On an inhale, he picks me up by my middle and walks me backward toward the bed. “Christ, baby,” he says between frenzied kisses. “You taste so—”
I moan, “Nathan.”
He stops. Without warning, he releases me like my skin’s on fire.
I stumble to catch my balance. “What’s wrong?” I ask breathlessly.
I can see his expression darkening. I don’t want to lose him, but he looks at me as if he doesn’t know me. The silence grows uncomfortable. He engulfs my shoulders with his large hands and slowly turns me around. “Are you sure?”
I keep my gaze forward and swallow dryly. “Sure . . . about what?”
He steps forward, pulling my back to his front. “You sure you’re ready?” he asks hoarsely into my ear. His rigid length jabs my lower back. There’s no question he’s ready. “Because two months is a long time to stay away from something I want. I’m going a little crazy.”
I nod breathlessly. “I’m ready. You don’t have to hold back.”
“All right. I won’t.” He pushes me. It catches me off guard, and I fall forward onto the bed. I grip the comforter. He’s so hot for me, I barely recognize him. Even his voice is different. And I fucking love it. I’m right where I want to be, at Nathan’s mercy. Months’ worth of desire courses through me. I’m almost trembling with anticipation. He feels me between the legs. I’m wet. He’s hard. We don’t need foreplay. “Fuck me,” I demand.
He removes his hand, and his cock takes its place. The blunt tip presses against me. He folds over my back, sliding in slowly. I turn my head to kiss him just as he thrusts into me.
I cry out, dropping my forehead to the mattress. “Yes,” I groan as he drives into me.
“Yes?” He pulls my hair until I’m looking up at the headboard. He takes me fast, greedy, knocking the bed against the wall. “You like that?”
“Oh, God, Nate—”
He clasps a hand over my mouth and with his hot, whispered shh, my skin pebbles. He breathes on the curve between my shoulder and neck. He feels too good. It’s been too long. Neither of us will last when he’s going at me like an animal. I want it. I want to explode into a million pieces and when it’s over, I want him to sweep me up like shards of glass and put me back together.
His grunts come louder in my ear. My own orgasm builds, within reach. He slaps me firmly on the ass. With the unexpected sting, I shudder around him. He’s rougher tonight, unbridled from staying away. Nathan can make love to me for hours, but the fact that I can still make him lose control in minutes turns me to jelly.
He tightens his hand in my hair. “You love getting fucked from behind, don’t you, you little slut?”
I bite down on my lower lip with a sharp gasp. Nathan’s never in his life called me a slut. Out of pure shock, my pussy contracts around him, drinking him deeper.
“Fuck,” he bites out.
With two more thrusts, and with my face hot as the sun, I come—already—and I come hard. More intensely than I thought possible for so little time.
“Someone likes to be a slut,” he murmurs appreciatively from above.
There’s no hiding how turned on I am by the new pet name. I’m speechless and gushing on his cock. I could come again. “Uh-huh,” I breathe.
He straightens up, takes my hips in his hands and pulls me onto him fast and brutal. Another orgasm closes in on me already. Before I can catch it, he plunges deep and releases into me, filling me with everything he’s got.
We stay that way a few seconds. He continues to move in and out of me, slower now, leisurely. He touches my lower back. My eyelids droop. This—the burst of a long-contained climax followed by a lover’s touch—is true bliss.
Nathan pulls out of me. I drag myself up the bed as he flops down next to me. We lie there, panting in the darkness. My body’s still thrumming. He was raw. Carnal. I’ve never been his little slut, and after seven years together, a surprise in the bedroom can be a turn-on.
It can also be alarming.
Why did he call me that? Does he want a slut? Should I ask?
I wait a few seconds to see if he’ll speak. “Nate . . .?”
He just hums. His breathing slows. I understand—it’s late, and he’s had a lot to drink. It isn’t the best time to bring up anything serious. If it’d been any other night, I would ride this kink wave. I can be his bad girl. But considering he’s been different lately, I’m not sure if it’s cause for concern.
