He reaches for my arm. “Baby, are you all right?”
I smirk as I answer. “I think I’m a little sore.”
Paul winks. “Well then, one of our options is postponed.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Postponed, not cancelled. I think I like that option, damn the consequences.”
He leans in and gives me a kiss. “That’s my girl.”
At the sound of his praise and claim, my chest grows tight with desire. Not for sex, though I want that too, but for this—for the familiarity and understanding that our marriage provides.
Chapter Six
Paul
The deck at the front of the thatched hut is covered in lattice, filtering the sun’s rays as the rolling waves cause a rhythmic sway to the structure that I hadn’t noticed until this morning. When I woke, I decided that after last night, I’d let Jenn sleep. While she did, I walked the entire perimeter of the island. The other huts weren’t locked, yet they were as Miguel said, unoccupied.
I stopped at the main building and retrieved a few supplies to carry us through most of the day. There’s still unexplored land up the hills of the interior. From the helicopter I think I saw a waterfall.
When I returned to our hut and she still wasn’t awake, I made coffee.
Before waking her, I stood for a few moments watching her through the netting. I say it often, but I think my wife is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. I thought that from the moment I saw her across the room at a party I’d been wrangled into attending. Awestruck is a good description of how I felt that night.
Despite our recent discussion of divorce, that feeling hasn’t changed. It has grown. I know that she’s more than externally beautiful; my attraction is also to her inner beauty. Her heart is pure. Knowing that causes a bit of a twinge of guilt. Will exposing her to my desires tarnish her goodness? Perhaps that’s why I never admitted them before.
With Jenn’s long hair tousled around her face and the thin sheet covering her luscious body, it was all I could do not to strip and rejoin her in our bed. And then I noticed the subtle changes as her expression twitched.
My guilt intensified.
Was she dreaming about last night? Was it a nightmare? Was it upsetting her?
As I woke her, I saw the glistening tear, and yet her expression upon seeing me didn’t warrant crying. I tried to convince myself that it was simply waking to the bright sun. Yet the possibility remains that perhaps I’d pushed too hard last night.
Our timetable is limited, and while I don’t want to force her, I will show her what I need. I’ve done this before and understand that there’s a fine line. Thankfully, I know how to navigate. We’ll take this journey together, or we’ll separate knowing we’ve been honest with one another.
I turn and smile to the soft sound of her footsteps over the wood decking.
Her gaze is out to the ocean as her blue eyes grow wide. “Paul, this is absolutely paradise.”
Rising, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her closer. “Only because you’re here.”
“No, I’m pretty sure this is paradise no matter what.”
I tease the edge of the silk robe she’s now wearing. “I think if you’d left this robe in the suitcase, it could be more of a paradise. I like the idea of my wife naked.”
Her cheeks rise. “If I did that, I think that postponed item on our agenda would be moved up the schedule.”
Just the thought reroutes my circulation, making my dick twitch. “Would that be so bad?”
Slowly she steps back, her lids growing heavy as her cheeks fill with color, and she reaches for the sash of her robe. “I think flexibility is the key to a successful agenda.” With one tug, the sash is untied and the white satin falls open, revealing the masterpiece God created.
“Jenn, the next time we make love, it isn’t going to be sweet.” Her breasts heave with each of my words. “And I don’t think you’re ready.”
Her lip disappears behind her teeth like it does when she’s thinking.
I step forward and free her captive lip with my thumb, holding tightly to her chin. “Trust me?”
She nods, moving her head as much as she can in my grasp.
“Then give me this,” I say. “Give me the next few days to show you what I desire, and if your needs aren’t the same, we’ll go back to the real world knowing we were honest.”
More tears escape her eyes. This time, I don’t ignore them. “Talk to me.”
Her head shakes as she rapidly swallows.
Taking her hand, I lead her to the table with our coffee and fruit until she sits. “You said you trust me, right?”
“Yes.”
I remove a blindfold from the pocket of my gym shorts. Stepping behind her, I begin to place it over her eyes. Immediately, her back stiffens as she sits taller and reaches up to the blindfold. “No, please, Paul. I-I...”
Not tying it, I lean down and begin kissing her neck. “Baby, trust me.”
“I’m scared.”
“You’re intrigued.” When she doesn’t respond, I give her more kisses, leaning over her from behind, my lips peppering her neck, behind her ear, and down to her collarbone. Her head rolls until it falls to the side granting me access. Through the thin satin, her nipples pebble and goose bumps cover her exposed legs. “Do you want me to stop?”
“I need to know you will.”
The tone of her voice and honesty of her response cuts me, stilling me in my tracks. There is fear in her voice like I’ve never before heard from her.
Is she really scared?
I move in front of her and drop to my knees. “Jenn, give me your hand.”
Without hesitation, she does. I place the blindfold in her grasp. “Tell me what’s happening, what you’re thinking.”
More tears fall as she looks at the blindfold, yet she doesn’t speak.
“I promise you are in control. I want to use that blindfold to show you what I mean.”
