The subway was supposed to arrive three minutes ago. My body sags. I just want to be home in bed.
“Hey,” I hear. “You. You lied to me.”
It takes me a moment to realize I’m being addressed. I look at the group walking toward me—the bespectacled man and his friends from outside of Brooklyn Bowl.
He plops his ass next to me on the seat. “You told me you were married,” he teases.
I spare him a sideways glance, but I’m hardly in the mood. “I am.”
“Liar.” He makes a face like he’s constipated. His glasses slide a millimeter down his red nose. “You hurt my feelings.”
I wedge my bootie back onto my bloated foot. “You’ll survive.”
“I won’t. I need a kiss to make it better.”
His friends laugh. A woman nearby looks up from her book then back down.
I stand up and walk away. He yanks my elbow, pulling me back. With a flutter of his eyelashes, he shuts his eyes, puckers, and breathes beer fumes on my face. “Just one. Please?”
“Let go, asshole.” I pull too hard and stumble back into a wall of a body. My heart leaps as two hands land on my shoulders, trapping me.
“It’s me,” Nathan says above my head.
I exhale as the tension in my body eases. I turn to thank him, but he steps around me. Spectacle’s eyes are still shut when Nathan shoves him backward. He stumbles across the platform, and his glasses clatter to the ground. “Hey, what the—”
“That’s my wife.” Nathan’s shoulders are nearly at his ears as he stalks toward the guy, who’s probably half a foot shorter and starting to look more like a kid.
“Are you crazy, dude?” he asks when he’s regained his footing. “You could’ve killed me. You don’t push someone in the subway.”
Nathan leans down and nabs the glasses. “Don’t forget your hipster crap. Who do you think you are, Clark Kent?” He throws them at the guy, who catches them at his stomach like a line drive.
Some people snicker. The group he’s with collectively oohs.
“Fuck you. I’m not the one pushing people around like some stupid superhero.”
“I’m teaching you some respect,” Nathan says. He’s outnumbered, but he doesn’t seem to care. “She told you she was married.”
“Twice,” I add.
“She doesn’t look married.” The kid puffs his chest out triumphantly, as if he’s insulted us.
His friends begin to disperse one by one, apparently bored with the confrontation. “Come on, dude,” one of them says. “Back off.”
He follows them, scowling as he inspects his lenses.
I’ve had my fair share of drunken admirers. Nathan usually lets me handle them unless I need back up. Tonight, I’m glad he was here. I look up at him. “Thank you.”
The platform trembles as the L train approaches. Nathan just nods and pulls me by my bicep up to the yellow line. We wait in tense silence until the doors open. There are plenty of open seats, but I take a middle one so Nathan can have the end. He stays standing. Once we’ve crossed back into Manhattan, I get up to be next to him. The late-night train moves fast, rattling us around. I let my shoulder bump his.
“You’re quiet,” I say.
Predictably, he doesn’t respond.
I grab the lapel of his coat and run it through my hand. “That was sexy,” I say.
He arches an eyebrow. “Getting hit on by a drunk hipster?”
“You know what I mean.” I pull him a little closer. “The way you defended me.”
“I would’ve done it for anyone.”
For some reason, he wants his words to sting. They don’t. He might do it for anyone, but he’d never not do it for me. I keep my hold on the soft wool. There’s one thing that can obliterate my anger from earlier, and it’s arousal. I lean into Nathan. It becomes clear to me that I don’t truly believe he’s been with Joan. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to stomach having sex with him. And right now, I definitely can.
I slip my hand into his coat. “You’re getting so hard.”
His nostrils flare as he glances down at me. “Hard?”
“Your muscles.” I rub his flat, ridged stomach. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. And your hair. It’s different, but I like it—”
He grabs my wrist, stopping me. “Don’t.”
Don’t. The other night, during sex, he covered my mouth when I said his name. He still doesn’t want me, his wife. It’s okay, though. I’m turned on enough by the way he claimed me in front of those guys to play along. “I don’t normally do this,” I say, glancing around the car. “But I was wondering if you’d like to come home with me tonight.”
