Diana in Love (Dirty Diana #2)

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Jasper’s tongue is inside of me, moving rhythmically. I’m on my back, staring at a stain on my ceiling, just beneath Emmy’s bathtub. I make a mental note to call the plumber.

It’s the second ceiling I’ve stared at since Jasper came over. First, we had a shower together, and soon we were making out against the sink—the bathroom ceiling was in good condition, just the tiniest beginning of peeling paint in one corner. And now we’re naked on the dining room table, Jasper between my legs. I try to concentrate on the pleasure, the feel of his mouth on me, but each time Jasper suggests we move to another part of the house, I lose focus and the good feeling evaporates. “Are you comfortable?” He looks up at me, concerned. “Let’s move to the couch. Last time we’ll move. Promise.”

He takes me by the hand and we sink into the couch. He kisses his way back down my stomach, stopping at the soft skin of my thighs. I tense around him, holding him in place.

“That’s it. Right there.”

I will not look at the ceiling. I will not add chandelier bulbs to my shopping list.

“Keep going…”

Jasper knows I’m close and slips his fingers inside me. When I let out a quiet gasp, he says, “The kitchen. Let’s finish there.”

“Jasper…”

“What? We’ve never had sex in your kitchen. God, you’re perfect. I’ve never wanted to make anyone come so badly in my life.”

“I’m ready…”

“Wait. Not yet.”

He leads me into the kitchen. He clears the island and picks me up by the hips. “Lie down.”

“Jasper. I think I’d like to just be done.”

“But you didn’t come.”

“Won’t you want to have sex in the guest room next? We can wait until then.”

“I like it.” He kisses my neck, down to my shoulder. “I’m getting to know your house.”

“You’re marking your territory before you leave for Iceland.”

“No. I’m enjoying it. It’s exciting. Being here. It feels real. Come on, we’re not finished.” He picks me up and carries me up the stairs to my bedroom. There’s a mania to his movements, a desperation. It reminds me of the times I would tell Emmy that we had five minutes left at the playground and she would run furiously to every piece of equipment, trying to get in one last slide or swing. I force the thought from my head. Our time is not running out.

On the bed, we are gentle with each other, our legs intertwined, our bodies pressed together, and we never take our eyes off each other. He brushes my hair from my forehead, kissing every inch of my face as he thrusts deeper inside me and we come together. I could do this for the rest of my life. And that’s what makes it so heartbreaking. Our time is measured in work trips and weekends. Never lifetimes.

He kisses my neck, his body curled into mine.

“So that’s the home tour.” I smile.

“Nice place,” he murmurs into my neck.

“Let’s take a shower,” I propose. “A real one this time.”

“Wait. Come here. Lie with me for one more second. I want to show you something.”

Jasper disappears, then reappears holding a new camera.

“I shot on it all afternoon.”

“But you love your Leica.”

“Sure. But not like this. It doesn’t even feel like a camera. It feels like an extension of me.”

“It feels new.”

“I love new.”

“I’m new.”

“And familiar. In all the best ways.” He kisses my fingers. “I know you here. And here. I know you like this…”

“Neither of us is exactly the same as before. We’re new—this, us—now.”

“Yes. So squeaky new I have to fuck you every single way so I remember how perfect you are.”

“And then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“After you’ve fucked me every single way. What happens?”

“I do it again. And again. For the rest of our lives.”

“And what if I get sick? Or depressed? Or my teeth fall out?”

Jasper props himself on his elbow, his expression serious. “What is this?”

“Nothing. It could happen.”

“Tell me…”

“Jasper. I’ve chased your attention before.”

“That was a million years ago. Let’s not go backward to some old argument.”

“It isn’t an argument.”

“It feels like one.”

“I’m going to shower.” I stand but he grabs my hand.

“I want to know every part of you. I want to know what you’re thinking and making and dreaming about making. I want to know about your life and your house and I want to know about your daughter and her school and her friends and her art and what she’s making and dreaming about making.”

I soften. He pulls me gently toward him. “Diana. There’s still so much to know…” I give in and lie beside him. “Like why exactly your teeth are going to fall out.”

I laugh and he rolls onto me, pinning me to the bed. He’s ready for round two. But I can’t let it go.

“You leave tonight?”

“My flight is at eight. It’s not too late. I could put you in my suitcase.”

“It is too late.”

“Next time then?”

“Sure.”

But a sinking feeling has hit us both. He tries to bring us back up to the surface. “What about this summer? We can meet back in Paris? I mean, for longer this time.”

“That sounds great.”

Summer is still eight months away. Are we both quietly saying, Maybe I’ll see you then ? We lie in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, our arms touching but neither of us saying a word.