Her hand clenches the black material as her gaze is glued to the fabric. I’m not sure what will happen if she can’t do this simple thing. I suppose we could agree to disagree and admit that our marriage is beyond repair.
I understand fear because if this doesn’t work, my greatest fear will come true. I will be devastated. Finally, she opens her hand and extends the blindfold my direction.
With a sigh of relief, I retrieve the blindfold. “Good girl.” I stand and slowly cover her eyes. “Tell me what you’re thinking?”
With her eyes covered and a deep sigh, she answers me with the only answer that has the power to destroy our marriage. “I’m thinking that maybe we should admit defeat.”
“Is that what you want?”
She shakes her head.
“Do I scare you?”
“You? No. The way you’re acting? Yes.”
“What can you see?” I ask, adjusting the black material to fully cover her eyes.
“Nothing.”
“What do you hear?”
She’s quiet for a moment. “The ocean. I can feel it too. We’re swaying.”
“I recently noticed that, too.”
Her lips turn upward. “I hear you.”
“Good, listen to me and use all your available senses.” I reach for a piece of pineapple and tease her lips. “Just trust me. Can you do that?”
Her breathing hitches. “Yes.”
“Open your mouth.”
She does as I say and I place the juicy fruit on her tongue. Piece by piece, I feed her. A bite of fruit and then a piece of muffin. Intermittently I add the warm rim of the coffee mug. With each step she complies. After a bit, I ease the robe from her shoulders, and she whimpers.
“Baby, you’re beautiful.”
“Paul, this is...uncomfortable.”
“You’re right. My dick is so hard, I’m hurting.”
That makes her smile. “Maybe I can help you?”
I kneel again in front of her and push her knees apart, seeing her glisteni
ng pussy. “No, baby. I’m calling the shots.”
Her muscles clench, but with my position between her legs, she can’t close them.
Taking another piece of pineapple in my lips, I straighten my back and drag it over her tits, leaving a trail of sweetness. Slowly, I run it downward until I tease her clit with the sweet coolness. Her moans fill my ears. Then I sit back up and bring it to her lips. “Taste it. Taste how much sweeter it is with your juice on it.”
She obeys.
I begin retracing my descent, this time licking her skin until my tongue is deep inside her and she’s squirming upon the chair.
I’m in control and I like it.
Control doesn’t have to mean pain; it can also mean pleasure. Even when she calls out my name, I don’t stop. Lick by lick and suck by suck, I push her higher. The gyration of her hips and the way she’s gripping the arms of the chair, tell me what her words aren’t forming.
With her vision gone, she’s at my disposal for whatever I plan next.
When I lift her legs to my shoulders, she falls back. “I’ve got a great view of your pussy.”
“Paul, please...”
I swirl her clit with my tongue, drinking her juices. It’s as I use my teeth that her legs begin to stiffen.
“Paul, I’m...I’m...”
“Do it,” I command.
Jenn screams as her body trembles and quakes. With her still panting, I stand, wrap the robe back around her and tie the sash. By the time I remove the blindfold, we’re both smiling.
I wink as I sit across the table from her. “Would you like some more coffee?”
She shakes her head. “Coffee? After what you just did, you’re asking me about coffee?”
“Yes, my love, coffee.”
Her eyes search me, hopefully seeing me in a way she’s never seen me before.
“Coffee?” I ask again, lifting our empty mugs.
“Yes, I’d get it,” she says, “but I’m not sure my legs work.”
“If their job is being a vise, they work. Baby, you were squeezing my head.” I stand and get the pot of coffee from the coffee machine. When I return, I kiss the top of her head. “Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of opportunity to service me.”
Though I see a bit of concern, overwhelmingly, her expression is one of satisfaction and satiation.
As I sit, I ask, “Would you like to call for an excursion or stay on the island?”
“What else is there to do on the island?”
“If I say all there is to do is fuck, will you choose the excursion?”
With the cup to her lips, her eyes find me. “Most definitely not.”
“So my wife is okay with riding my dick all day?”
She shrugs. “I mean, we also need to eat.”
Chapter Seven
Jenn
It turns out that there is more to do on the island than make love. With our hands joined, we continue our walk exploring the beach. The walk isn’t only to enjoy the beauty of the island but to do what Dr. Kizer recommended, to talk.
“Paul?” I ask with my toes in the sand and the sea breeze and sun on my face.
“Yes?”
“Do I need a safe word?”
He stops in his tracks with our hands still joined.
Looking back from where we’ve come, I notice our footprints in the sand and wonder about this change in my husband. Can we go back, and do I want that?
“How do you know about safe words?”
“Books,” I answer honestly. Richard didn’t believe in them. He said a true submissive would never use one anyway. He said he could choke her until she was at death’s door, and she wouldn’t ask her Dom to stop. It was his way of conditioning me, telling me exactly how to behave.
I was probably at that door more than once.
I push those thoughts away as I concentrate on my husband’s silly grin.
His smile grows as his eyebrows raise. “So you’ve read about submission?”
I nod. “Not lately, but I have. It’s in a lot of romance books.”
