I put the water bottle next to her plate, take my seat across from Whit, and stare at my food. I’m no longer hungry, and the last thing I want to talk about is weddings and parties. “I’ll give it some thought, and let you know.”
“Okay, thanks. Maybe, like, up to San Francisco or something? Isn’t her mom up in Nor Cal? We could do Napa? What do you think about that?” Whit cuts a bite of chicken, and I notice the saran wrap on her wrist.
I think about how much I’d hate to leave Adam, and then I think about how pathetic that thought is, so I attempt to distract my fragmented brain.
“New tattoo?” I ask as I take a tiny bite.
She swallows and nods. “Yeah, you want to see?” Before I can answer she peels the tape that’s securing the plastic wrap and holds her wrist up proudly. The fresh dark ink is bleeding into the red skin. “I just had Rocko do it tonight.” Looking at the tattoo brings a full, real smile to her lips.
I reach over and take her wrist in my hand, careful not to touch the raw skin. It’s a compass, with the words, “be the one to guide me,” around it and a small anchor that’s encircled by the words, “but never hold me down.”
“Nice.” I read the words, but don’t fully process what they could mean. “It goes with the anchor tats you and Deo have, right?”
Whit shrugs and pulls her arm back, looking at the tattoos with a whole different frown. This one seems defiant. “Sort of. This marriage thing is hard, right?” she asks suddenly, her eyes pinning me.
Panic makes me feel exposed. The last thing I need is Whit realizing what a failure I am at this. She and Deo are attached at the hip. If she mentions anything to him, he’ll tell my brother, who will pass it on to my family. I cannot prove them right: they will never let me live it down if their fears—that I got married too young and too quickly to a guy I didn’t know long or well enough—are confirmed.
“I guess. I mean, Adam and I are just starting out.”
She re-wraps her wrist and nods. “I think that’s the hardest time of all. When you’re still figuring each other out. How to live together. How to be good for each other without stifling what the other person wants.” She picks up her fork and takes another bite of chicken, chewing slowly. “So, when Deo and I first moved in together, that was my biggest worry. That we might try to change each other. I sort of had this vision of what I thought we’d be like as a married couple, and what it actually turned out to be was a lot different than what I had in mind. And probably the same for Deo, too. And honestly, it’s hard to not be annoyed with this person that you’re around all the time, you know?”
“Yep,” I say, pushing my food around my plate.
I wish Adam didn’t storm out like that. I wish he was sitting here and not Whit. I don’t want to fight with him, and I don’t want to hear about how hard marriage is from the one person I’ve invested so much time into not liking.
“Genevieve?” She wipes her mouth and puts her fork down. “I heard you guys arguing.”
I tense up, blushing hot, not sure what to do. Deny it? Order her to leave? Demand to know why she was eavesdropping? Beg her not to mention this to anyone in my family? Or anyone who might tell anyone in my family? The panic rolls in like a slow, choking fog.
“I mean, I didn’t hear everything you were saying, but I heard you yelling.” She fiddles with her own wedding band, twisting it around and around on her finger. Her voice is gentler than I’ve ever heard it before.” And I just…I just want you to know that I haven’t been married that long, but it’s work. Everyday it’s work. Even on the days that I’m so damn head-over-heels in love with Deo I can’t see straight. But I see—we all see—how Adam looks at you, hon. And it’s so obvious how much he loves you.”
“Yeah?” I don’t mean to ask with such pathetic enthusiasm,, but there it is. Evidence of how unsure I am about Adam’s feelings.
“Yeah. So, I hope you guys can find a way to bend together, without trying to change each other. Because that’s the biggest trick of it all, and that’s what this tattoo means to me.” She runs her fingers over the crinkly saran wrap. “That Deo loves me enough to stand with me and help me when I need him, but he isn’t trying to change me. He isn’t ever trying to hold me back from anything. He just wants to be beside me. And I need to remind myself to do the same for him. For us, at least, it’s the key to our happiness. It’s what keeps us in a good place. Together.”
