“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Going to sleep,” he says, like I’m an idiot.
“Here?” I ask, afraid to move because it feels so good having his arm around me.
“Yeah, baby. Right next to my wife. I told you that I wanted an us and I meant it,” his voice wraps around me and comforts me, but it shouldn’t. I should hate everything about him. But when he places a kiss on my shoulder, it feels… good. I lie there, wrapped in his arms, my mind going a million miles an hour.
What on earth? I mean, really… what on earth is happening here?
The next morning, I sleepily roll over and crash into a warm wall. I slowly open my eyes and see the heavily tattooed chest and neck of my husband. I take a moment to stare unabashedly at the beauty that is Peter Michael McGrath. His tanned body is covered in colorful tattoos with dark black script mixed in.
He is beautiful. Head-to-toe.
He has always been beautiful to me. As the years pass, he only grows even more gorgeous. I never knew what he was doing wasting his life with me, but I won’t sit back and be unhappy a moment longer. I will soak in his beauty for what could possibly be the last time, and then I will visit a divorce attorney. I’ll be shot of his ass, something I should have done the day we came home from our honeymoon and he gave me that stupid announcement.
Pete stretches next to me and I feel, rather than hear, the groan from his body as it vibrates throughout the room. My heart cracks a little more at the thought of losing him. Though, to be truthful, I never had him—not really. He stretches his neck and I watch the skull, with the colorful jeweled dagger that starts at the top and comes out the mouth, move against his skin.
I silently wish that just once he would have let us be together, so that I could have traced his tattoos with my tongue. I love his ink and I always notice when he adds to his body. I want to caress his colorful skin with my fingers and my tongue. I want to taste him, but I never will have that chance.
“Mornin’, sweetheart,” his voice is rough and so fucking sexy, I feel my belly clench and my body heat at just his few words.
“Pete,” I say icily. He grins before rolling over to wrap his arms around me and press his chest to my side. His weight feels so good against me. I feel so stupid for loving it.
“Don’t be cold to me, sweet baby.” His nose skims my neck and I have to press my legs together, because I am growing wet at the contact.
I want to push into him, wrap my legs around his waist and demand he fuck me blind. I can’t do that, though. I don’t know what is happening with him, but I’m not about to be used a minute longer.
“Get off of me,” I grind out through my clenched jaw. I feel his breath on my neck as he sighs before placing a soft kiss there and rolling off of me to sit up and press his back to the headboard.
I allow my eyes to travel down to his waist, where the sheet has ridden down, and I curse myself for it. Pete is wearing black boxer briefs that are so low I know it wouldn’t take but one quick shift to show me all that is him, and he isn’t hiding the fact that he is hard.
I lick my lips at the sight of his outlined—hard as a rock—cock beneath his thin, skin tight boxer briefs. Fuck, I want that. My vibrator has been my only orgasm supplier for so long, just the thought of Pete’s hard cock is sending me into a tailspin.
“You want something, sweetheart, all you gotta do is ask,” he chuckles, making my eyes snap to his as I glare at him.
“I certainly do not, Peter,” I growl. He laughs, irritating me even more.
“Honey, you’re starin’ at my cock like it’s a fuckin’ McRib and you ain’t ate meat in about a year,” he grins, showing off his straight white teeth. I gasp at his words and the way he’s smiling down at me like he’s really damn proud of himself.
“Well, what do you expect, Peter? You’re in my bed and its, well, it’s practically shoved in my face. Unlike you, I haven’t fucked half of the country, so excuse me. Not that it matters anymore. In a few months, we’ll be free to do what and whoever we want to,” I announce.
Pete’s green eyes flash with warning. A second later, he is fully on top of me, but holding his weight off of my body, his arms at my head on each side. My breathing wavers imagining his big body looming over me as he’s inside of me. Damn it, I really need to get laid.
“What do you mean, in a few months you’ll be free to do what and whoever you want?” He barks, his nose practically touching mine. I press my lips together to keep quiet. I really need to learn to control my mouth, it’s gotten me in trouble more than once.
