I pushed, to see if he’d push back. “Please don’t tell me what my children need. I’m their mother.”
His cheeks reddened. “And I’m their father. Or did you forget that small detail?”
Clearly, I’d hit a nerve. Good. I needed to know my boundaries. And for the last twenty-nine days, I’d had none within my marriage. Enough was enough.
Paul moved his hands from his hips to cross in front of his chest. “You’re concerned about the teachings of the Prophet. What does he say of submitting to your husband?”
“I understand. I apologize, it’s just—”
His voice deepened as he interrupted me. “Using your logic, I should discipline you right now. Is that what you want? Three lashes for speaking out of turn with your husband?”
My cheeks flushed at the thought of Paul reprimanding me with physical force. Memories of Brinley on her bedroom floor, gasping for air as Lehi beat her, flooded my brain. I closed my eyes tightly before answering.
“Of course not.”
“Good. Because that’s not the kind of household I run. I will never raise my hand to you, Aspen. Never.”
He was expecting me to flinch, to stare at the beige carpet beneath my feet. But my gaze never left his. I stood with my shoulders back and chin held high.
“And you will respect my wishes,” he continued. “Do not raise your hand to those girls.”
My pursed lips hid my gritted teeth. Again, I said nothing, but locked my eyes with his.
“Aspen?” He raised both eyebrows, clearly perplexed by my silence.
“Yes?” I asked, clearing my throat in forced ambivalence.
My brain was abuzz. The idea of my girls becoming lazy and complacent was almost too much for me to handle. Didn’t he understand that I needed to prepare them for life as productive adults?
“Are you going to respond?”
“I’m thinking.”
He sighed and swallowed hard. He was bracing for a fight.
“No, I mean no disrespect, Paul. You’ve been . . . well, you’ve been wonderful. You’ve welcomed us with open arms, but I’m afraid for my girls, for what might lie ahead if they don’t learn self-discipline.”
I stopped, hoping I wasn’t going too far. I’d pushed him further than I’d anticipated, and was, to a certain degree, impressed that he was capable of being pushed only so far. I didn’t want to steamroll my husband. He was the head of the house, and my key to the celestial kingdom. I wanted to bind myself to a strong man, one worthy of my devotion.
“Go on.” He nodded.
“And this is all I know. It’s how I was raised. I don’t know any other way to guide them.”
This time, Paul was the one who dropped his hands to his sides. He was listening to me, so I pressed on.
“I like to believe that I’m a valuable member of our community. I honor my promises, and I follow the words of the one true Prophet. I want my girls to be like me. Devout, centered, confident in what they have to offer their husbands and the Prophet.”
“I see.” He nodded. “Well, perhaps there’s another way. And maybe we can learn it together.”
I tilted my head to the side, curious by his choice of words. Did he know his other children were unkempt monsters with stained clothes, food on their faces, and barely any manners to speak of?
“I know that some of my other children can be . . . rambunctious.”
I stifled a laugh, but allowed myself to nod.
“And some of my wives have gotten . . . comfortable.”
I nodded again, wanting to applaud his self-reflection.
“Perhaps that’s why you’ve joined us, Aspen. To find a happy medium. For all of us.”
My lips parted in astonishment as a spurt of adrenaline shot through me. Could that be why? Would my marriage to Paul strengthen everyone in the household? Nothing would make me happier if that were the case.
If my role in this family was the conduit for change, then I was willing to bend in my parenting. I would spare the rod, not only out of deference and respect to Paul as my husband, but in the hopes of bringing this family to a new state of holiness. And my faith in my Prophet for guiding me here would be sealed for all eternity.
“May I broach another topic?”
His expression and tone softened, and before he spoke another word, I knew exactly what his question would be.
“On our wedding night, we discussed—”
“I’m ready.” I answered with a decisive nod, adrenaline still surging through my veins.
Knowing my possible purpose on this earth was exhilarating, and I couldn’t think of a better time to share my physical body with my new husband. When I said I was ready, I’d meant it wholeheartedly.
He smiled and exhaled deeply. “Are you sure? I don’t mean to pressure you.”
“You haven’t pressured me. I knew I was ready moments ago, before you even mentioned our wedding night.”
He ran his hands through his hair, his cheeks growing crimson. He shrugged before speaking. “I know this may sound strange, but I feel closer to you now. As if this argument bonded us.”
He stepped toward me, only inches away, and reached up to trace a line from my forehead to my lips before kissing them gently. It was sweet.
“Where would you like me?” I asked, wanting to accommodate his desires, his needs. After all, if he wasn’t able to reach completion, it would be impossible to make a baby. But when he cringed at my question, I grimaced, wondering if Lehi was unique in his desire for intercourse in various locations and positions.
“The bed, of course.” Paul narrowed his eyes, studying me, waiting for me to explain my question. But I wouldn’t. I refused to bring Lehi into our bedroom. He didn’t belong there.
“All right.”
I unbuttoned my dress, removed it, and draped it across the foot of the bed. Next, I stripped off my long underwear that covered nearly every inch of my skin. As heavy as the fabric was, I almost felt naked without it, even when I wore my nightgown at night. Brinley once called it oppressive, and I’d laughed at her. It was an honor to wear it and protect my modesty. But here I was prepared to offer myself, all of myself, to my husband. He’d waited long enough.
