed with her phone.

She sat with the empty space for several seconds, waiting for a sense of distance to arrive. It didn’t.

So she stood, walked to the large window, and took a photo of herself in the robe with the night skyline behind her. She posted it with a short caption about getting home after dinner with her fiancé and already missing him, adding two soft lines that matched the image she needed to protect;

’You glow differently when you’re in love.’

The first comments appeared quickly.

*Yeah, you’re glowing*, girl.

*This is what happiness looks like*

*Adrian is a lucky man*

*The way you two look at each other in the earlier photos... pure goals*

*Future first lady energy, I’m calling it now*

Stella read them one by one in the dark. A small smile touched her mouth, then faded. She locked the phone and placed it on the nightstand face down.

When she finally lay back against the pillows, the apartment felt too quiet. She turned onto her side and closed her eyes, but the residual sensitivity between her legs and the memory of a rougher, shameless voice remained, stubborn and unfinished.

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