“Fucking answer me,” he clips, pressing me further into the bed.
“I mean that I’m calling my father’s attorney today and I’m asking him to draw up divorce papers.”
Pete rears back, as if I physically slapped him, and then glares at me.
Like he has some right to glare at me for wanting a divorce.
The prick.
“Like fuck,” he growls. I press my hands against his warm chest and try with all of my strength to push him off of me, but he doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even flinch.
“Pete, seriously, this cannot come as a shock to you.”
“I told you I want this; I want us and I want a future with you. What part of that sounded like I’d be agreeing to a divorce?”
I continue glaring at him and curl my lip in annoyance, which doesn’t faze him in the slightest. I want to scratch his gorgeous eyes out. They’re all green and sexy, staring down at me.
“Funny how I don’t give one flying fuck what you want, Peter McGrath,” I say, stubbornly pressing my lips together. He groans and closes his eyes and then opens them. I notice they’re a touch darker than they were just a moment ago.
“Fuck, sweetheart. You lying beneath me, getting all feisty and pissed off, makes me so goddamn hard,” he says before slowly pushing his hips into mine, showing me just how hard I’m making him. “Love it when you give me that sass. Would love it even more if you’d let me fuck that sass right outta you.”
I make a whining sound in the back of my throat out of pure frustration, but to my dismay Pete doesn’t move. No, instead, he grinds his hard cock against my aching center even harder. His cock rubbing against my clit in the best way.
“Well then you’ll have to go take your frustrations out on your whore, Peter, because you’ll not be touching me. I would hate to ruin the precedence you have created by actually touching each other,” I mock, sounding like such a bitch.
Fuck, I sound like my mother.
I watch as the muscles in Pete’s cheek jumps and I wonder if he’s going to scream or maybe slap me for being a bitch, but he doesn’t. Instead, he inhales deeply then exhales. Shockingly, he wraps his arms around me and rolls us over so that I am pressed onto half of his body.
“I’ll let you have that play, baby, because I’ve been a clueless fucking dick. Fair warning, you can’t bring that shit up every argument or I will get pissed. I meant every word—that I want us—but I haven’t had the time to show you. Please, sweetheart, give me that chance,” he pleads. It does something to me. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. I swallow thickly and look up at him, my body nervous and so worn and tired.
“You’ve had seven years,” I say, my voice is soft and sad. I feel so damn sad about this whole situation.
“Then I think you can give me a little more time, seeing how I fucked up for seven long years. Give me this, please. God, baby, give this to me and I swear to Christ you will not be sorry,” he begs, his green eyes bright and so hopeful.
I pull in my bottom lip and try so very hard to keep my tears from falling as I search his eyes for something other than the honest truth; but that’s all I can see, and my stupid heart flutters with hope.
“Pete, don’t you think we should call this whole charade a bust? I mean, I don’t know why we’re even married.”
“The past, it don’t matter. We’re moving on. If you want to move slowly, that’s fine with me
I rear back in surprise, but Pete doesn’t let me get too far before his hand wraps around the back of my neck and he pulls me down, our faces inches apart. Then he lifts his own head to place a kiss on my lips.
Pete’s kiss is soft, but his lips are firm. I swear, I practically combust when I feel his tongue slide across my lips, begging for entrance. Like the fool that I am, I allow it by opening my mouth, accepting his firm tongue to dive deep inside of me.
I moan before I wrap my hands around his warm, thick neck as his own slide down my spine to settle low on my hips. I spread my legs around his lean hips and straddle his body, feeling his still hard cock pressing against my wet center. When I do, he groans before he wrenches his lips from mine and trails them down my neck.
“Sweetheart, you feel so good,” he murmurs against my skin as his lips travel down to my collarbone.
“Fuck me, Pete. Please, fuck me,” I beg pathetically, his fingers tense before they squeeze my hips.