I get beneath the covers. Maybe the spell is broken, and tonight was a breakthrough, and tomorrow will be different. I tuck into my pillow and release any anxiety with my exhale. Even though nothing has really truly changed, I cling to the hope that tomorrow will be a new start.
FOUR
The next morning, Nathan wakes up before me. I touch my hair, tangled from his fingers in it. I want today to be fresh. A clean slate, as if the last two months never happened. I won’t even make him tell me what all this was about, not right away at least. Marriage isn’t easy. Everyone goes through rough patches.
I get up and put on my robe. His side of the bed looks undisturbed. I find him in the kitchen, already showered and dressed. When we were younger, it was a struggle to get him in a suit. Now, he wears one during the week, and the girl in me finds him grown-up sexy. “Morning.”
His back is to me. He clears his throat. “Hey.”
My mug waits on the counter as it does every morning. No matter his mood, Nathan is smart enough not to cut off my caffeine.
I pick a question that will let him lead the conversation. “How do you feel?”
“I drank too much last night.” It sounds like an apology—but for what? Snapping at me, or sleeping with me? I hate that I can’t tell. For so long, he was an open book.
I lean my shoulder against the doorframe. “Did you have fun?”
“Bowling? Not really.” He glances over his shoulder and opens his mouth as if he’s going to launch into some story about how dumb his friends act when they’re drunk. I’ve heard it before. Instead, he says, “It was fine.”
“Oh. Did you move to the couch last night?”
“No. Why?”
“Your side of the bed is made.”
“That’s what you get for marrying a neat freak. Almost made it with you in it.”
I smile a little. He hands me my coffee and gets milk out of the fridge. As he’s shutting the door, he stops and looks back inside. “You drank beer last night?”
I take a sip from my mug. He wouldn’t question me if I said yes, but why would I lie? Our neighbor came over for dinner. Our neighbor, whose name I didn’t want to know, and who is noticeably, ruggedly handsome, came over to avoid a second trip to the diner in one day.
If our roles were reversed, though, I’m not sure I’d be so understanding. Women love Nathan, his boyish charm and infectious smile. A fool could see why. If he had someone in my apartment while I was gone, I wouldn’t like it. Not that he’d turn anyone away. I was being polite, and Nathan would’ve done the same.
“And wine?” Nate asks, picking up the half-empty bottle of Pinot Noir from a shelf inside the door. “Should I be worried?”
“Someone came over,” I say.
“Who? Jill? She hates beer.”
“No. We have a new neighbor in 6A, finally someone our age.” I drink more from my mug. Nathan meets my eyes over the lip. “He hadn’t unpacked his kitchen yet, so I invited him in for dinner.”
“He?”
“Yes. Is that okay?”
He slowly replaces the wine in its spot. “Of course. It’s fine.” He shuts the door, and I can practically hear him thinking.
“What?” I prompt, curious. Seeing as I don’t really talk about other men much, it isn’t often I get to see his reaction when I do.
“You cooked for him?” he asks.
Aha. Nathan and his meals. He eats with love what I make with love, always. Even now, it’s one thing we haven’t lost. I shuffle a little closer to him, taking advantage
of the chance to comfort him. “I felt bad,” I say with a shrug. “Also, his radiator something-or-other broke, and he can’t shut it off. He doesn’t seem to be dealing well with the heat.”
“Huh. Playing phone tag with the super?”
“Sounds like it.”
He laughs to himself. “Just like when we moved in, only the opposite. Bastard should be thankful he’s got heat at all.”
“That’s what I said.” With a tiny bit of hesitation, but still more than I’m used to, I wrap my arms around Nate’s middle. It’s not the least bit soft—he dedicates a weekly gym session to abdominals, after all—but it’s my happy place. I smell his aftershave. There’s a new, subtle scent too, though. It must be the styling pomade that appeared on the bathroom counter a few weeks ago. “I was thinking about that too. Thank God I was sleeping next to a human heater. Remember how cold it was?”
