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I KNOW EXACTLY HOW Edmund in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe feels when he takes the Turkish Delight from the White Witch and the desire for more of it gnaws at him until he’ll do anything to taste it again.
That’s how I am about having sex with Hunter for the next few weeks.
Fortunately, unlike the White Witch, Hunter is happy to oblige.
We don’t have sex every minute of every day, of course, but we do have a lot of it.
I’ve never thought of myself as a person who is ruled by her body, but I start having trouble focusing on the other stuff I have to do.
All I want to do is have sex with Hunter. And if we’re not in bed, I’m thinking about it.
I have trouble keeping up with my classwork.
I only do the basics of keeping the apartment clean.
I don’t even read as many books as normal.
Even fictional heroes can’t take my attention away from Hunter.
I know it’s probably a normal response, and I also know I’ll get over it. So I try not to worry too much about how sleeping with him seems to have changed me.
I’m into him. No question. But any woman would be in my situation.
It doesn’t mean I’ve lost my head. Or that I’ve succumbed to the wicked temptation of an evil witch.
I’m just going through a sexy phase.
I guess.
Exactly two weeks after we have sex for the first time, we’re at a department store to buy Hunter a suit.
He doesn’t own a suit, but he has to attend a meeting next week for which he needs business attire. He’s gotten his first paycheck and was planning to dump the whole thing into our living expenses—I know he doesn’t like having to live off Pop’s money—but the suit takes priority, so he’s having to use some of his paycheck to buy one.
I’m also hoping to convince him to buy a couple of new shirts and another pair of decent trousers while we’re here.
He’s not a picky shopper. In fact, I think he’d be happy to grab something off the rack that looks like it would fit and just go with it. But I make him try a few on.
He grumbles about trying on three different black suits that all look exactly the same, but he goes into the dressing room anyway.
The first one doesn’t fit well, he tells me through the door.
The second one is scratchy.
I’m hoping for a Goldilocks “just right” on the third one, and I’m optimistic when he actually opens the dressing room door to show me.
It fits.
It looks sleek and professional and appropriate for anything.
And he’s so handsome in it my knees quiver a little. They really do.
The fact that he’s not clean-shaven, that his beard is dark and full above the tailored lines of the suit, just makes him even hotter.
“Well?” he asks, looking down and then up at my face again. “What d’you think?”
“Good,” I managed to say. “It looks good.”
“Yeah?”
I nod. “Really, really good.”
His scrutinizing my face, and he appears to have discovered some of what I’m feeling at the moment. His eyes start to smolder. “That good?”
No sense in not admitting it, since he obviously sees right through me. “Oh yeah. That good.”
He grins. “Then I guess I’ll get it.”
“While you’re in there,” I say, tossing over the door the two shirts and a pair of trousers I’d grabbed while he was changing, “try these on too.”
He growls wordlessly.
“You know you need more clothes to wear to work,” I tell him through the closed door. “So don’t be stubborn.”
“I hate wasting money on me when you’re still paying for food and housing.”
He sounds bad-tempered, but I’m actually glad that he’s talking to me about it rather than just brooding about it in silence.
“I know. It sucks. But that’s the way it is. You’ll still have money left from the paycheck to help with living expenses, and if you buy the clothes now you won’t need any more for a while.”
“Fine.”
I smile in his direction, although he obviously can’t see me at the moment. I can’t believe he agreed with so little argument.
The shirts and trousers I picked out for him all fit, and he evidently thinks they’re decent, so he changes back into his jeans and T-shirt and comes out with his haul.
We have to search long and hard for someone to check us out. We finally find a woman in the Junior department who is folding clothes near a register, and we get her to ring up our purchases.
As Hunter is paying, I idly look around, and my eyes land on a large monitor over the teenage dresses that plays music videos. It’s some generic pop song I don’t care about, but I stare at the screen where several beautiful young people are dancing to the music.
I don’t know why it catches my attention, but it does.
I stare for a long time, thinking about all those times in high school and college when I went “dancing” with my friends.
I never danced. I couldn’t dance.