“No, sweetheart, I ain’t rushing into shit with you. We need to focus on our relationship before we start the physical part.”
I roll my hips, making him moan, and I can’t help the smugness I feel at getting him excited. After this long, I am shocked he’s even attracted to me at all.
“If we do this, you and me, then I’m sorry, Pete, but part of being married is having sex.”
“Not yet, sweet baby, not when everything is so fresh. You need to get settled and you need to get used to me. Get used to us, being truly together. You need to get healthy too, Libby Baby,” he says softly as his hand moves to my waist. His fingers almost touch each other, I’m so small in his hands.
“Are you saying you think I’m anorexic, too?” I can’t help the venom in my voice. I’m tired of people telling me I have an eating disorder.
“I don’t think you’re anorexic, but I do think you restrict your intake and over exercise. I think you teeter on the edge of a serious problem, Libby. You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, but you look sick and I can tell you aren’t happy.”
I roll off of him, and he lets me. I slide my legs over the edge of the bed and hold onto the night stand to pull myself up. I stand on shaky legs and slowly walk, by myself, to the bathroom. Once I reach the door, I lean on the handle and I look over to my husband.
“I haven’t been happy in years, Pete, and somehow that’s never bothered you before. I should have just packed a bag and filed for divorce a long time ago. But for whatever reason, I couldn’t leave your ass. Just because you now want to be a part of my life doesn’t mean I’m just going to forgive and forget the past seven years.
“I just can’t drop everything that’s happened between us and fall into you. I’m broken, Pete, and I’ll probably never be whole. I was probably never really whole. What kind of whole person allows somebody to treat them the way you have treated me? Is it cheating if your own husband won’t fuck you and hasn’t since your honeymoon?
“I don’t know what we have and I don’t really know exactly what you want, but I do know that a couple of kisses and sweet words aren’t going to make me forget the past and the hurtful things you’ve said to me,” I say. I don’t wait for a response; instead, I walk inside of the bathroom and close the door behind me.
I don’t know what kind of crazy things Pete has going on inside of his head. I don’t know why he’s never wanted me, but married me, all the same. I do know that I’ve been living in denial about our lives for so long, I started to go a little crazy. Then, when I saw him with that slut, it was the end of my rope. Never again.
I am a good person.
I deserve love.
I will find it.
One day…
I fill the bathtub full of hot water and eucalyptus stress-reducing, creamy bubble bath, then I sink inside, enjoying the heat on my weak legs. Pete needs to go back home. I can’t be around my husband who, all of a sudden, wants me. If I stay, if he gives me a few sweet words, I’ll cave. I almost did just a few moments ago when I tried to hump him like a fucking animal. If I cave, then I’ll fall into deeper love with him. When he leaves me or strays again, that will certainly kill me.
“Sweetheart,” I hear his knock and watch as he slowly opens the door to the bathroom. His eyes scan me soaking in the tub. I feel my body heat even more, like his eyes have x-ray vision to cut through the bubbles and rake over my naked flesh.
“I… uh… I have to get down to the field. I have practice and gym time to tackle today. I’ll be home right afterward though. I would love it if you were back at the apartment, too. If not, then I’ll be back here after I change. Call your girls, see if they want to come by and hang out with you,” he suggests. I stare at him with wide eyes and nod.
Pete smirks and my lips part in surprise when he takes a few steps inside the bathroom and sinks down to his knees, right next to the tub.
“Have a good day, yeah?” Pete reaches out and traces the side of my face with his finger before he wraps his hand around my neck and bends his head toward mine. I hold my breath as his lips brush over mine.
“Love you, Libby Baby,” he murmurs. I feel that seep into my bones. I can’t fight it, not when his voice is gruff and hoarse like this, not when he’s touching me so sweetly.
“Have a good day, Pete,” I say back. No matter how good it feels for him to tell me he loves me, I can’t say it back. I don’t know if I ever will be able to again. I feel it; I’ve felt it every single day for the past seven, years but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to actually say it.
“Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll be counting the hours until I can see your gorgeous face again.” His thumb traces my bottom lip, making it tremble as I try to smile at him.
Luckily, he doesn’t comment. Pete stands and turns, walking away from me. Instantly, I miss the heat of his hand at my neck and his lips on mine. I watch as he stops at the door, turning his head slightly, a smile playing on his lips.
“You want Christos steaks for dinner tonight?” He asks, making my mouth water at the thought of Saganaki- a Greek specialty of pan fried cheese, my absolute favorite food on earth.
Shit, I love that place.
I go out of my way to Long Island City for that and that alone, at least once a month. How did he know that I love it?
“Saganaki?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow up. Pete smiles widely and his dimples pop out, making my mouth water in a whole new way. God, it’s been so long since I’ve seen him smile widely, I almost forgot he even had dimples.
“Yeah, Libby Baby, you’ll get your fried cheese. What my baby wants, my baby gets,” he murmurs huskily.
I do a full body shiver at his words and smile slightly back at him. This man could make you forget his biggest indiscretions in a heartbeat. I need to run away right now.
“Then, yeah. Christos would be good,” I confess.
“Get your ass home so we can enjoy it in our own place,” Pete winks and leaves me to my bath.
I close my eyes and lie my head back in the tub. Pete has thrown me for a loop. Although I’m so hesitant it isn’t even funny, that doesn’t stop me from day dreaming about really being his wife, in every single way.
My hand slips down my stomach and slowly slides through my folds, I imagine Pete’s rough fingers instead of my own soft ones. I circle my finger around my clit, imagining Pete’s scruff scraping my neck—my breasts. I continue to imagine him as I touch myself, making myself come. The satisfaction is short, because it wasn’t him. I want my husband so badly it aches. Just waking up next to him this morning has ramped up my sex drive by about a million times. I don’t know how I will go back to living with him without shamelessly throwing myself at him every few seconds.
God, it’s going to be so hard to not act like a slut for my own husband.
JULIA KRAMER IS MY PSYCHIATRIST. I have been her patient since I was a pre-teen. I didn’t necessarily have a traumatic childhood, but when all of my parent’s friends’ children were having candy parties—taking their parents prescriptions drugs like candy after mixing them into a huge bowl so nobody knew exactly what they were ingesting—drinking, screwing each other like rabbits and basically crying out for attention, they sent them to psychiatrists like Julia. It was the in thing to do. Far be it for my parents to be anything less than trendy, so they sent my sister, Annette, and me to Dr. Julia Kramer.
I, personally, never did any of the trendy things my peers were doing, which I am sure was a major reason my father wanted me to seek help. He’s all about doing whatever you have to in order to fit in—be trendy—be envied and be adored by those beneath you. I can’t stand it, at all. I just want to be happy and I don’t care if my neighbor has a brand new Bentley or a recently purchased vacation home in the Hamptons. It’s all stuff and stuff doesn’t make you any better, or any happier, than the person sitting next to you.
I found that the more I saw of Julia, the more I liked her. I have been her patient since I was thirteen years old and I never miss a session. Once a month, I sit across from her on a comfortably worn, stylish leather sofa, and I tell her all of my problems. In exchange, she prescribes me sleeping pills to aide in the depressing life I lead.
“I left Pete. I want a divorce,” I announce as I sit down on the sofa.
“What has brought this decision on after so many years?” She replies, ever so coolly.
“I saw a picture of him with some girl he’s been screwing,” I say angrily. Julia arches a brow at me calmly.
“This comes as a shock to you, then? You’re husband with another woman?”
I want to bitch slap her for being right on the money. I want to yell and scream about how I am so angry at myself.
“No,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and slinking down further into the sofa.
“What was his reaction to your wanting to terminate the marriage?”
“He wants to work on us, wants to be together. How can he switch it up so quickly? All of a sudden, he wants to stay together. I’m so confused,” I admit; not only to her, but to myself as well.
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