by Noelle Adams
His expression doesn’t change, and his eyes never leave my face. “You think so?”
“I don’t know. It was good, but...” I take a shaky breath.
He’s regretting it, which means I’m regretting it now too.
“We were always just friends,” I say at last.
“We’re married now.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I shoot him a quick glance, but he’s just got that same quiet, watchful look on his face, and I don’t know how to read it.
What the hell is happening to me?
I’m supposed to be smart.
I’ve always been smart.
It’s the only thing I’ve ever really had going for me.
I can do better than this.
I clear my throat. “It was good.”
“You said that before.”
“I know. I guess I’m just feeling kind of... confused. Can we... can play things by ear?”
“Of course. Anything you want.”
I check his expression, but I can’t read anything.
Not anything.
Usually I can read him better than this.
“Are you...” I pause and restart. “Are you okay with everything?”
“Of course.”
For just a moment, I want to shake him until answers spill out of him.
I don’t, of course.
I’m not a break-the-slate-over-the-boy’s-head kind of girl.
I’m the pretend-everything-is-just-fine kind of girl.
A phone buzzes then, and I reach to pick mine up from the nightstand, but it’s not mine.
It’s Hunter’s.
He’s evidently gotten a text because he taps out a reply and then sits up. “I’ve got to head out for a while if that’s okay.”
“Sure. It’s fine. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just something I need to do.”
He sounds normal, casual, but my stomach twists as he walks naked to the bathroom.
I stare at his tight butt, his strong back. I see faint red marks on his skin running in lines across his shoulder blades.
From me, I realize.
The marks are from me.
I scratched up his back in my eagerness. I don’t even remember doing it.
I blush, all alone in the room.
When Hunter appears again, he’s fully dressed, including his shoes. “I’ll just be a couple of hours.”
“Sure.” I smile at him. “No problem.”
He stands still, looking at me for a minute.
Then he gives his head a quick shake and walks out of the room. I hear him leaving the apartment.
I flop back against the pillow and close my eyes.
What the hell?
That was ridiculous.
We’ve never been awkward with each other like that before.
The sex was... amazing. And everything was fine with us until it was over.
I’m sure it was all my fault.
After a minute of stewing, I reach for a phone and send a text to my sisters.
I’m smart, right?
In just a few seconds, Chelsea replies. You’re smarter than me.
Me too. That’s Melissa. What happened?
We had sex.
There’s a longer pause, and I assume they’re processing what I just said.
Chelsea responds first. Aaahhh!!!
That pretty much sums up my state of mind too.
How was it? Melissa asks.
Good.
So what’s wrong?
It’s weird now. He left.
Where did he go?
Where did he go? Melissa’s question comes in at exactly the same time as Chelsea’s.
I don’t know. He just left. What the hell am I supposed to do?
Talk to him.
Talk to him!!!
I take a deep breath as I try to think of what to say. Obviously, I know my sisters are right, but it’s never been that easy.
Melissa follows up before I can reply. I know how you feel. I sucked at talking to Trevor. And we didn’t work things out until I did.
But Hunter isn’t in love with me!
He’s still your husband. You’re smarter than I am. Talk to him.
You can do it!!! Chelsea adds.
I groan out loud in the room. Fine. I’ll try.
I put down my phone and close my eyes, trying to think through what I’ll say, how I’ll approach the topic with Hunter.
I have to do something.
My sisters are right. Hunter and I might not be in love, but I’m married to the man. We have to work it out.
I can’t go through another conversation like the one we just had.
IT’S ALMOST THREE HOURS before Hunter comes home. I’m sitting on the couch, trying to get some reading done and wondering if he’ll be gone all day when I hear the apartment door open.
I stiffen immediately, but I don’t put down my book.
I do look up when I sense his presence in the room.
He’s standing in the entry hall, looking at me.
“Hi,” I say stupidly.
“Hi.”
I can’t read his mood, and it bothers me a lot. I clear my throat. “Can we... can we talk?”
I have to say it immediately before I chicken out.
“Sure.” He comes over and sits on the couch beside me.
I set my book on the coffee table. I open my mouth but don’t get anything said.
“What’s up, Sam?” he asks. He seems to know I want to say something and can’t.
I clear my throat again. “I... I’m sorry I was so weird before.”