I lean back in my chair, realizing that I haven’t given Whit near the credit she deserves. “I think I know what you mean,” I admit.
The rush of relief feels that comes with saying those words makes me feel like an enormous weight has been lifted off my neck.
“You do?” She eats her last bite of chicken and nods. “Well, good then. And, I really am sorry for barging in like this.”
“No, not at all. I’m actually really glad that you came by, Whit.” I make sure I meet her eyes when I say, “Thank you.”
“Okay. Good. I’d better take off, I just meant to stay for a minute. I didn’t even tell Deo I wouldn’t be coming straight home.” She piles her fork and knife on her plate and clangs them together, flustered. “But thank you for dinner.” She carries the plate to the sink before I can get it and says, her eyes on the faucet, “You’re pretty incredible, Genevieve. You always surprise me. Adam is really lucky to have you.”
Whit turns around and smiles a genuine smile that catches me off guard, and I instinctively throw my arms around her. She takes a minute to recover from the shock of my touch, and then hugs me back.
“You guys are going to be okay, Gen. Just remember all the reasons you got married in the first place. I mean, Adam is a hottie, but I know that it’s deeper than that for you both. You wouldn’t fight if you didn’t love each other like you do.”
Instead of answering, I just squeeze her tighter and laugh at how unpredictably right an unexpected perspective can be.
15 ADAM
The apartment is dark when I get home. I drove up and down the coast for hours, trying to figure out what the hell I could say to Genevieve to make her understand that I’m not looking to change her, but I do want what’s best for her. And I don’t think spending her time waiting on me—or any man—is what will make her life the most fulfilling it can be.
I open the door, and my hope drops when I realize Genevieve must be in bed, since she isn’t parked in front of the TV watching Dancing with Whoever like she normally would be on a Tuesday night. The kitchen is spotless, except for the dish on top of the stove that’s covered in foil. I flip the tin back and see that it’s a plate of food, likely for me. After everything we said tonight, Genevieve was still thoughtful enough to set aside a plate for me.
I debate for a minute whether or not to just crash on the couch. I silently push the door to our bedroom open and curse the creaky floor as I make my way to the closet to get something clean to wear to bed.
I shower and change, and it’s fucking presumptuous as hell, but I slowly slide into bed next to Genevieve. Her back is to me and her breathing is slow and steady. I shouldn’t disturb her—that fiery temper may be even scarier if I wake her up—but I can’t fight the need to touch her. She’s wearing a tissue paper thin nightdress thing and her long hair is pulled back into a ponytail. I love seeing her like this. Without the glitter and push-up bras. When it’s just Genevieve without the pretense. I reach over and run my palm along the length of her arm and a smile tugs at the edge of my mouth as I watch her skin prick up with goose bumps.
“You awake?” I ask.
She gives a small, silent nod.
“I’m sorry for waking you. If I did…wake you…and I’m sorry for walking out like that. I just felt like things were getting really out of control, and maybe if you talked to Whit for a little and I drove around for awhile, then maybe we wouldn’t…hurt each other. Because I don’t ever want to say or do anything that hurts you Genevieve. I honestly just want what’s best for you, I want you to be happy. And you deserve
to be so, so happy. You’re amazing. And bright. And so, so damn sexy. I don’t deserve to know you, much less call you my wife. I know this situation is crazy. And I know you put a lot on the line so that I could stay here. And now I’m at this point where I wouldn’t even really want to stay if you weren’t….” I sigh. She hasn’t moved or said a word, and I feel like a total asshole. “I wouldn’t want to stay here anymore if you weren’t in my life, Genevieve.”
Her body shifts under the hand I still have on her arm and she rolls to face me. Those eyes. God, those eyes.
“I love you, too,” she says, her voice raspy with sleep.
“What?” I think I know what I heard, but I don’t want to get myself worked up if I’m wrong.
“I know what you’re trying to say,” she says, reaching up to stroke my cheek. “And I want you to know that I’m in this for the long haul, Adam. I love you, too. I really do.”