I’d just stand on the sidelines and watch them, wishing I could move my body like they did.
“What’s the matter?” It’s Hunter’s gruff voice. Right beside me.
I jerk and turn toward him. He’s finished paying and is holding the shopping bag with his clothes. “Sorry. Just standing here in a daze.”
“You like that song?” He nods toward the monitor.
“No. Of course not. I’m not sure I’ve ever even heard it before.”
“Then what were you thinking?”
I’m about to deny thinking anything—an automatic defense mechanism—but the sincere question in Hunter’s eyes stops me.
He really wants to know, and there’s no reason not to tell him.
“It’s just the dancing I was looking at,” I explain. “I used to always want to be able to do that.”
“Why can’t you?”
“I just don’t move that way. I really can’t. I have no rhythm or something. It’s really not a big deal. I’m an adult now, and I’m never in a position where I feel pressure to dance. I just used to... I always wanted to be free like that.”
Before I can be self-conscious at the admission, Hunter slides his hand own my back. “I’ll dance with you, angel.”
I laugh. How can I not? He’s definitely got the sex look in his eyes all of a sudden. “That’s not exactly what I was talking about, but who am I to say no?”
***
THAT EVENING, WE FIND The Fellowship of the Ring on a streaming channel and decide to watch it after dinner.
I’ve always really liked the movies, although not as much as the books. As we’re getting ready for bed afterward, I’m telling Hunter about some of the changes the movies made that significantly altered important themes in the books.
He seems interested and is asking a lot of questions, and so I end up talking about it for close to an hour, even reaching for my e-reader on my nightstand so I can search for specific passages in the books to illustrate my points.
When I’ve finally talked myself out, I look over at Hunter in bed, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go on so long about it.”
“What are you sorry for? I liked it.”
“You did?”
“Oh yeah. There’s no one as smart as you.”
Chuckling softly, I say, “I think that might be a slight exaggeration.”
“No, it’s not. You’re the smartest person I know. And I love that you get so excited about books and ideas. I love to see you excited like that.”
I’m not sure if I should be pleased or embarrassed, so I don’t end up saying anything.
Then he adds, “When you get your tattoo, maybe it should be a hobbit hole.”
I give him a playful swat. “I’m not going to get a hobbit hole tattoo!”
“A ring?”
“Or a ring! I’m not getting a tattoo at all.”
He’s laughing warmly, huskily, and he reaches over to brush a strand of hair back from my face. “I know. I know. A tattoo is forever, and I’m just your practice husband for a year.”
He’s obviously teasing, but his words trigger a little worry I have to answer. “It’s not about you. It’s about putting something on my body I might not like twenty years from now.”
“Why wouldn’t you like it?”
“I don’t know. Who knows who I’ll even be twenty years from now.”
“You’ll still be you.” He’s reached over again to brush that strand of hair away, although I didn’t feel it on my face this time. “And I bet you’ll still love talking about books.”
“Probably,” I admit.
“Why don’t you become a teacher?” His expression is still soft but more serious now.
“I’m not really good with kids.”
“I don’t mean teaching kids. I mean teaching college. A professor. I’ve never had anyone explain literature to me the way you did right now. You didn’t just make me understand it. You made me care about it. You’re really good at it. And you love to do it, don’t you?”
I take a little breath. “Yeah.”
“So why not be a professor?”
“I’d have to get a PhD first.”
“So? You got three master’s degrees. You can do a PhD.”
“I don’t know. A PhD is different. It’s harder. It’s not...”
“Not what?” He knows me so well. He might as well be reading my mind. “Not a sure bet?”
“Yeah. What if...” I lift my eyes to meet his. “What if can’t do it?”
“Then you fail. At least you tried. You’ll pick yourself up and start again. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. And I’d be there to help you.”
My heart has started to do something very fluttery in my chest. Very dangerous. “It takes years to do a PhD.”
I don’t say it, but I’m thinking it.
This marriage is only a year.
One year, and then it will be over.
He reaches over to cup my face with one hand. “We’ve been friends since I was sixteen. You really think I won’t be there for you a few years from now?”