“Not really,” he says. “I was too happy to notice.”
I look up. From this angle, I can clearly see the dark circles under his eyes. The lines around his frown. They make me ache from my core, because I know something is keeping him up at night. Part of it must be his dad’s declining health. But there’s more too, and it has to do with me.
“Our first real place together,” he says. “We were so happy.”
“Are happy, honey. It’s a good memory, but I’m just as happy now as I was then.” We may be going through a rough patch, but it isn’t enough to erase the last seven years. “Aren’t you?”
“This apartment is just—cramped.” He flexes his muscles against me. “It would be nice to have more space.”
“You think? We’d be hard pressed to find anything bigger for what we’re paying.”
“In Manhattan, yes.”
“Yes,” I repeat, “but where else is there?”
“I don’t know.” He checks his watch. “I have to go. Can you take Ginger out?”
Ginger is already sitting by the front door, ready for her morning walk. Nate started the tradition when she was a puppy. Back then, it was an excuse to smoke a cigarette. He quit years ago, though, worried tobacco could lower sperm count. He and Ginger continued their morning routine.
I sigh. “If this is going to be a habit,” I say, since it’s the same argument we had yesterday, “I need to know so I can wake up a few minutes earlier.”
“And I’ve walked her almost every morning the last four years without complaint.” He tries to pull away, but I hold fast. Argument or not, I’m not ready for the moment to end. “I’ve only asked you to do it a few times,” he says.
“But you love it. You used to joke she was the only woman you’d been on more dates with than me.”
He tenses. “Sadie. I have to go.”
“All right, all right. I just want to stand with you a minute and tell you I love—”
“Sadie—can you—” He pushes my shoulder a little harder than I think he means. I stumble back. He whirls around to brace himself against the sink. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
I’m shaken by the shove, but it vanishes when he heaves. I’ve only seen him throw up once or twice since I’ve known him. I touch his back. “Honey?”
He takes a couple deep breaths. “Hang on. It’s passing.”
Once I see it’s not serious, I lose my fight against a smile. “So,” I tease, “not wasted, huh?”
He shakes his head, his knuckles white.
I run my hand down his spine. “Call in. You must have a ton of sick days saved up. You never use them.”
“I’m saving them. In case my dad—you know. He might need me.” He pushes off the counter and turns, his hand at his stomach. “I can go over to the neighbor’s after work and take a look at the radiator.”
Nathan and I used to talk about his dad’s cancer more. I haven’t asked him how he’s dealing, and he hasn’t offered. I let the subject change slide. “You’d do that?” I ask. Since we spent those three weeks without heat, Nate has become good with fixing things around the apartment himself.
“Sure.”
“That’s nice, babe.” I hesitate. Even though I think Nathan might like Finn, there’s always a possibility a friendly neighbor could intrude on our alone time. “It’s not our problem, though.”
“It’s the neighborly thing to do.” He moves to go around me, but I have him cornered.
“I’m sorry about your beer,” I say. “Should I swing by Brooklyn Brewery and get another six-pack?” I don’t know where the offer comes from. I’ve never been good with guilt—feeling it, dealing with it. Sometimes it manifests in weird ways. Is it because Finn was here?
“Don’t be silly. Beers are meant to be drunken.” He wrinkles his nose. “Drunk? Drank? Whatever.”
I laugh a little.
“I would take leftovers, though. It’ll save me a trip downstairs at lunch.”
“Oh.” I scratch behind my ear. “There weren’t any, actually. Sorry.”
He just nods once. “No big deal.”
“I’ll take Ginger out,” I say, a consolation.
“Okay.”
I make no move to let him by. We’re physically closer than we’ve been in a while outside of our bed, and I want a kiss. It’s not unreasonable for a wife to want a kiss from her husband.
“I . . .” He puts a heavy hand on my shoulder and pecks my forehead. “I’ll try to be home for dinner.”
As dedicated as he is to his job, Nathan almost always leaves at five o’clock. I want to ask what he means by that. Our jobs are equally demanding, but I make a point to cook him dinner each night I know he’ll be home.
