“Twenty,” I whispered.
“Hmmm. I see...” He wrote something down and held out two notecards. “I want you to write down your honest expectations for sex after marriage. Is it going to be the same as it is now? More? Less? Well, definitely not less because Miss Gracen clearly isn’t satisfied.”
“Thank you, Dr. Choate.” I snatched my notecard from him, still avoiding the intense glare that was coming from Jonathan.
I wrote down “same” on my notecard and waited for him to speak again.
“Okay, now toss your cards into the fire pit.”
What? We both crumpled them up and threw them into the small fire.
“Now,” he said as he handed us two more. “This time I want you to answer the question that is printed on the notecard and be as honest as possible. And actually, could you address them as ‘Dear Future Husband’ and ‘Dear Future Wife’? We’re going to toss them into the fire again as soon as we’re done, but make sure you take this seriously.”
He reached behind him and turned on a small radio—a radio that played the sound of ocean waves, and then he shut his eyes again.
There was only one question on the card: What’s one thing you wish you could change about your current intimacy exchanges?
I looked over and saw Jonathan scribbling away, but I couldn’t think of anything. I suddenly felt guilty for suggesting this session in the first place. Whether I wanted to believe in my current fairy tale or not, there was nothing I would change. Not a damn thing.
Sure, he and I argued about things from time to time—me working late so often, him being so damn controlling, me redecorating every room in his house, but for the most part we were great. More than great.
As a matter of fact, last night he’d held me in his arms and told me everything he loved about me, assuring me that our marriage would be the greatest accomplishment of his life.
“Miss Gracen?” Dr. Choate snapped me out of my thoughts. “You’re not writing anything down. Don’t be afraid to unleash your honesty. You have to let him know exactly how you feel. How else can you expect your bad intimacy to change to good intimacy? Unless you want to experience bad sex for the rest of your life that is. I know you only said ‘twenty’ because he said it first.” He winked at me and then whispered, “It’s okay. We’re going to fix this.”
Jesus...
I rolled my eyes and wrote down a few words so it would seem like I was trying. When I looked over at Jonathan again, I realized he was still writing.
He has that much to say?!
“Time’s up!” Dr. Choate beamed. “Now, before we feed the fire, we’re going to exchange the cards and read them out loud.”
What?! “No...I can’t.” I started to crumple mine in my hand. “I didn’t know that was going to happen. I would’ve written something else...”
“What’s wrong, dear?” Jonathan smirked and held his card out to me. “I thought we were working on having honest expectations for our marriage.”
I sighed and handed him my crumpled card, taking his into my hands, not bothering to look at it.
“Mr. Statham, you first.” Doctor Choate smiled. “What’s the one thing your future wife would change about your current intimacy?”
Jonathan looked down at the card, then he looked back up at me—smiling with his eyebrow raised.
Please don’t read it out loud...Please don’t read it out loud...
“She says better communication.” He smiled even wider and I exhaled, relieved.
“And what about you, future wife? What did your future husband have to say about you?
I flipped the card over and forced myself to look at it: Dear Future Wife, the only thing I wish I could change was letting you wake up late this morning because I should’ve woken you up early, taken you in the shower, and made you forget about this dumb ass meeting. However, now that we’re here, I want you to be fully aware that right after this is over, I’m going to make sure the words “marriage counseling” and “intimacy problems” never come out of your mouth again. :-)
I blushed. “He says the same thing.”
“Okay, well great. Now we’re getting somewhere. Communication is very key in having a successful intimate relationship. Moving on... In an average week, how many times do you currently have sex now, future wife? And in all honesty, is it fulfilling?”
Is he fucking serious? “A few times,” I said, hoping he would move on to something else.
“A few times?” Jonathan looked into my eyes. “That’s what you honestly think?”
Stop it...I knew he was reading my mind right now and could sense that I wanted him to stop, but he was clearly enjoying my embarrassment.
“Doctor, what classifies as a few times?” Jonathan kept his eyes locked on mine.
“Two or three times a week, Mr. Statham.”
“Hmmm...And a lot?”
“Well, I guess I would say eight to ten times a week.”
“Interesting.” He leaned forward and ran his fingers across my golden anchor necklace. “So Claire, having heard that, you think a few times is accurate for what we do?”
“Yes. I do.” I didn’t want the doctor in our sex life. At all. When I’d made this appointment, I’d been assured that the focus would be on us discussing our expectations for the long term—our goals and our dreams. There was no mention of dissecting what we did in the bedroom and I was damn sure I never said anything about “intimacy problems.”
“I am so hurt by these claims, Doctor.” Jonathan put his hand over his chest. “I mean, to have the love of my life tell me that she feels like we only have sex a few times a week is just...Is this the part where I’m allowed to cry?”
“Yes, Mr. Statham. Let out all of your pain.”
He smirked. “Is our sex not memorable to you, Claire? It must not be if you think we only have sex two to three times a week. I want an honest marriage as well, so if you think we have intimacy problems and that our sex is that terrible—”
“We have sex every day.” I nearly lost it. “Every. Day. Sometimes more than once. Sometimes more than twice. And every time is fucking memorable. Happy?” I narrowed my eyes at him and he kissed my cheek.