I turn my cheek to face him. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?” He looks at me to see what kind of game I’m suggesting.

“Jasper.” I place my hand over his eyes.

“They’re closed, I swear.” He holds his hand over mine, his palms calloused and warm.

“What do you see?”

“The last picture I took.”

“Tell me.”

“You, in a blue dress, in your backyard. You’re barefoot. Your legs are bare, too, and you’re turned away from me, looking at something in the grass, maybe. Your hand is up near your face, just about to tuck your hair behind your ear.”

After a long pause, I slip my hand from his eyes—but he grabs it and holds it to his chest.

“Is that my parting gift?” he asks.

I smile. “You took the picture. It’s yours.”

“And you’re mine?”

“That picture will always be yours. My turn.” I grab his hand and place it over my eyes.

He’s quiet for a second, like maybe he doesn’t want to play anymore. But then he asks, his voice hoarse, “What do you see?”

I close my eyes tighter. “It’s not a picture. More like a film?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. My subject is too restless to sit still for a photo. He moves around too much.”

“I see.” Jasper laughs. “He sounds…Well, I’m assuming he’s gorgeous.”

I laugh too. “How did you guess?”

“I can hear it all over your voice.”

“He is gorgeous. And I like the way he moves, the way he walks, the way he drifts in and out of a scene. It only makes him…better.”

It’s calm here in my room. Jasper’s hand over my eyes. “Is he all alone? In your film?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Not always. There’s a woman. She comes and she goes, but he never feels alone.” I pull his hand from my face and kiss his fingers. “He’s happy.”

“The blue dress is real. And so is the photo.”

“And so is the film. And my fantasy of us.”

Jasper takes me in his arms and holds me against his chest. I think about Paris and maybe seeing him there again and maybe not and my eyes well with tears and I let them fall onto his chest.

—

“I don’t get it. Are you broken up?” L’Wren and I collect balls on the tennis court.

“It’s our thing. It’s the way we are.”

“Your thing? Saying goodbye? I don’t like it.”

“It wasn’t designed to be forever.”

“Diana. I know. Just because I’m in love doesn’t mean I only speak Hallmark—but there’s this charge in the air when I’m around you two.”

“I’m grateful I got to feel it in my twenties and again in my forties.” I am trying to convince myself. I do feel grateful.

“So you would be with Jasper if you could? If the timing was right?”

“Yes.”

“But you want to be with Oliver too?”

“No! No. It’s not like that.”

“Good.” The tension drains from her posture. “Because I would literally kill you. I want to celebrate our divorces at the same time. Maybe we should have a party? Isn’t that what people are doing now?”

“Why do we have to celebrate anything?”

“So we control the narrative.”

“You haven’t told Kevin about moving in with Arthur, have you?”

“No. I’ve been suckered into cochairing the Party with a Purpose and I really need a solid donation and I don’t know how he’ll take it. That witch Penny always raises so much money. She blew me away in wrapping paper sales last year. I’d love to see her smug face when I raise six figures.”

“As long as you’re doing it for the right reason.”

“You know what I mean.”

“So you’ll tell Kevin after the dance?”

“Yes. Right after. After I get his check.”

“So you’re going with Arthur to the dance?”

“No. Yeah. I mean, no. I mean, he’s—” She tosses our last ball in the ball hopper. “He’s got this thing…he’s busy.”

She’s a terrible liar.

“L’Wren, just because I’m single and going solo doesn’t mean you can’t bring a hot date.”

“What? No. It’s like a spay-and-neuter convention. He’ll be away and I’ll be totally on my own…. Pinkie swear.”

I narrow my eyes, but she refuses to back down. “L’Wren, are you asking me to homecoming?”

“I’ll rent us a limo!”

“Fine. But I’m not putting out.”

“We’ll see.” She taps me on the ass with her racket. “I can be very persuasive after a few strawberry wine coolers.”

—

“Should we pick up where we left off last week?” Miriam asks.

When Oliver is quiet, I lie. “I don’t remember where that was. But maybe we can start somewhere new? I’ve noticed picking up Emmy on Sunday nights from Oliver can be a difficult transition and I’m wondering if there’s a better way—”

“You said you dreaded having sex with me,” Oliver reminds us. “That’s where we left off.”

“Right.”

“Do you want to expand on that, Diana?”

“Well. Oliver already admitted that we were broken. As people. And as a couple. And broken people don’t want to have sex with each other. I didn’t find Oliver attractive when he was broken.”

“I still found you attractive.”

“You always wanted to have sex with me. I’m not sure that’s the same thing. You would have sex any time of the day. At a funeral. After I threw up. With our daughter in the bed.”