“Will you?”
“Of course I will. I took a detour for a while. A bad one. But I’m not going to do that again. I’m right here, and I’m going to stay here.”
Not in my bed. Not as my husband.
But at least as my friend.
The knowledge touches something deep in my soul.
“Thank you,” I mumble, leaning into his hand.
He finally drops it. “So you’ll think about it?”
“Yeah. I’ll think about it.”
“Think how nice it will be to be able to support yourself and not have to live off Pop.”
“That’s true. Although I don’t really mind living off Pop that much.”
“He’s your family, so maybe it shouldn’t matter. But he holds the money over your head. You and your sisters. And he uses it to get you to do things you might not otherwise have done. Like marry me.”
I turn on my side so I’m facing him. “But I’m glad I married you.”
“I’m glad too. But that doesn’t make what Pop does to you right.”
For a long time, we just look at each other, the room lit only by the screensaver on the television.
“You’re right,” I say at last. “I know you’re right. I don’t want to hurt him by cutting him out of my life, but I also shouldn’t let him hurt me.”
“So just think about it.” Hunter leans over to kiss me gently. “You’d be an amazing professor.”
Maybe I would.
Maybe... maybe I would.
I’m feeling a swell of affection for Hunter right now, one that I absolutely have to act on. So I crawl over so I’m sprawled on top of him, and I kiss him for real.
He seems to appreciate the transition, and his hands start to slide up and down my body over my gown. I went shopping with Chelsea a couple of weeks ago and found some better stuff to sleep in, including the little knit gown I’m wearing with thin straps and a soft flattering cut.
When I break the kiss, he pulls the gown off over my head and stares up at my naked body for a long time.
That look in his eyes is intoxicating. It’s not just lust. It’s need and awe and ownership. And it doesn’t go away as I start to kiss my way down his chest, lingering on the artistic ink of his tattoo.
He’s wearing just his underwear to bed as usual, and I can see and feel he’s growing aroused as I kiss my way down his body. His belly tightens, shudders slightly as I trail kisses down toward his waistband.
His hands are tangled loosely in my hair.
I raise myself up so I can carefully pull his boxer briefs over his erection and down his legs. Then I lower my face toward his groin and slant a look up at his face.
His head is lifted so he can see, and he meets my eyes across his body.
His eyes...
“Angel,” he breathes just before I lift his erection with my hand and take him in my mouth.
He groans low in his throat as I apply suction.
I’ve done this before, and I don’t think I’m terrible at it, but I haven’t yet done it with Hunter. I’m giving his shaft a few hard sucks, thinking through my fairly small repertoire of strategies, trying to decide what I can do to please him best, when his body starts to shake.
He gasps and arches his hips up off the bed as he comes without warning into my mouth.
It surprises me. He usually lasts a lot longer than that. I try to suck him through the spasms as he rides them out with soft grunts, but then his semen hits the back of my throat and makes me cough.
So the end of the blow job isn’t terribly sexy.
He’s panting loudly, his body softening, as I clear my throat and sit up again.
“Fuck, angel,” he says, his eyes scanning my face urgent. “Fuck it all. Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Just got a little choked.”
He pulls me down on top of him, pressing kisses into my hair. “Thank you for that. I’m sorry I lost it. Like a teenager getting his first blow job.”
“I don’t mind.” I move my head so I can nuzzle his neck. “I kind of like that you lost it.”
“I never imagined I’d ever feel your little mouth around me like that,” he murmurs. “I guess it just went to my head.”
“So to speak.”
He snorts and wraps his arms around me tightly. “So to speak.”
He holds me for a few minutes until his body is fully relaxed beneath mine. “What can I do for you now, angel?”
I lift my head. “Nothing. I’m really pretty content the way I am.”
“You don’t want to come too?”
“I don’t think so. I’m happy as I am for now.”
He pulls me down into a long, slow kiss. “I’ll make up for my poor performance tomorrow then.”
“It wasn’t—”
“I know. I know. But I’m going to make sure you come tomorrow just the same.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
He holds me for longer than usual, and I really enjoy it.