“What’re you doing, Sadie?”
“Sadie? Who’s that? Your wife?” I shrug. “I don’t mind. I can keep a secret.”
“This is ridiculous.”
The subway stops. Someone gets off, someone else gets on. I blink up at Nathan a few times and slide my hand through his, back to my side. “You’re a faithful husband,” I say. “I get it. But we don’t have to touch to have fun.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Haven’t you ever talked dirty?” I ask. “Or doesn’t your wife like that?”
He hesitates, but responds, “She does.”
The subway jostles us, throwing me against him. He catches me, and I’m hit with the smell of cigarettes. “Have you been smoking?” I ask, surprised enough to break character.
He pinches his eyebrows together, but then his expression eases. “Don’t tell my wife.”
I bite my lower lip. Bingo. He’s interested. I rise onto the balls of my feet. When he doesn’t move, I motion for him to bend down. He does. I whisper in his ear, “You’re making my knees weak. Not sure I can stand much longer.”
“What . . . what do you suggest?” he asks.
“How about I kneel? Right here. Take you in my mouth.”
His breathing deepens. “We’re not alone.”
“Who, them?” I ask, nodding to the other passengers. “They can fuck off. Or watch. If you don’t mind, that is.”
His hand tightens around my bicep. “Christ, Sadie . . .”
The train comes to a grinding halt. If he weren’t holding me, I’d fly forward. The doors open. We’re at our stop. He and I stare at each other a moment. “Go ahead,” I dare him. “You’ve been trying to get rid of me all night, haven’t you?”
He hesitates, but releases me and leaves the car. I give him a head start. When he’s halfway up the stairs, I catch him checking over his shoulder for me. I’m not there, but he doesn’t stop.
Right before the subway doors close, I hop out. By the time I’m on ground level, he’s gone.
My phone rings. I answer it with, “You left something on the train.”
“Yeah?” Nathan asks. “What?”
“Me.” I swallow, checking left and right. There are people around, but fuck it. This is New York City. Nothing shocks anyone. “Do you normally walk away from a woman who’s ready and willing to suck your cock?”
The man walking ahead of me looks back, but I avert my eyes.
“Fuck, Sadie,” Nathan says. “You aren’t playing fair—”
“I bet it’s huge. A tall, strong man like you.” Nathan and I can talk it up in bed, but I’m not used to being this candid. Especially in public. I can’t let him distract me, though. As long as Nathan wants me, I haven’t lost him. As long he reacts, even if it’s with anger, then there’s still a chance. I can’t seem to connect with him emotionally lately, but sex can bring him back to me, even if it’s only for a little while.
I press on. “Does she let you come in her mouth, your wife?”
“No—” The word comes out strangled.
This is supposed to be for him, but it’s working on me too. I’m getting wet. “I would. Like a good fucking slut.”
The line goes dead. I check the screen. He hung up. Shit. Why? If he wants a slut, I can be that. He doesn’t need to find a Joan, or an
yone else, to satisfy him. But what else can I do to show him I care? He rejects my touch. My words. My love. All that I have. I’m at a loss.
By the time I reach our apartment building, my self-doubt has become a hurricane inside me. It shouldn’t be so much work to get my husband to notice me.
But when I get off the elevator, Nathan’s there, leaning against the door of our apartment. His arms are folded over his chest, his eyes dark. I can’t read his mood. I don’t speak as I approach, afraid to say the wrong thing.
“How’d you find me?” he asks.
My heart skips. He still wants to play. I don’t miss a beat. “I followed you.”
“Why?”
“Because, I . . .” I glance at the door. “I . . . want to come in.”
“My wife is home.”
My thighs tremble. My panties are sticky, already damp from earlier. This is having a swift effect on me. “Are you suggesting—”
He whirls me around and pushes me up against the front door. “This what you want?” he asks. “Is this why you won’t leave me the fuck alone?”