When I removed my white bra and high-waisted underpants, allowing them to drop to the floor, Paul licked his lips.
“Aspen, you . . . you’re so beautiful.”
He gazed at me with his mouth agape as a bulge formed in his pants. Whether he found me physically attractive was no longer in question.
Staring at my breasts, he stalked toward me. When he reached me, he wrapped both long arms around me and pressed his lips to mine. His kiss was eager, hungry, and I did my best to match his passion with my own in order to please him. If I pleased him, things would go quickly.
Paul tore off his clothing and tossed the garments to the floor. Then he lowered me to the bed and entered me slowly. He wasn’t quite as large as Lehi, so it was easier than it had been in my first marriage. But just as Lehi had done, he began to move quickly, grunting and pinching his eyes tight until he found his release. I lay with him, looking at the ceiling as I rocked my hips back and forth to accommodate him.
He cried out, digging his fists into the sheets as he found his release. When he was done, I smiled and kissed his shoulder.
“Was that all right for you?” he asked, his eyes glassy. “I mean, you didn’t . . .”
I shook my head. “I don’t have them.”
“Do you want to? There are things we can do, other things.”
Again, I shook my head, and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “That’s not necessary. I’m here to submit to you, and to create life. That’s all.”
Paul’s face fell, which confused me. Sex between a man and his wives was strictly for procreation; the scriptures and the Prophet reminded us of that fact. And Lehi had never questioned my ambivalence toward sex. It simply wasn’t something that interested me.
“Have you ever had one?” he asked, re
moving himself from me once he’d gone flaccid. He lay next to me, propping himself up on his elbow.
I pulled my knees to my chest, assisting his sperm to reach my uterus. Mother had taught me that before she died, and it had worked with all three of my pregnancies.
“One what?” I played dumb, staring up at the ceiling that glowed in the moonlight.
“An orgasm.”
“Don’t be silly. I don’t need to have them; only men do.”
“You don’t need one to make a child, but don’t you want to experience that? I’d love to do that for you, Aspen. I would.” He smoothed down the stray hairs that had escaped from my braid.
I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to sound dismissive. Clearly this was something he’d thought about, but I didn’t understand why.
Months ago, Brinley and I had discussed sex. She was wrapped up in the idea of it all, that it could be something you “lost yourself” in. But I didn’t want to lose myself in anything but my faith. Sex, orgasms, and sensual pleasure were nothing compared to my desire to serve Heavenly Father.
“Thank you,” I finally answered. “But my job is to please you, and I’ve done that.” When he said nothing, I became concerned that I hadn’t done my job as his wife. “Haven’t I?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then that’s all I need.”
He pressed his hands into the mattress and rose to sit cross-legged, staring at me with his mouth agape.
I shrugged, impervious to his shock. “I can’t be your only wife who doesn’t—”
“I said all right,” he said tersely as he grabbed the covers and slid beneath them. “Good night.”
“Paul, please don’t go to sleep angry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I’m not offended, I just . . . I just misread you. That’s all. I’ll get over it.” He huffed, pulling the covers up to his chin. “Good night, Aspen.”
Misread me? Because of my lack of desire for a physical release?
I didn’t understand, but decided not to press the issue. Clearly, Paul was upset with me, and I could only hope that he would learn to accept my lack of desire to be pleased, and accept my desire to please him.
Because that was my job as his wife . . . not to lose myself in my own pleasure, my own selfish needs. It was my job to honor, to obey, and to please. And that was exactly what I planned to do.
Not even Paul Black could convince me otherwise.
Chapter 4
“Never suppress an obedient thought.”
—The Prophet, Clarence Black
Aspen
Three weeks later
Things were different—Paul was different—and I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t care. His eyes were pained, his words short. At family dinners, he barely made eye contact with me. It was isolating. Awful. And I had no idea what to do about it. I was losing him.
After three long, painful weeks of tension between us, I made the decision to confront him, to ask my husband how we could fix the gaping hole in the fabric of our relationship. Although I already knew the answer, I chose to ignore it, hoping that there would be some other way. The thought of betraying Heavenly Father to please my husband weighed heavily on my heart.
Paul came to my bedroom late in the evening after his meeting with the men of the priesthood. I’d stayed awake, waiting for him and hoping to talk, but his eyes once again revealed his pain in being near me. I’d rejected him, hurt him, and he was making no effort to hide it.
“I thought you’d be asleep,” he said, his voice cold.
I hopped to my feet and crossed the room to greet him, placing a kiss on his pursed lips. “I wanted to speak to you.”
“All right,” he said as he loosened his tie.
Quickly, I grabbed the silk fabric and pulled on the ends to remove it from his neck, and he sighed in response. After placing the tie on the bed, I ran my hands over his shoulders, but he closed his eyes.
“My dear husband, please. Please talk to me.”
He shook his head, focusing on a point past my shoulder. “There’s nothing to say.”