If I’m telling the truth, I enjoy it just as much as I would have enjoyed an orgasm.
And I’m satisfied—physically and emotionally—when he rolls over and we go to sleep.
***
EVERY THURSDAY EVENING, I have a night class. Two and a half hours of lecture on Plato and Aristotle.
The fourth Thursday after we got married, I sit in class and try to pay attention, but my mind keeps drifting toward Hunter.
It’s really starting to get on my nerves—the way he’s distracting me from my schoolwork, from what I need to do.
The class feels endless, but it finally ends, and I leave the building talking to a couple of friends who started the degree program at the same time I did.
It’s after nine thirty in the evening, and it’s dark out, but the campus is well lit and always has a lot of people hanging around at this time in the evening. We’re approaching the lot where I parked when I notice someone is leaning against my car.
Hunter is leaning against my car. Big and bearded and dressed in black. He looks more dangerous than usual.
“Who is that?” one of my friends asks in a whisper.
“That’s...” I pause, but there’s no reason not to say it. “That’s my husband.”
“You’re kidding! How did you get so lucky?”
I don’t answer this since, if I did, I’d have to explain that the way to get so lucky is to offer a guy a place to live and a job.
I tell my friends goodbye and then walk over to Hunter. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
I make a face at him. “You’re being particularly annoying tonight. Do you have a reason for being here, or did you just want to get a head start on being obnoxious?”
He chuckles and reaches out for my bag, opening the car door and dumping the bag inside “I have plans for you tonight. That’s what I want to get a head start on.”
My heart jumps excitedly at the sound of his voice. “What plans?”
“Good plans. I feel like I’ve been falling down on my job.”
“What? How could you possibly think that? We have sex almost every—”
“Not sex. That’s not a job. I mean my real job. Helping you live a more exciting life.”
“Well, my life has been pretty exciting ever since we started having sex. I’m not complaining.”
“I know you’re not complaining. You’re getting complacent.”
“I am not—”
“Complacent.”
I’m frowning at him now. “What prompted this?”
“It’s been more than three weeks since we rode the motorcycle. And that’s all we’ve done.”
“We had sex!”
“Other than that.”
“Fine. Whatever. I’m not getting a tattoo, so you can get that out of your mind, but we can do something else if you want to. What did you have in mind?”
“We’re going to a club.”
“What?” My voice squeaks because this is the last thing in the world I want to hear.
“You heard me.”
“What kind of club?”
“We’re going to dance.”
“I’m not a dancer. I told you before. I can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I can’t! I’m not lying to you. I look like an idiot when I try.” My heart is racing. With fear, not excitement. Because I’m suddenly terrified that Hunter is going to be stubborn on this.
He’s going to make me dance.
And it’s terrifying. Terrifying.
“You feel like an idiot, but you don’t look like one. We’re going to do it. I’m going to help you.”
“But I don’t even want—”
“Yes, you do. You told me you wish you could be free like that. You told me, and you were telling me the truth. You can’t take it back now. We’re going to do it.”
“But—”
He takes my face in his hands for just a moment. “I’ll be there with you, Sam. I’m in this with you.”
My lips part, and my objection dies on my lips.
I was looking forward to going home and maybe having sex with Hunter.
But it looks like we’re going dancing instead.
***
CHARLESTON DOESN’T have much of a club scene.
At least, I never thought it had. Sure, there are plenty of bars, and if you prefer dancing to country music, you have your choice of establishments.
But the kind of clubs I see in movies, with pulsing lights and loud music and fancy drinks and a wild sort of ambience... I never thought we had those. I’ve certainly never set foot in one.
Hunter knows where he’s going, however, as he drives through downtown and parks on the street. When we get out of the car, he takes my hand and walks me half a block, where he opens an exterior door, greets a big guy who must be some sort of bouncer, and then gestures me up a dim stairwell.
It doesn’t look very nice, and I’m already nervous. I’m not sure I would have gone up the stairs had Hunter not put a hand on my back and pushed me gently.
“No stalling,” he says gruffly.
I can already hear the music, the pounding of the bass line.