I scoop her up in my arms and roll her on top of me. I knot my fingers into her hair and pull her face to mine. “I love you, Genevieve,” I say against her lips.
She kisses me deeper, harder, and I roll her under me, grabbing at the hem of her dress, dragging the fabric up over her thighs. I try to pull the top down, but the straps don’t go further than halfway, and all I wind up doing is binding her arms. I press up and tug the cloth off. She giggles in the middle of my attempts.
“Why are you always giggling during sex, Mrs. Abramowitz?” I ask, kissing the tip of her nose.
“Because you always turn into a crazy man during sex.”
“Not crazy. Just a man,” I say, tugging hard at the fabric that’s keeping me from getting Genevieve naked.
Maybe I am going a little crazy, but who could blame me? With a wife this hot, not being able to get her naked would drive any sane guy nuts.
“You’re going to shred my nightgown,” she says, catching my bottom lip between her teeth and biting down with a wild nip. “How can a man who unravels the scientific mysteries of the universe have no clue how to take a simple dress off? Watch and learn.”
She rolls out from under me and hops off the bed. I lean back, my arms folded behind my head as she pulls the dress over her head, stretching her arms high. She walks slowly into the hall to turn off the lamp I left on before I came to bed, and her gorgeous naked body is silhouetted in the golden light.
“Leave it,” I say, my voice suddenly tight.
“You like the light?” She takes her time coming back to bed and topples onto me, all long limbs and silky hair everywhere.
“I like the light when it means I can see you looking so damn sexy.” I run my hands over her, loving the way she tangles herself around me and twists me into her warmth.
“I’m sorry we fought,” she whispers. “Can I make it up to you?”
My mouth goes dry and every attempt I make to swallow fails, so I just nod. I can tell by her voice that whatever she has in mind is going to make me go totally mad.
She rifles around in the closet, then darts into the bathroom. A few minutes later, she peeks out the bathroom door.
“Adam?”
I roll onto my stomach and look at her face, pink with embarrassment. I put my head down on my arms, eyes closed, and try to control my raging hard-on. “What do you need, Genevieve?”
“I feel silly.” I can hear her worry, but I have no idea what to say. The thought of what she might look like in the lingerie I know she has on is giving me serious wood. I need to see this. But she says, “I think I’m going to just take it off.”
“Please don’t!” I yell into the mattress.
A few seconds pass before her voice calls out, “You really want to see?”
I groan and look up. “Genevieve, are you seriously asking me if I really want to see you in lingerie? Seriously? You’re killing me. Slowly. Torturously. I—”
I stop because my brain is splicing. She’s standing in the hallway in a bustier top and a tiny pair of lace panties. Fishnet stockings hug her never-ending legs, tied at the top of her thighs with little bows. Like the best presents imaginable. I sit up on the bed.
“Come here. Right now.”
She follows the sound of my voice and stands in front of me her fingers nervously adjusting the fishnets. “I know, right? It’s silly. They went kind of over the top and—”
“Are you crazy?” I tug her closer, grab her hand, and press it between my legs. Her gasp makes me screw my eyes closed and grit my teeth to avoid throwing her on the mattress and having my way with. “Do you feel that?”
“Yes.” Her voice wobbles.
“That’s how hard I got in the three seconds since you stepped into that hall. No girl ever made that happen before. You are so damn sexy.” I tug her closer, and fold down the cups of her bustier, pulling one nipple, then the other into my mouth, running my tongue over each one and sucking until her breaths turn to pants. “And you’re mine,” I growl, my hands going around her thighs and grabbing tight on her ass. “Tell me.”
She straddles my lap and kisses my mouth hard, rubbing her body against mine in one long, slow slide. “I’m yours,” she declares between broken moans. “I’m yours, Adam.”
“Yes you are.” I push the little strip of lace between her legs aside and slide my fingers deep into her, but it isn’t enough. I turn her over and lay her on her back, spreading her legs and kissing her thighs. “I’m going to eat you out now.”