I’m not sure if we’re still role-playing. My breasts are mashed, but I like this new side to Nathan. The shock alone is enough to get me going. “Yes,” I say. “I want this.”
He pulses his hips into my backside, and I have my answer. There’s no question he still wants me, even if I am his unexciting wife. With my cheek against the door, I can see Finn’s apartment. My mind flashes to earlier, Finn’s hot, hungry lips. “Here?” I ask.
“We can’t go inside,” he taunts. “You want this, don’t you?”
There’s no chance I’d stop him now. Anything I get from him feels like a small victory.
He yanks up my skirt and runs a hand up the silky inside of my tights. “All these goddamn layers.”
“Rip them.”
He doesn’t waste a second. He stretches the fabric from my leg and uses his other hand to pierce it. Once my tights puncture, they give easily. He rubs me, dominating my senses, drowning out anything that isn’t his touch. When I’m whimpering, he slides his fingers inside me. He knows me well. Within seconds, I can’t catch my breath, and the door rattles against my chest. He takes his hand away, and I know what’s coming.
He gets his keys out and unlocks the door, hurrying me inside.
“What about your wife?” I whisper.
“We’ll have to be quiet.”
I turn on the lights. He turns them back out and pulls me against him by my waist. He starts to gather my skirt in his hands when Ginger pushes her nose between us.
“Ginger, no,” he says.
Her tail whacks his leg. She jumps up on us, wanting to play.
Nathan takes her collar. “I said no. Down.” He pulls her away and leaves me standing there. I wait, breathing hard, my knees nearly knocking together. A door slams.
Nathan returns. The apartment is still completely dark. “On your knees.”
I drop down to the cold, hard tile. I’m salivating, ready to take every inch of him. Fucking in the doorway, we’ve done, but I don’t remember ever blowing him here.
I push his hands away from his pants. He’s too slow. I take him out, the long, hard cock that belongs to me, the one I know better than my own pussy. I run the tip of my tongue around the underside of his crown. He fists my hair. I lick his shaft. Suck his balls. Bite the inside of his thigh, the way he likes. I know I’m golden when his cum beads on my tongue.
I blow him to get him off—slow, then fast, then slow again. I take him deep for as long as I can manage, then suckle his tip. With a groan, he falls onto his outstretched arms against the wall. He thrusts lightly, working himself deeper into my mouth. He shudders, close to the edge.
Spreading his hand over my scalp, he threads his fingers in my hair. “Fuck me, you’re too good. I’m going to come.”
I bob my head faster. He hasn’t finished in my mouth since before I can remember, but not because I won’t let him. He likes to fuck me at the end, come inside me.
Not tonight. My only warning is a hoarse shout before he floods my mouth. I’m even more turned on now, knowing he was so excited he couldn’t wait any longer. I’ve done and been exactly what he needed.
He pulls out, panting.
“I swallowed it all,” I say. “Like a good slut.”
He stares at me, his mouth open as he labors for breath. He tucks himself back into his pants. “Are you mocking me?”
“No.” I bite my bottom lip and slide my hand between my legs. “I loved it. I want more.”
“When it’s convenient for you.”
I scoff. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He walks away. After a moment, Ginger comes bounding out, nearly tackling me to the ground. I get up and take off my boots. I leave my tights, holding onto the small hope he’ll want to rip them more. In the bedroom, I find him shirtless in his underwear. He pulls on his sweatpants.
“That’s it?” I ask.
“I told you in the shower this morning, Sadie. I don’t want this right now, but you keep pushing me. I can’t keep a clear head when we’re fucking.”
“What do you need a clear head for?” I ask, crossing my arms. “Tell me, so I can help.”
“I will,” he looks pointedly at me, “once my head is clear, and I know what I want to say.”
I scowl, my cheeks heating. I’m tempted to seduce him again just so I can show him how it feels to be rejected. “You know what? Just get the hell out.”
“What?”