“I can’t dance, Hunter,” I say.
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Like you couldn’t ride a motorcycle.”
I’ve reached the top of the stairs and I turn to face him. “That was different.”
“Why was it different?”
“Because you rode the motorcycle. I just hung on.”
A little smile dawns on his lips. He leans forward and murmurs into my ear, “So I’ll do the dancing. You just hang on.”
I take a deep breath and nod.
This isn’t coming out of the blue. Hunter isn’t forcing it on me.
I’d told him the truth last week when I said wistfully that I always wondered why I couldn’t be one of those free, uninhibited people. I vividly remember in high school and college watching my friends dance while I sat on the sidelines, uncomfortable, wishing I could do what they were doing, knowing I never could.
Something inside me did want this.
But I never believed Hunter would force me to act on it.
Trying to be casual, I stretch up so I can ask him, “Do you come here a lot?” I have to talk right into his ear because the music is too loud for regular conversation.
We’ve entered one big room which is full of people. About half of them are dancing, and the other half are scattered around, talking and flirting and sipping drinks.
I had no idea a place like this existed in Charleston.
“Almost never,” he said.
“How did you know about it then?”
He shrugs. “Just around.” He reaches for my hand again. “You ready?”
“Can we have a drink first?”
“One. Then no more stalling.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoyingly bossy?”
He flashes me a smile. “Only you.”
We go to the bar and Hunter orders himself a whiskey and me an Amaretto sour. Then he guides me through the crowd until we reach a corner that doesn’t feel quite as claustrophobic. I try to relax, telling myself that I don’t know anyone in this room.
I’ll probably look like an idiot trying to dance, but no one is likely to notice me.
It’s going to be fine.
Fine.
Fine.
“Stop stressing,” Hunter says, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me to his side. He smells like whiskey and heat and man. The scent does something strange to my insides.
“Stop bossing.”
“This is why you married me.”
“I didn’t marry you to boss me around.”
“Yes, you did.”
I shoot him a quick glare and see that he’s grinning down at me. I try to hold on to my righteous indignation, but I end up smiling back at him instead.
“If you’re going to finish your drink, do it now,” he says.
I take a big swallow, and it warms pleasantly as it goes down. I take another sip, fully determined to finish my drink.
I’m going to need to dull the edge a bit if I’m going to try to dance.
“Oh God,” I groan.
“Okay. That’s it. If you wait any longer, you’ll think yourself out of it.”
I take my last swallow of drink before I let him drag me away. “There’s nothing wrong with thinking a lot.”
“I know that. I like that you think. But you get to the point where you think so much that it gets in the way of what you want to do. So turn the thinking off for the next half hour.” He’s got me by the hand, and he’s not letting go. He’s walking toward the dance floor, and I have to go with him.
“Half hour! I can’t dance for a half hour. I was thinking about five minutes.”
“Well, make it for five minutes, and then we’ll see.”
I’m awkward and nervous as he pushes our way through the crowd of bodies. Everyone is flailing around, rocking their hips, swinging their heads. But they all look natural, like they belong there.
I’m all clunky limbs. I stand where Hunter puts me and look up at him.
“I feel like an idiot,” I say.
“Who cares?”
“I care. I don’t like feeling like an idiot.”
“It’s good for you.”
“How can it possibly be good for me?”
He puts his hands on my hips and pulls me closer. He tilts his head down as he says, “Because you’re so smart and so good at everything. If you didn’t feel like an idiot occasionally, then you couldn’t commune with us mere mortals.”
My lips part as I stare at him. He’s teasing, but he also seems to mean it.
“Okay,” he says. “Move your hips.”
I look around, watching what other people are doing. “I can’t move my body like that.”
“Yes, you can. I know you can. I’ve had sex with you, remember.”
“This isn’t sex.”
“Yes, it is. You’re with me. Just keep remembering that.” Before I know what he’s going to do, he leans down to kiss me.
It’s not a normal in-public kiss. It’s deep and passionate and intimate. My body responds to it almost immediately, and one of my arms goes around his neck without thinking.