“Um...” The doctor adjusted the sleeves of his tunic. “Well...I....Very good for both of you. Let’s move away from intimacy then, shall we?”
“Thank you.” We both said in unison.
Once the counseling session finally came to an end, we both shook Dr. Choate’s hand and said we’d be “in touch” about scheduling part two. As soon as the elevator doors opened, I rushed inside and pressed the “door close” button over and over—anxious to get far away from white sand and invasive notecards.
“What’s the rush, future wife?” Jonathan stepped directly in front of me and pressed my back against the wall. “Do you have another meeting to go to right now? Somewhere else where you plan on discussing our intimacy problems?”
“I never said we had intimacy problems...That was a mistake and you know it.”
“Hmmm.” He brushed his fingers against my necklace.
“I can’t believe you pushed me into telling him about our sex life.”
“He asked.”
“You didn’t have to tell him the truth.”
“I thought you wanted me to be honest.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “I’ve told you a million times that I don’t lie.”
“Well, why didn’t you tell him what I wrote down on that card?”
He slipped his hand underneath my skirt. “If you would like, we can go back up and I’ll happily tell him that my future wife wishes that my head was between her legs right now.”
I blushed and shook my head.
“Are you sure?” He tugged at my panties. “I’m not opposed to telling him that.”
“That’s okay...”
He lowered his mouth to my neck, taking his time to press gentle kisses onto my skin as he wrapped his arms around my waist.
I looked up at the f
loor numbers that were flashing above the doors as we passed them by—Eight, Seven, Six, and pushed him away from me.
“We’re almost back in the lobby,” I murmured as I stepped to the other side.
“No. We’re not.” He hit the stop button and walked over to me, pressing me against the wall again. “I actually think we do have one huge intimacy problem, Claire.”
“What?”
“Why is it that you can only be open with me about sex in text messages and notecards?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He cut me off with a kiss and slowly hiked my dress up to my stomach. “I always have to try and read your mind, or read between your little smart-ass comments when it comes to what you want...Why is that, Claire?”
“I...” I couldn’t focus when he looked at me like this, when he locked his eyes on mine and demanded answers that I didn’t have.
“If you like when I fuck you with my mouth, why don’t you ever say that when we’re at home?”
I bit my lip as he slipped a finger inside of me, as he held me steady with his other arm.
“Hmmm, Claire? I’m standing right here...Tell me what you want...”
“Jonathan...” I moaned; he was pressing his thumb against my clit, punishing it with slow, sensuous circles.
“You can’t tell me right now because you’d rather wait until you get to work and tell me in a text message?”
“No...”
“Then tell me what you like...”
“Everything...”
He closed the little space that was left between us, keeping his thumb busy, bringing his mouth close to my ear. “Tell me you love it when I fuck you with my mouth.”
“I do.”
“Say. It.”
I swallowed. “I love when you go down on me...”
He sighed and slowly pulled away from me, and I thought he was going to step over and hit the start button, but he spun me around so that I was facing the corner and gripped my waist. “You were right...We do need better communication.”
“Jonathan, there are federal offices in here. The fire department is going to—” I stopped once I felt him sliding into me, forcing himself deeper and deeper.
“If you think that I’m going to be happy in a marriage where my own wife can’t tell me what she wants, you’re sadly mistaken, Claire...” He held me completely still once he was entirely inside. Kissing the back of my neck, he whispered once again, “Tell. Me. What. You. Like.”
I couldn’t think. I was too pre-occupied with thoughts of the fire department calling the elevator to check on us, thoughts about how my standing in a corner with Jonathan buried deep inside of me would look.
Before I could snap back into reality and answer him, he pulled out and quickly thrust himself back in—over and over, making me scream louder than ever.
“I asked you a question, Claire.” He gripped my breasts and squeezed them, slamming into me with each moan I let escape from my mouth.
“I...I like...” I stuttered. “I like when you...”
“Yes?” He moved one of his hands down to my clit and started rubbing it in a rhythm he knew all too well.
“When you...”
“Fuck me with your mouth...” He was speeding up his thrusts now, making it harder and harder for me to talk straight. “Finish. The .Sentence.”
“Wait...I...I like when...when you—”
BEEP! BEEP!
“Elevator car number 510 at Waldo and Emerson Associates, This is responding unit 861.” A voice came over the speakers. “Speaking to you right now is fire chief Brennan Marshall. We’ve noticed the current cart has stalled for over six minutes. Are there any persons inside?”
BEEP! BEEP!
“You know I don’t care if they see us like this...” Jonathan reached down for my hands, pulling them up over my head and pressing them against the wall. “And I won’t stop when they open the doors if you haven’t answered me.”
“Are there any persons inside?” The fire chief repeated. “Hmmm. Might be an empty cart gentlemen,” he said in a lowered voice.