His expression shifts indefinably. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. I was... weird. I think I messed things up.”
“You didn’t mess things up. You thought having sex with me was something you wanted, so you tried. You tried. If it’s not what you thought it would be, or if it’s not what you want, then you don’t have to feel bad about it. I promise I won’t pressure you again.”
My mouth falls open as I stare at him.
“What?” he says, pulling his eyebrows.
“I really liked it. The sex I mean.”
“I know you did physically, but sex is more than that. We’re more than that. It’s really okay if it’s not what you want.”
I’m almost choking now since it’s so clear that he really means this. He’s being so careful, so gentle, letting me know that he’s never going to pressure me to have sex again.
It’s almost sweet.
And it’s completely, hilariously wrong.
“I do want it,” I manage to say.
He blinks. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“You want to have sex with me again?”
“Yes!”
He’s frowning. “Then why were you so weird?”
I giggle. I know he’s confused and waiting for an explanation, but a ripple of humor hits me anyway. “Because I was afraid you didn’t want it.”
“What?”
“That’s why I was weird. Because I was worried... about you.”
“But... but...”
I can see from his face he’s about to make it sound like I’m an idiot, so I defend myself before he can say anything. “Don’t act like I have no reason to be worried. Sex was always part of the agreement of our marriage. You get a place to live and a job. I get sex, among other things. Why wouldn’t I worry that you were just fulfilling your obligations?”
“Didn’t you see me when we were having sex?”
“Of course I did. What’s your point?”
“My point is that it should have been painfully obvious that I wasn’t just fulfilling a duty. You really couldn’t tell I enjoyed it?”
“I could tell you did physically, but it’s like you just said to me. There’s a lot more to us than physical. You never wanted me like that before. Why would I assume you want me that way now? And I really want to make this
clear. You don’t have to have sex with me. Ever. For any reason. I don’t want you to ever feel obliged. You can help me out in other ways while we’re married. It doesn’t have to be sex. I don’t want it to be... like that.”
“Sam,” he says roughly, reaching to take one of my hands. “Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam.”
“Stop saying my name like that.”
“I’m going to say your name until I can get this through your way-too-brilliant-in-every-way-except-this-one brain. What we did earlier was the best sex of my life.”
I’m gaping at him again.
“I’m not just saying it. I mean it. It was way better than good. I was into it in every way, and my life will be painfully incomplete if I don’t get to have sex with you again.”
I try to say something. I really do. Only a squeak comes out.
“Do you believe me?” he asks thickly.
I nod mutely.
There’s no way not to believe him. I know Hunter, and I know now he’s telling me the truth.
“So if the only reason you got weird afterward was because you were worried about me, then stop worrying. I’m counting the minutes before I can take you to bed again, and it has nothing to do with any agreement.”
So that’s pretty thrilling.
As thrilling as anything that’s ever happened to me.
He looks at me like he’s waiting for something.
I’m still unable to articulate even one word.
“You’re really gonna leave me hanging?” he asks after a minute.
“About what?” There. I managed to say something.
He makes a growling sound. “About what? About what?”
“Oh,” I say, finally catching up. I’m giggling again—an overflow of pleasure and excitement. “It was the best sex of my life too. And I want to do it again as long as you do.”
He lets out a breath, and his shoulders relax. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
I might have very well said “okay” again had he not reached for me at that moment.
I squeal. “What are you doing?”
“You said you wanna have sex again.” He pulls me into his lap.
“Right now?”
“Why not right now?” He nuzzles my face with his beard, and the texture alone gets me going.
“We just had sex a few hours ago.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t at my best then. I’ll do better this time.”
“Do better? If you do any better I’m going to faint dead away from pleasure.”
“Is that a promise?” He kisses me, and there’s no way I’m not going to kiss him back.
I’m not sure how I’ve gone from confused dread to this giddiness in just a few minutes, but it’s like the world has reshaped itself around me.
A few minutes later, I’m on my back on the couch and he’s on top of me. He’s aroused again, hard against my hip. He’s got all his clothes on, but I’m completely naked, and he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to change this situation.
His mouth is moving down my body.
My last thought before his lips and tongue start to do very delicious things to me is that I’m really glad I talked to him.
If things can be good between us and we can also do this, then I’m not going to have a complaint in the world.
Five
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.