He keeps kissing me, and his body starts to move.
I like how it feels, so mine moves with his.
It’s a long time before he stops kissing me, and when he does, his body is still moving.
Mine is too.
“This isn’t dancing,” I manage to say. “This is dry humping.”
“But we’re doing it to the music, so it’s dancing.” He’s got his hands on my bottom, and they’re absolutely shameless. No one has ever touched me in public like this before.
I look around and realize it’s not really out of place. We basically blend in with everyone else. No one is paying attention to us anyway.
When my motion slows down, he kisses me again. This time, he raises my arms, stroking from my shoulders to my wrists, so my arms are up when he breaks the kiss, and he grins when I end up dancing.
I’m pressed up against him, and I try to think about that instead of what my body is doing.
I’m sure I look ridiculous, but it doesn’t actually feel that bad. It feels kind of... free.
I look around again and see a gorgeous woman with long wavy hair and long legs moving with a sensual grace.
“Stop looking at other people,” Hunter growls, pressing me up against him again and turning my head so I’m looking at him. “Just look at me.”
“I like to look at other people.”
“Tough. For right now, you’re stuck with me.”
I’m not really moving anymore, and my eyes drift back to that beautiful woman who is everything I’ll never be.
“Me.” Hunter’s voice is gruff, thick, and his eyes are strangely primal. “Look at me.”
I do what he says, and it’s not long until I’m completely wrapped up in his hot gaze and hard body. I follow his motion, his rhythm. I still don’t really know what to do with my hands. I fidget until he reaches out and wraps my hands around the back of his neck.
“Hold on to me. Just me.”
I do. I hold on to him.
My heartbeat accelerates, and my skin flushes, and my breathing turns fast and shallow.
He’s gazing down at me hotly. I know that look. The sex look.
But there’s something more there too, something deeper.
It’s not affection—not the way I’ve always understood it. It’s different, stronger, edgier, more intense.
Ownership.
The thought scares me, and I start to duck my head, but he won’t let me.
“Just me, angel. Just me.”
So I keep looking at him, moving with him, holding on to him, and eventually I’m not aware of anyone else in the room, anyone else in the world.
My emotions are in such a turmoil that I’m not even aware that my body has been reacting too.
Not until I rub up against his pelvis and suddenly realize that he’s turned on.
He’s hard in his pants, and I can feel it.
“Hunter.”
“Shh. Just keep moving with me. Just like that.”
I do what he says, but now I can’t think of anything but his body. His big, hard, warm, aroused body, pressing against mine.
The pulsing between my legs that must have started much earlier is suddenly so intense it’s aching, painful.
I want him so much. And the flashing lights and the pounding music are driving me on, urging me toward him. Everything inside me is straining toward him.
Eventually, I can’t stand it anymore. I feel like I’m literally going to explode from the wanting.
“Hunter,” I whimper. I rub against him again and hear him grunt.
“What, angel?”
“You know what.”
“Take what you want.”
“I can’t take what I want in a room full of people.”
“True.” He’s flushed and sweating a little, and it’s a relief to know he’s as turned on as I am. He takes my hand and drags me through the crowd and then out of the room by a back door.
It’s an empty hallway, and he traps me against the wall and kisses me hard.
I’m clawing his back, opening to his tongue, lifting one leg to wrap around his thighs.
Trying desperately to quench this desperate craving for him.
Then I feel his hand at the waistband of my jeans. Then it’s slipping under them. Then it’s beneath my panties.
Then his fingers are stroking my hot arousal.
“Hunter!” My gasp is soft and broken, and my body arches against the wall. His mouth has moved to my neck.
“You’re so wet, angel. So turned on. You want me so much.”
I whimper and bite down on his shoulder through his shirt. “Hunter, please. Someone might see.”
“Who cares about that?” He’s stroking me just right. I’m so close. Right on the edge. “Let go, angel. Let go for me.”
“I... I... can’t.” It’s agony to be so close but not close enough. Anxiety has risen inside me as intensely as the arousal.
“Yes, you can. Let me do this for you.”