I step aside. He leaves the room. I want to say more, but I don’t know what. Things are a little better, but after last night, we should be more connected.
I go to the entryway, where he’s shrugging on his coat. He kisses Ginger on the head, like he just did to me.
There is one thing guaranteed to melt his heart. “Bell would be so mad at me,” I say.
He looks up quickly, his eyes big. “Bell? How come?”
Bingo. My coat is hanging by the door. I reach into the pocket and pull out a fun-size Snickers bar from the weekend. “I almost forgot to give you this from her.”
He takes it. “Candy? She got it trick-or-treating?”
I nod. “She said it was uncle Nate’s favorite. I tried to tell her you love Twix, but—”
“I hate Twix.”
I cock my head at him. The hostility in his tone is disarming. “I know that, Nathan. I’m teasing you.”
“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” He fixes his tie. “See you tonight.”
“You messed it up. Now it’s crooked.” I go to him.
“It’s okay,” he says, stepping back. “I’ll redo it on the train.”
He leaves, and I stand there a few more moments by myself. My heart pulses under skin Nathan didn’t touch—the forearm he didn’t pull to bring me close. My unkissed mouth.
Ginger whines at the door Nathan just walked through. Every day she wants go with us. Every day she’s disappointed.
Later, while I’m tucking in my blouse, I remember Nate’s pile of clothes from the night before. I pick it up and separate each piece into an already brimming bag of dry cleaning. His gray, checked Prada tie was my Christmas gift to him years ago, purchased with my first bonus check. He knows what it cost, which is why I’m surprised to find it wrinkled at the bottom of the heap. I uncurl it, sliding the silk through my fingers. There’s a smeared red mark near the edge.
My heart stops before I register any real thought. I hold the fabric up to my face and examine it. The stain is small. I could’ve easily missed it. I rub it with my thumb, but it’s already set. Lipstick?
A lump forms in my throat. No. My Nathan would never, ever let another woman rub lipstick on his tie. My Nathan respects what we have. Respects me. We’ve shared enough conversations over the years about friends’ infidelity to know where the other stands. Urges are natural. Temptation can’t be avoided. I don’t care if N
athan flirts, even though it isn’t in his nature. When we’re out together, he doesn’t even look at other women. But he’s supposed to come to me if it ever gets to the point that he’d act on it. This is the smart, sensible decision we’ve come to—together.
Ginger’s wet nose against my pant leg is a reminder that she needs to go out. I’ll be late for work if I dawdle anymore. I shove the tie in the bag, but shove and bury as I do, I don’t think I’ll be able to put it out of my mind. Even though I know in my core—my Nathan would never cheat on me.
But I haven’t seen my Nathan in months.
FIVE
As I predicted, the lipstick stain on Nathan’s tie sits like a nugget in my brain all day, uncomfortable enough that I can’t forget it for very long. As a result, I find myself standing over the laundry bag as soon as I get home from work, trying to decide how to proceed.
Trust isn’t really an issue in my marriage. After five years, though, Nate’s behavior has become less predictable—practically overnight. He’s distant—physically and emotionally. He’s made subtle changes in his appearance, styling his hair differently, spending more time at the gym. And, as much as I want to pretend like our marriage is perfect, I may have one flaw so great, I couldn’t blame him for withdrawing.
Nathan gives me everything and asks for very little. The one thing he does want, though, he hasn’t been quiet about. While I once wanted it as badly as he did, the weight of both our disappointment on my shoulders has become too much. After seven months of trying to get pregnant—seven months of heartbreak every time I got my period—I went back on birth control. It was Nathan’s suggestion. Watching me go through it was too hard for him. He thinks it’s temporary. “We’ll try again later,” he told me. “There’s no reason it has to be now.” But the more I think about it, the less I’m able to see myself walk that painful path again. Children might not be in our future because of decisions I made in my past. If I force myself to, I can accept that. Can Nathan, though?
Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set Page 4