I grab his pillow, carry it into the living room, and toss it on the couch. Next, I go to the linen closet and get a clean set of sheets.
“What’re you doing?” he asks.
I unceremoniously drop them next to the pillow. “Have fun sleeping on the couch.”
He blocks me as I try to reenter our bedroom. “I’m not trying to hurt you.” He runs his free hand through his hair and pulls it. The pain in his face makes me pause. “I just need this. I need to figure my stuff out.”
“What stuff?” I plead. I’m tired of fighting—with him, with myself.
“I’ll come to you when I’m ready. I promise. Until then, I’m asking for this one thing. Back off.”
“You say that like it’s no big deal. You live in my apartment.”
“Our apartment.”
“You know what I fucking mean. Don’t twist my words. We live together. How am I supposed to ignore you?”
“Not ignore,” he says. “Just a little space.”
“You told me never to give you space.”
That makes him pause. He looks me over, my ripped tights and hiked up skirt. “I know. I did say that, but . . .”
I shake my head and push past him. I get into bed, buzzed, aroused, and dejected. Ginger pads between the couch and the bed, confused. In the dark silence, I’m defenseless against the onslaught of emotions. The tears come. He doesn’t want me on the most basic level, and it’s something I never thought I’d have to deal with. What do I do with that? Where can we possibly go from here?
I sob with my fist in my mouth so he won’t hear. Nathan’s getting further away, but he’s still in the next room—and somehow, that makes it worse.
THIRTEEN
When Finn spots me coming up the sidewalk toward our apartment building, he holds the door. “Hi,” he says as I duck inside. I try not to look at him, but it’s hard. He smells earthy, like he’s been sitting around a fire on a winter night, draped in blankets. “How’ve you been?”
“Okay.” I stop to get the mail.
He waits as I sort through it. Perhaps sensing my mood, he says, “Hey. What’s Mickey Mouse’s favorite book?”
I glance up finally. His bright green eyes make me self-conscious about the bags under mine. I toss everything but a bill in the recycle bin. “I give up.”
“The Great Ratsby.” He grins. “Marissa came up with that. She has a sudden fascination with rodents.”
It feels good to smile. “Smart
girl.”
He hits the elevator call button. The doors open, and we get on. “It’s late,” he says. “Just getting home from work?”
I nod. “We had an event in SoHo. How’s unpacking?”
“Hot.” We stand there a moment. As if the word itself is a heater, the space warms. He licks his lips. They look dry from the cold, but still rust-colored and inviting. My hands twitch as I remember how I lost control last week and grabbed onto him while he kissed me.
He laughs. “We forgot to hit the button.”
My cheeks flush. Or maybe I was already blushing from my memory. Either way, the tension eases, and I relax. “Is the apartment almost done?” I ask once we’re ascending.
He shrugs. “Not really. I got distracted.”
“With what?”
“Finally got some of my equipment out. I took my camera for a spin or two.”
“That’s great,” I say, smiling. “Get anything good?”
“I’m a little rusty,” he admits. “But there’s a lot to work with in this city. In fact, I even scored my first gig.”
“Wow.” I pick up on his excitement. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. She’s a small business owner, so I’m cutting her a deal. Hopefully, she’ll refer me to others.” We arrive at the sixth floor, and he touches his hand to the small of my back as we get off.
“Your beard’s growing in,” I note on the short walk to his door.
He scratches it. “It itches.”
“You could shave it.”
We stop at his apartment. “You don’t like it?”
I’ve never been much for facial hair. Nathan has a blade-like, square jawline, and it’d be a shame to hide it. On Finn, though, it works. Very well. “No, I do.”
He nods. “Then I’ll keep it.”
I go to leave, but being near his apartment makes me think of how it feels inside. The warmth. The slight buzz from breaking the rules. I can almost hear the skip of the vinyl. He has his key in the door when he notices I’m still standing there.
“I’m sorry about your record player,” I say. “I’ll replace it.”
“It’s fine, actually,” he says. “Vintage. Well made.”
Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set Page 12