“You’ve barely spoken to me for weeks, ever since that night.” Looking up at him beseechingly, I said, “I want to fix this.”
Averting his gaze, he shrugged and said, “You can’t.”
“So, you’re angry with me?”
He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “Of course not. I’m disappointed. I thought we had a connection.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d felt a connection with Paul that I hadn’t had with Lehi. A mutual respect, a friendship, a kindness that could one day grow into love. At least, that was what I’d hoped. I didn’t know what Paul expected.
“We do.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, stepping away to put distance between us. “How do you feel about me, Aspen?”
“I—I’m devoted to you. I want to please you and make you happy. That’s my job as your wife.”
“Your job?”
I nodded emphatically. “Yes.”
“Do you love me?”
That word . . . love. There it was again. Why were people so determined to complicate matters by using that word? I’d only known him for two months. How could I be expected to feel something that, in my mind, should take years?
“I think you’re a wonderful man, Paul. I do.”
At that, he planted his hands on his hips. “Are you in love with me?” he asked, his nostrils flaring. “Because I’m falling for you, Aspen, in a way that I can’t even explain. And I need you to feel the same. Do you? Do you feel anything for me?”
I stepped toward him, my heart pained by his words. I was hurting him, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. But was I in love? No.
“What I feel for you, it’s different than with Lehi. I felt nothing for him.”
“Don’t say his name,” Paul spat at me, his words as sharp as tacks. “Not to me.”
Stunned, I simply stared at him. Reassignment was common in our community, but still complicated. Different men had different expectations regarding what should and shouldn’t be said about past experiences. Up until this point, Paul hadn’t had a problem with my mentioning Lehi.
But things were different now. We’d crossed a line and entered new territory. I was lost.
“I’m sorry,” I said earnestly. “I won’t say his name again. But I need you to know . . . that I feel something. For weeks now, I’ve been uncomfortable and sad.”
“Why?”
“Because you won’t look at me; you barely speak to me. I know I’ve hurt you, and I’m angry at myself for that. But my faith—everything I’ve ever been taught—it conflicts with what you want. Don’t you understand what that does to me? I feel trapped. No matter what I do, I’m wrong. I hurt you or I betray Heavenly Father. How am I to choose?”
Paul stepped toward me and ran a hand down my braid as his eyes bored into mine. “You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be. Just tell me how you feel when I’m near you.”
“I want you near me,” I said softly.
“Is that the truth?”
“Yes, of course. If there’s one thing I am, Paul, it’s honest. Honest to a fault.”
“True enough.” He sighed. “That’s how we got here.”
It was true. My honesty had led us to this crossroads in our new marriage. But I could never change my desire to always reveal what was true in my heart.
“Indeed,” I said. “But you’ll always know where you stand with me. You’ll always know what’s in my heart, Paul.”
He pressed his hand to my chest, and my heart rate increased with his touch.
“Do I?” He placed a kiss on my exposed neck. “What’s in your heart now?”
“I want to please you, to submit to you. I do.”
His hand roamed under my cotton nightdress. “Because it’s your job? Or because you feel something for me? Do you feel something when I do this?”
He pressed his fi
ngertips to my underpants and stroked. I jumped at his touch.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I would never hurt you.”
“Paul, please don’t,” I begged, my eyes filling with tears.
His lips found my neck once again, and his other hand unbuttoned my nightdress. “Submit to me, Aspen.”
With each stroke of his fingertips, my body responded, but my mind was screaming, begging for him to stop.
This is wrong! Please don’t do this!
A spike of conflicted pleasure rippled through my lower body, and my knees felt weak. The intensity was increasing, building, and I gasped in response. This was like nothing I’d ever experienced.
“That’s it,” he murmured, pulling away from my neck and looking into my eyes. “Let go, Aspen. Just let go.”
Fighting it, I closed my eyes, willing the sinful spikes of pleasure to stop. But my body wouldn’t listen. My hips shifted again and again, submitting to his strokes.
I was a boiling pot of water, one that had started with tiny bubbles reaching the surface. Those bubbles grew and intensified, and with each stroke of his nimble fingers, the water threatened to boil over. And when it did, I was overcome with the release that rolled through my entire body.
I screamed. Not a shout of terror or fear, but a cry of something primal within me, something yearning to break free. It was a sound I’d never made, and one I didn’t know I was capable of.
Paul pressed his forehead to mine, then kissed me passionately as tears slid down my face.
Forgive me, Lord. Please, please, forgive me.
My husband cupped my face with his hands, wiping away my tears with his thumbs. “How do you feel?”
I shook my head, unable to answer him. My guilt was all-consuming.
“Aspen, talk to me.” His fingertips tickled my neck.
“I didn’t want that,” I whispered, my voice hoarse, shaken. “I didn’t.”
He shook his head.
“What have I done?” I asked him as more tears streamed down my cheeks. “Why did you do that? Heavenly Father will never forgive me. Never!”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m your husband and I want to please you. When you allow me to please you, you’re submitting to me. Don’t you see? You’re pleasing me in return. You’re doing your . . . well, to use your word . . . your job as my wife. You’re pleasing me.”
Mother Before Wife (The Compound #2) Page 3