“There are persons inside.” Jonathan answered calmly, but his thrusts inside of me were the exact opposite. I was doing my best to hold my breath and bite down on my lip to prevent myself from screaming again.
“Okay, hold tight. We’ll send a team over now.”
There was another series of beeps to end the conversation, and then everything around me went hazy—blurred. I was suddenly screaming at the top of my lungs as he pushed me to the verge of an orgasm, as he demanded that I answer him one last time.
“I love when you...” I let my head fall back against his shoulder, let my body completely go. “When you fuck me with your mouth...” I shut my eyes as my knees gave in beneath me, as he slowly slid out of me and let me fall down to the floor.
I wanted to sit like that forever—on a high, in bliss, but Jonathan pulled me up and held me against his side, hitting the stop button and pressing the level that was right above the lobby.
When we stepped off the elevator, he kept me tucked by his side and led me down the emergency stairwell and outside. As soon as the first whiff of fresh air hit my face, I took a deep breath. “Do you always have to do that to me? Is it impossible for you to wait?”
“It’s the only way to get you to tell me the truth...” He released me. “And I think you like it...”
I rolled my eyes and tried not to smile.
“I love you, Claire.” He kissed my forehead and adjusted my necklace. “I don’t know why you’re still so reserved about discussing sex with me, but you shouldn’t be. You should be able to tell me what you want, whenever you want, and I’ll make sure it gets done.” He kissed me again and wrapped his arms around my waist, leading me over to the parking lot.
As we approached our cars—town car for me, Bugatti for him, he spun me around to face him.
“Do you still think we need pre-marital counseling? Are there any other intimacy issues we need to discuss?”
“No...”
“Hmmm...” He pressed his lips against mine. “You are so lucky that I have a flight to catch right now,” he said as he slowly pulled his mouth away from me, as he pressed my crumpled notecard into my hand. “Be home by six.”
Days later, I stood in my office and stared at the newest set of family photos I’d hung on my wall: pictures of me, Ashley, Caroline, and Jonathan hanging out at a private lake.
In one photo, the four of us were building a large sand castle, laughing at how long it’d taken us to put it together. In another we were rowing four small kayaks across the water.
Ever since Ashley and Caroline had gone off early to college in Arizona, my days at home were a lot less noisy. They were actually quite boring.
I missed the two of them lying around on the couch—talking about absolutely nothing, laughing at my terrible jokes, and ultimately getting on my nerves from time to time. I missed that.
Now, instead of family dinners on Sunday and Thursday nights, Jonathan and I simply went over to his little sister Hayley’s condo and ate dinner with her. Although he never admitted it, Jonathan was missing family dinners too; I was pretty sure that was why he’d already planned a week of meals for their Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks.
“Miss Gracen?” My assistant interrupted my thoughts.
“Yes, Rita?”
“Your daily flowers from Mr. Statham have just arrived. Would you like them in here?”
“Yes, please.” I leaned back and watched as she pulled a small cart of flowers—orchids, Baby’s Breath, and white carnations, into my office.
As usual, there was a silver card with a note on top:
Dear Future Wife,
Do I need to start picking you up from work to get you home in time to eat dinner with me? You’ve been late all week.
Stop Testing Me.
Love,
Your Future Husband
I laughed. I was about to pick up my phone and call him, but Rita stepped inside my office again.
“Your three o’ clock is here now,” she said. “I’m going to go ahead and bring her back before my lunch break.”
“Thank you, Rita.” I stood up and smoothed my dress, ready to seal another deal, blocking everything else out.
As soon as the client walked inside my office, my mind was focused on white columns, framed cabinets, and the stained wood necessary to create a brand new space. She and I talked for hours, negotiating the timeline, the best materials, and of course—the cost for everything.
When I handed her the final contract, she nodded her head and grabbed a pen to sign it. “Everything looks really good, Miss Gracen. These dates work well for me.”
“Great. I’m really looking forward to designing your new living room, Mrs. Klein.” I shook her hand and stood up.
“Thank you.” She smiled. “I’m sure it’ll be just as fabulous as all your other work.”
“I guarantee it.” I led her out of my office and back inside the storefront, pulling all the drapes closed once she walked outside.
I’ll finally get to make it home on time today...
I started straightening the pillow display that was over by the bay window, making sure all the tags were tightly tucked underneath. I was tempted to lay across them and relax, but my phone rang. Jonathan.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Claire.” His deep voice still had the power to make me melt. “What are you doing right now?”
“I’m...I’m closing the store. You?”
“I’m driving. Are you tired?”
“Why?”
“Answer the question.”
“Yes.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m too tired to have sex with you right now.”
He laughed. “Would you like me to reschedule our meeting with the wedding planner then?”
“No!” I’d been looking forward to that meeting for weeks. “Not at all.”
“Good. I’m on my way to pick you up. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“See you soon.” I hung up and started swiping a mini-duster over all the candle shelves.
I was halfway done when I heard the bell over the door ring.
“I’ll be right there.” I sighed and didn’t bother turning around. “Let me finish this last shelf and—”
Mid Life Love: At Last Page 3