I’m shaking helplessly, but I’m too distracted now. It’s not going to happen.
“I can’t.” My voice is different. Final.
Hunter exhales and pulls his hand out of my pants.
I feel like a failure as I meet his eyes.
“You can’t expect me to do everything,” I say.
“I don’t expect you to do everything.”
“You’re disappointed with me.”
He stiffens. “I am not.”
“Yes, you are. And you shouldn’t be. I danced. That was something. Public sex is something else.”
“It wasn’t public sex.”
I glance over quickly when I hear a sound down the hall. A couple has just come out the way we had earlier. I give him a significant look.
“We weren’t going to have sex here. I was going to take care of you. I thought you wanted it.”
I swallow. “I did. But I guess I’m not brave enough for that.”
“Don’t talk that way about yourself.”
“You’re the one who acts like I’m a loser if I can’t—”
“I’ve never acted like you’re a loser.” He’s angry now. I can feel the tension in his body. A different kind of tension than before.
“Well, you make me feel bad when I can’t do everything you want me to do.”
“I do not make you feel bad. You feel bad all on your own. You’re the only one who’s putting pressure on yourself.”
I gasp, since this is an outright lie. “You put pressure on me all the time.”
“Only to do the things you already want to do.”
“I’m the one who gets to decide what I want.”
We’re talking low and angry, glaring at each other now. When someone else comes down the hall just then, I’ve had enough. “Can we please go home now?”
“Yes.” He snarls as he takes my hand. “We can go home.”
***
WE’RE HOME A HALF HOUR later. I’m tired and frustrated and disappointed in myself and stewing over how Hunter is the most infuriating man in the world.
I take a long, hot shower, trying to relax. I never did have a climax, and we’re obviously not in the mood for sex tonight, but my emotions are in too much of an uproar to get myself off.
When I finally get out of the shower, I only feel a little bit better. I braid my hair and put on my pajamas and get a bottle of water and climb into bed.
Hunter gets in the shower after me, and he’s in there a long time too.
Eventually, he comes into the bedroom in his boxer briefs and climbs in bed beside me.
I’m reading, but it feels like he’s looking at me, so I finally turn my head to meet his eyes. “I get to decide what I want,” I tell him.
“I’ve never tried to decide what you want,” he growls. He’s clearly still as annoyed as I am.
“You do it all the time. You’re always telling me what I want to do.”
“Because I know what you want to do. I’m not deciding it for you. I know you.”
“You can’t read my mind.”
“I don’t have to read your mind. You’ve told me things you want. You told me you wanted to dance.”
“And I did dance. I never told you I wanted you to get me off in a hallway.”
“You were turned on. I wanted to...” His face twists. “If you didn’t want it, why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“I did tell you.”
“And I stopped. What the hell do you want from me?”
I’m almost crying, and I hate that I do that—let anger and frustration push me into tears. “I want you to not be disappointed in me when I tell you to stop.”
“What?” The one word is harsh, soft, outraged.
“You heard me.”
“I wasn’t disappointed in you.”
“You acted like you were.”
“I did not. I stopped. I was worried I’d pushed you too far. I felt bad. And I was so turned on I was having trouble not coming in my pants. I wasn’t disappointed in you!”
I stare at him. He doesn’t lie to me. He never has before. He must be telling me the truth. “You weren’t?”
“No! For God’s sake, Sam, what kind of a man do you take me for? You think I’m some sort of asshole who’d get upset about something like that?”
“N-no.”
“You do.” His eyes have dropped to the covers. “You do think I’m an asshole.”
“No, I don’t. You’ve never been an asshole.” I take a shaky breath. “I just... I was disappointed in myself, and you were... you were different, so I assumed that you were too. I’m sorry.”
He turns on his side so he’s facing me. “If you’ve told me you want to do something, then I’m going to do what I can so you can do it. But I’m not going to pressure you into other stuff. Definitely not... sexy stuff. I’m not like that.”
“I know you’re not.” Ridiculously, a tear slides down my face, and I know he sees it. I brush it away hurriedly. “I’m sorry I assumed you were... I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head and rubs a fingertip down the track of my tear. “Don’t be sorry, angel. I want you to trust me, but if you don’t...”