“That’s not fair—Emmy was a baby…”

“Still. I get that you could always have sex. But I need more.”

“You didn’t find me attractive.”

“You didn’t find yourself attractive.”

Oliver quiets. There is truth here.

“It started to feel like a prescription being filled. If your bad mood became so unbearable or you were mopey, I knew having sex would make it easier to be around you. And then when we did have sex, you were completely unaware of my pleasure. It’s like it was fine as long as you came.”

Miriam takes a note before asking, “Oliver? How do you feel, hearing this?”

“Uncomfortable, I guess. I don’t want this to make me uncomfortable. It’s one of the reasons we’re here. To discuss our sex life. It’s what I’ve been pushing Diana to do. And now, it’s making me want to walk out.”

“Why do you think talking about this makes you uncomfortable?”

“Do most men in your office enjoy hearing that their wife dreaded having sex with them?”

“You’re making yourself into the victim again.”

“I’m not. It’s just hard to hear.”

“Good thing we don’t need to talk about it. Like ever again. I mean, why are we torturing ourselves?” I interject.

Oliver presses on. “I don’t know. I didn’t ever think sex was something I was supposed to talk about.”

“Why is that?” Miriam asks.

“It’s how I was raised. Sex is something you have but don’t talk about. Sex is for making children. Masturbating is a sin. All that shit they tell you…”

“How did you feel when you masturbated as a teenager?”

“I didn’t.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes. Of course. I don’t want to be like my parents. I don’t want to be like this. I know how old-fashioned it is. You marry the good girl and you fantasize about the other one…”

“Who is the other one?”

“Not your wife.”

“Did you feel like you could experiment in the bedroom with Diana or was that not allowed?”

“No. We didn’t really experiment.”

“Diana?” Miriam asks me.

“No. We had sex the same way, mostly,” I answer, truthfully.

“Did you enjoy sex with Diana?”

“Sex was sex. It was fine. I thought I enjoyed it. At the time,” Oliver admits.

“Why just at the time?”

“Because since we’ve separated, I’ve had better sex. Sex that I enjoy more.”

“Wow.” I can’t help myself.

“Don’t take that the wrong way.”

“How am I supposed to take it?”

“Well, you’ve been saying you didn’t really enjoy sex with me and the truth is, I didn’t either. It was fine. But it can be better. I know that now.”

“I’m so glad you’re having such great sex, Oliver. I am too.”

“Good. Because I want you to be enjoying yourself. Sex is a lot better when the woman is enjoying herself.”

“Oh, really? Did you just learn that?”

“You would just lie there, Diana. It was like having sex with a pillow!”

“Fuck you! Really. Fuck you, Oliver! I would just lie there because I wanted it to be over.”

“I know. You’ve told me a hundred fucking times how much you hated it. Turns out I can make women come. And it feels fucking great.”

“I’m so glad Katherine is having fulfilling orgasms. Please. Tell me more about that.”

“I can make her come with my fingers, with my fucking dick, I can even make her come when I fuck her in the ass.”

Silence. The air sizzles with the shame of having gone too far. We don’t do this. We never fight. We aren’t this passionate about anything. The veins in Oliver’s neck pulse. His fists are balled and his jaw is tight. We are alive.

“Let’s get back on track here. What I hear you saying, Oliver, is that you wish Diana had been enjoying sex with you more because when a woman puts her pleasure first, it becomes more pleasurable for you.”

“I just want to talk about it. It’s not off-limits. There’s no shame. It’s our fucking bodies. We were married. I should know every part of her body. Every fucking part and I don’t. And I want to.”

Want to, present tense. Was that a slip? Didn’t he mean wanted to ? When we were together?

As if picking up on this, Miriam asks, “What would you say to Diana if you could go back in time?”

“I would tell her that I thought of things too. That we could do. Things I never told her.”

“You did?”

“All the time. But I kept them in my head. I was even too afraid to masturbate to them. Like I was a deviant.”

“What were they?”

Oliver’s face turns pink with embarrassment.

“Oliver,” Miriam assures him, “a vivid fantasy life is healthy.”

Oliver pauses, still unsure.

“I guarantee it isn’t anything I haven’t heard—that I haven’t read about.”

Oliver shifts his body on the couch. “I wanted to handcuff you to our bathroom sink. And lock you inside. I wanted you to wear tights with no crotch. I wanted you to be my toy. I wanted to control when you came. I wanted to discipline you.”

In an instant, the energy in the room changes.

“Is that something you would have been willing to try, Diana?”

I feel heat rising in my body, blood rushes to my face. “Umm.” I clear my throat, trying to match my voice to Oliver’s confident desires. “Yes. I would have. I would have liked that.”