“What are your thoughts?”
“I told you. I’m scared.”
He sits on the sand with his long legs bent and his bare feet near the shore’s edge before he tugs my hand for me to join him. “Then what you read is wrong.”
“Wrong? What do you mean?”
“I told you there have been secrets in our marriage. Here’s mine. Before you, submission was what I looked for in a woman. I was attracted to women who were submissive at heart.” He squeezes my hand.
My pulse increases, remembering how Richard said he knew that about me before I did. “Before me?”
Paul’s smile gleams from his shining dark eyes to his bright white teeth. “Jenn, I know you’re a strong woman. I love that about you. This isn’t about every aspect of our life. I thought I could give up my need for dominance to be with you. It’s worked in every part of our relationship except our sex life. I miss it. I want it. I want you to at least try it.”
I’m trying to listen to him with an open mind.
Damn Richard for doing what he did. What should be fun is tainted.
My opinion is skewed and I know it. I’ve read books where what Paul is describing works, where participation is a mutual decision. Because of my past, I worry that those instances are only fiction. “Why did you say what I read was wrong?”
“Because if you trust me, there’s nothing to be frightened about. Remember breakfast?”
My cheeks rise. “I do.”
“How about last night?”
“I remember last night.”
“Good,” he says with a laugh. “What happened to you while you were pleasing me, letting me fuck your mouth?”
I look down at the print on the sundress I’m wearing over my bathing suit, suddenly fascinated with the swirls of color. Because if I look at my husband’s face, I know I’ll be embarrassed to admit the truth.
“Jenn?”
“I was turned on. Like more than I can remember being.”
“And after?”
My head shakes. “I don’t even know how many times I came.” I look up. “What about a safe word?”
“Will you use it?”
I take a deep breath. Is he asking if I’m a true submissive? “I don’t know. If I did, would you stop?”
“Are we talking about the act or everything? Are you asking if there’s a word that will mean that you tried this and you can’t do it—any of it—and you want out of our marriage?”
“I suppose that word is divorce, but I want to know if there’s a word to stop what you’re doing, not one to end everything. A word that will simply give me voice to be honest. I don’t want to be physically or emotionally hurt.”
Paul nods as he looks out over the ocean. “Damn, Jenn. You have given this some thought.”
“I told you, I’ve read books. Sometimes it ends well. Other times it doesn’t.”
“Can you define hurt?”
“I don’t know. Some of the things I’ve...read about seem intriguing.”
He takes a deep breath as his bare chest rises and falls. “When I first got involved in BDSM, I had a mentor. He—”
“A man?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes, a man. We didn’t have sex. He was a regular at a club I frequented. I could talk to him. He told me something that I’ll never forget. He asked me the difference between hurt and harm.”
I can’t believe we’re having this conversation after six years of marriage, and yet I’m not only anxious, I’m impressed. What Paul is proposing is more than a whim. He actually understands it. “You learned how to do this?”
He shrugs. “I believe I was born with the desires. I learned how to do it right.” He turns his gaze to me. “Can you answer the question my mentor asked me?”
“The difference between hurt and harm?” I ask, confirming his question.
“Yes.”
I give it some thought. “For me, I think hurt means pain.”
“What does harm mean?”
“Intentional...irreparable.”
“Intentional? If I spanked your sexy ass, there would be pain. It would be intentional. Would it be harm?”
My nipples harden and core twists as I imagine what he’s asking. Damn my body. No matter what my mind thinks, its traitorous responses give me away.
His gaze falls from my eyes to my breasts. I can tell by his grin that he sees the way they’ve reacted. “Maybe we should give it a try?”
“No.”
Paul’s brow shortens as his eyes widen in a look of surprise or shock. “No?”
“No,” I clarify. “It wouldn’t be harm. It would be hurt. That’s physical, which is most usually reparable. I also said emotionally and that’s different.”
He nods. “It is. What scares you about the emotional side?”
“Losing me.”
Paul sits straighter and reaches for my cheeks, pulling me closer. With our noses nearly touching, all I can see is the brown of his eyes. “Baby, that’s what this is all about. I don’t want to lose you.”
Before I can respond, his lips are on mine and our kiss grows deeper. He tastes of coffee and saltwater. There’s more I want to ask, more I want to say. I know if this is going to work, I need to confess my secrets too. I wonder if our initial attraction was because of my secret and his. Apparently, it was there, though neither of us confessed.
Many questions flit through my mind. None of them lasts long enough to find a voice. I’m too overwhelmed with the man taking my breath away, the man making me forget everything else, the man who doesn’t want to lose me.
“I told you,” he says between kisses, “that the next time we fucked it wouldn’t be sweet.”
He begins lifting my sundress, his fingers on the side of my bikini bottom. “I meant it, but right now, I want to make love to my wife. We can fuck later.”
With the way my insides are twisting, I know it’s what I want too. It’s also what I need. It isn’t only the desire, though that’s strong. It’s the connection. “Yes.”
I barely have the word out when Paul is inside me. My back arches as I whimper and try to adjust.
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