13. Deanna
DEANNA
Fidelity: During the term of the marriage, each party shall remain faithful to the other and shall refrain from any romantic or sexual relationship, conduct, or arrangement with any third party. Any breach of this Section by either party shall constitute a material breach of this Agreement.
Shared Residence and Bed: The parties shall maintain a shared marital residence and, where reasonable and practical, shall share the same bed therein. Nothing in this Section shall be construed to require cohabitation in circumstances of travel or other reasonable necessity.
Originally, it mentioned illness along with travel, but Prime made me cross it out. I don’t give a fuck if you have the sniffles. You’re in my bed. He signed before I did and stormed off again, disappearing like he did earlier today.
What the hell did I get myself into?
The agreement is good at least. I’m reasonably sure it would stand up in court, for the most part. I doubt the bed stuff can be enforced, but still. This contract ensures I get what I want from this relationship and protects me in case Prime changes his mind.
Which Prime does, all the time. I’ve seen him switch from one woman to the next in the space of an afternoon. I’ve seen him struggle between picking menus for dinner, for fuck’s sake. And now he’s acting like he’s the most loyal man in the world? Like he’d never, ever cheat on me?
Come on. It’s crazy.
A sick part of me was elated when he got angry earlier.
I liked seeing him crumble, at least for a moment.
Prime wears his jokes and his careless attitude like armor.
He walks through life like nothing fazes him, like there’s only ice in his veins and nothing else, no warmth in his heart, no cares in his soul.
But for a few minutes, I watched all that get swept away by the thought of me sleeping with another man.
Which is patently insane. I haven’t been with anyone in a while.
There have been a few failed dating app attempts here or there, but Prime’s a demanding boss and my parents need my care and attention, so I’ve never really had any extra energy for men.
I’m not a virgin, but I’m not very experienced either, so it’s not like I’m trolling around on Tinder and getting dicked by the first stud I find.
Still, it was nice that Prime cared. He really cared.
Now reality’s starting to set in. I blow the ink dry on the contract and set it aside to copy later. It’s past ten and Prime’s already upstairs in the shower.
I grab my toiletries bag from my suitcase and retreat to the extra bathroom. I do my routine, teeth, face, skin, and pull on simple pajamas, but decide to go with my most conservative pair. I’m snug under the blankets scrolling my phone when Prime emerges wearing only a towel.
It’s not like I want to stare. I didn’t set myself up for a view. But for the love of all that’s holy—or really, all that’s wrong and sinful—the man is a physical specimen, a perfect example of the male form, and I absolutely despise him for it.
Round, broad shoulders. Chiseled and defined chest. A shocking number of black tattoos: a cross surrounded with thorns, a serpent, a flock of crows on his shoulder, a name written inside a branch clutched in a dove’s mouth I can’t quite make out.
He holds his towel with one hand while the other runs through his thick, dark hair, apparently unaware that I’m gaping at him.
His abs ripple as he goes through his drawer, leading down to that obscene V, and I let out a gasp and a shout when he releases the towel, letting it fall, revealing a toned and tanned ass and smooth, muscular thighs, and holy shit?—
“Prime! Your dick’s out!”
He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “No kidding. I’m getting dressed.”
“But—but—but—“ Holy wow, oh my geez, heavens above, my word, my, my, my?—
My head’s glitching.
That’s the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.
Not that I have much experience, but still, he’s hung. Veiny and beautiful. I wonder if I can even wrap my hand around it. I’d need two to stroke him, and it’d stretch my mouth wide?—
“Deanna. Eyes up here.” He’s grinning massively when I force myself to stop studying his privates. “Would you please refrain from objectifying me?”
“You’re naked!”
“It’s my bedroom.” He pulls on a pair of boxer briefs and I notice he’s not rushing. “Do I have to dress in the closet like a weirdo while we’re married?”
“No, I mean, I get it, but?—“
“Yes, I have a lovely dick. I’ve been told by many women. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to let you taste it.”
“Prime!”
“Just an innocent offer.”
“That’s not innocent.” I look down despite myself, and fuuuuuuuuuck me, he’s getting hard. “It’s not innocent at all.”
He touches himself. Grips his dick so it shows as an outline in his boxer briefs and acts like he’s surprised. “Huh, look at that. Just thinking about you licking and sucking my big dick gets me all aroused.”
I pull the blankets over my head. “I hate this.”
“You really don’t.”
I’m extremely mortified, but what did I expect?
