"What in the fuck has gotten into you?" John asked.

Goddamn, she was beautiful! Did she know how fucking hot he was for her body? She knew! Sure, damn right she did! So, why was she always colder than an iceberg? She'd been that way ever since he'd been discharged.

"Nothing has gotten into me lately," Melissa said, "And you're not getting into me tonight. So, I suggest you either beat that thing off, or go take a cold shower. The choice is yours."

"You are my goddamn wife!" John said angrily, clamping his right hand into Melissa's right shoulder.

John's claw-like fingers were hurting her, but Melissa refused to make a grimace. She did not stop brushing her hair, however. She then gave John a look in the mirror that she hoped displayed just a touch of the utter revulsion she was feeling as a direct result of his hand on her body.

"You have one second to turn loose before I bring this house down," Melissa said. She knew she had the advantage here; and, she refused to surrender it.

"Goddamn frigid bitch!" John spat. He turned on his heels and went back to the bedroom. He flopped down on his bed. Twin beds for shit's sake! How in the hell had she managed that? She had undoubtedly called ahead. Not separate rooms. Hell, no, since that would have caused talk. But, twin beds. She could have whispered something to her father's housekeeper about how "it was her time of the month," and there would have been no questions asked not that there would have ever been any overt questions from the servants in any case.

John hesitated in fisting his meat and jerking it off. Why in the hell should he beat off his own cock? Hell, he was a married man, wasn't he? He had a wife. A husband was supposed to screw his wife, not his hand.

John was confused as ever by Melissa's coolness.