“I do! I trust you, Hunter.”
He looks at me a long time. “I hope so.”
I sniff and try to smile at him. “I’ve always trusted you, ever since I was fifteen and you stuck up for me when those guys were making fun of me.”
His eyes are softer now, but he scowls at the memory. “They were assholes.”
“I know. You were never an asshole.”
“I’ve been an asshole more than I’d like, but I’ll try to never be one with you.” He sighs and stretches his big body out. “I take it you’re not in the mood for sex anymore.”
“Not really. Are you?”
“I took care of myself in the shower. I’m fine.”
I look at him for a long time, wishing I was brave enough to tell him what I want.
“Say it, Sam.”
I frown. “Don’t be bossy.”
“Say it.” His tone is only slightly gentler.
“It’s not a big deal. I was just wondering if maybe you’d... you’d...” I feel stupid even beginning to say the word.
“I’ll do it—anything you want—but you have to tell me what it is.”
His tone is gruff, but he really is the sweetest thing.
So I force the words out. “Will you hold me? For just a few minutes.”
“For God’s sake, Sam,” he groans, reaching out and pulling me against him. “Of course I will.”
I nestle against him as he wraps his arms around me, and I feel better.
A lot better.
I exhale and relax.
It seems strange to want this as much as I want sex from him, but I do.
I really do.
“Why the hell was it so hard to ask me to do this?” he asks after a few minutes. He’s idly stroking my back and my braided hair.
“I don’t know. It just feels... needy.”
“Nothing wrong with being needy.”
“It is when you’re not normally like that. I’m used to being... smart. Sure of myself. Always knowing the right thing to do. It’s strange to feel... different.”
“It’s good for you to feel different.”
“I don’t know if that’s true.”
“It is. You’re not perfect. No one is. You don’t always have to try to be perfect.”
“I don’t—”
“Yes, you do. Think about it for a minute. You do. That’s why you never want to feel stupid or helpless or out of control. If you are, then you can’t always be perfect.”
He’s not saying it in a judgmental way. His voice is mild, almost fond. Intimate.
I bite my lip as I think about what he says. My cheek is resting against his shoulder.
“I don’t know why I’m like that,” I say at last. “I don’t mean to be. I know I’m not really perfect, so I don’t know why I act like...”
His body has relaxed the way mine has, and it feels like he presses a kiss against my head. “Now you’re disappointed in yourself for not being perfect in thinking you’re perfect.”
I giggle. “I’m not really. I’m just trying to think it through. I was only twelve when our parents died. It felt like everything fell apart. And I wonder if... subconsciously, I mean... I thought I had to be good at everything, as perfect as I could possibly be, so the world didn’t fall apart on me again.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I get that. That makes sense to me. Not that I’ve ever tried to be perfect.”
“You haven’t?”
“No. I’ve done the opposite. Tried to be as imperfect as possible, making sure I never do anything but let people down.”
I reach up to stroke his beard. “You’ve never let me down.”
“Sure I have.”
“No you haven’t. Not once. You’ve never let me down, Hunter.”
I feel palpable tension in his body for just a moment before it relaxes again. “I can’t believe you think so, but I’ll take it.”
“You have to take it because it’s the truth. I guess we kind of match each other. You always think you’re not good enough, so you try to be good to make up for it. And I always try to be perfect, so I have to let go and occasionally be bad.”
He chuckles. “Not bad. Just not perfect.”
“Right. Maybe we’re good for each other.”
“I think we are.” I love the sound of his voice right now—the texture of it stroking my soul.
I cuddle up against him more snugly as he tightens his arms around me.
We lie like that for a long time.
Finally, I feel like I need to say something else, and I know he’s still awake. “I never really knew that about myself before.” I adjust against him so I can press a kiss against the hollow of his throat. “Thank you, Hunter.”
He makes a soft sound in his throat, his body momentarily tense. Then he relaxes and says with a smile in his voice, “I’m your husband, and that’s what I’m here for.”