“I…Adam, no, I…it’s not something I really l-l-l-like,” she stutters as I suck her clit into my mouth. I move my lips lower, loving the salty-sweet taste of her that consumes my taste buds. I let my tongue work in slow, deliberate circles and strokes, moving faster when she bucks and pumps, slowing down when she draws back.
“Do you like this?” I ask, licking her clit as I slide my fingers into her.
“Yes.” She has her face turned to the side, so her voice is muffled by the pillows.
“And this?” I spread her legs wide and lick up and down the length of her. I know by the way she shivers and the goose bumps on her legs that she likes what I’m doing, but I want to hear her say it.
“Mmm. I love it.” She fists her hands in the sheets and turns her head from side to side. “More. Please, more.”
“This?” I brush my lips over the sensitive skin on the insides of her thighs, barely kissing her, barely breathing on her. She squirms and presses close for more. “Or this?” I moved my fingers down and wait for her to hold her breath. She does, expectant, but I don’t give her exactly what she wants. I hardly touch her, actually, and she tries to wiggle in a way that will make my fingers slide deeper, press harder. “Not so fast.”
“Why are you torturing me?” she whimpers.
“Trust me. You’ll be thanking me later.”
My instinct is to not let up at all, to do exactly what she asks, but we’ve tried it this way before, and she always winds up getting me caught in a moment where I can’t say no to her. And then she manages to get me to use my dick instead of my mouth.
It’s a point of pride for me. I want her to come from the way I lick her, the way I kiss her. She told me no guy ever got her off that way before, and it’s burning me to be the first, to be the one who exposes her to new ways of feeling pleasure. After the stupid fight we had this evening, after the way I threw her generosity and sweetness in her face—no matter how noble my intentions—I owe her this.
I draw my hands over her lightly, lick softly, kiss so that my lips barely brush her skin. She lies with her limbs thrown out, back arched tight, hips slightly off the bed, breathing shallow and quick. I can feel the impatience and passion building in her, and that’s exactly what I want.
“Adam,” she begs, but I tune her out. I’m not going to get distracted tonight.
Especially not after the head she gave me a few afternoons ago. I was on my way to a presentation. I’d prepared my slides, I’d practiced my speech in front of the mirror, then in front of Genevieve until I had every single phrase and gesture down. I wa
s ready to go, but nervous as hell when she offered to take the edge off.
I thought she may have been talking about a massage or a shot of some hard liquor, but then she sank to her knees, tugged my fly down, folded my boxers back, and took me deep in her mouth, all the way until I was pressed to the back of her throat, and she was moaning against me and rubbing my thighs with her hands the entire time. She sucked hard, swirled her tongue along the length of my dick, used her hands to twist and pull at it and then cradle and cup my balls. She took my hands and buried them in her hair, and the last scrap of controlled man flew out the window. I was an animal, and all I could do was feel the hot, wet slide of my wife’s mouth as I sank my fingers into her hair pulsed against her, harder than I ever had before.
I’d never felt anything better than that orgasm, and I wanted that for her.
I lick her with more pressure, and she tugs on my hair. “Please, Adam, I want you in me. Now.”
I stop and ask, “Do you touch yourself?”
“W-w-what?” Her voice stutters out and I smile and lick at her again.
“Do you touch yourself? Masturbate?”
“Sometimes. Not as often anymore.” She smiles and inches her hand down. “Why? Do you want to watch me?”
I shake my head, wrapping my arms around her thighs and sucking her clit. She relaxes for a few seconds, pressing hard against my mouth, then she tries to get me to come to her.
“Why don’t you want me to do this?” I ask, kissing and nuzzling her thighs. She squeezes them together slightly and moans.
She stays flat on her back and answers to the ceiling. “I don’t…I don’t like to feel out of control while you’re down there so calm.”
I pull away. “Do you enjoy sucking me off?”
She giggles nervously. “Yes. But that’s different.”
“How?” I ask, flicking my tongue slowly over her.
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