Prime’s not exactly shy about his body. And I’ve seen him before in the past, though never like this.
I’ve only caught glimpses and usually he’s been buried inside pretty and happy-looking women (and now I know why they always seemed so eager to return).
He’s right that I can’t expect him to change in the closet every day. It’s his room too and he has every right to dress like a normal person. Still, I would’ve liked some warning, and maybe a few months to get used to the idea of seeing his body like that.
The bed creaks as he gets in. The lights snap out. I focus on my phone, trying to act like Prime’s not lying next to me. I glance over and notice he put on a black t-shirt but nothing else on the bottom, only those same briefs. He’s frowning and typing something, responding to an email.
Normal. This is normal. It has to be normal, right?
We’re married and trying to make it work, and besides, it’s Prime.
We’ve been working together for years. I know him, know his habits, I can probably guess exactly who he’s messaging and what he’s saying based entirely on his facial expression. He’s not a stranger.
Then why does it feel like I’m doing something wrong?
“Go to sleep and stop thinking about my genitals.” Prime rolls over and plugs his phone in.
“I wasn’t—“ I stop the denial and decide to ignore him.
Stupid, childish husband.
But sleep doesn’t come. I have a lot of work tomorrow.
Not only am I still Prime’s assistant, which is an arrangement we really need to discuss, but the movers are coming with most of my stuff.
I have to navigate how my parents will react to me leaving the house, especially my mother, while making sure the nurse can pick up the slack.
Stress sits on my chest like a tomb and then there’s Prime’s dick like a magical balm to all my troubles floating through my stupid brain.
“You’re still awake.” His voice cuts through the dark.
“I guess you are too.”
“Usually I can power down in a few seconds.”
“You’re a robot. Great to know.”
He shifts. I peek, curled on my side. He’s looking at the ceiling, face outlined in gray from the window. “What did you tell your parents about us?”
“You really want to talk about this now?”
“I’m curious.”
“I didn’t tell them anything.”
A hint of a frown. “How’s that work? You’re hoping they won’t notice you’re gone?”
“I told them I got my own place. Turns out, my mother doesn’t ask questions, and my father’s incapable of caring either way.”
“I see.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Yes and no. You obviously know how to handle your parents better than I do. But still… we’re married.”
“What would be the point? My mother would only worry and complain that I didn’t invite her to the wedding. My father would only forget. Why introduce that to their lives?”
“I guess they aren’t wondering where the money comes from.”
“My mom thinks I got a raise at work.”
A slight smile on his porcelain face. “Somewhat true.”
I bury myself deeper in the blankets. I don’t want to talk about my parents. Not with his warmth wrapping around me. “What about you? Did you… know your mom and dad?”
I don’t know why I ask. I guess I can’t help myself. I have the vague idea that Prime didn’t have a great childhood, but beyond that I’m clueless about that guy. I want to know more about my husband even if it’s always been clear he doesn’t want to talk about it.
But to my surprise, after a long silence, he turns his face toward the window.
“I have an early memory. I was in a car with a woman… we were living there. I remember sleeping in the back, her arms wrapped around me, and it was cold but she was doing her best to keep me comfortable… but there’s nothing else. I always assume that was my mother.”
“What happened to her?”
“I don’t know. My father was never around. I bounced around the foster care system for my entire childhood.”
“Except for that car.”
“I couldn’t have been older than two or three… strange the way memories work. That should be long gone.”
“Were you ever… you know…” I feel stupid asking, but I have no idea how it works.
“Adopted? No, I was never the type. Too problematic as a young child and too dangerous as I got older.”
“Look at you now.”
“I met some people. They took me under their wing, taught me the business.” He glances over. “There’s a lot you don’t know about what I do, flower. It’s probably better if it stays that way.”
I open my mouth to ask what he means, but Prime rolls away, turning his back to me. The question dies in my throat, but the confusion lingers.
That makes no sense. I practically run his businesses. I brought in an outside investor almost entirely on my own. There’s nothing about Prime’s operation that I don’t know about.
Except there are meetings, large gaps in his days, random trips with no explanation, and occasionally men lurking around who don’t seem like they belong.
I’ve always explained that stuff away. It’s Prime being Prime, right?
He’s got shady friends and if he’s not in the office, he’s probably out banging some random woman.
But what if it’s all rationalization?
How does a man like him go from barely surviving as an orphan to thriving with multiple investment properties and more money than he needs?
Maybe it really is better if I don’t know.