Chapter 1 #2
“If this is your punishment, I’ll take it any day of the week,” I moan as he rocks his hips against me. He laughs, lowering his lips to mine.
“This isn’t the punishment, gorgeous,” he says, pushing the button on the toy one more time. “This is.” He puts it back on my clit and the most intense vibrations rip through me. “Come all you need to, baby. You can’t stop these.” And he’s right.
The first orgasm builds within seconds. Is it his dick beating the shit out of that sweet spot inside of me, or is it the clit destroyer 3000 ripping my sanity apart?
I don’t have much time to ponder before the first orgasm rips through my body and the next one starts building immediately.
I come over and over again, my throat dry from the screams and my lungs burning from the lack of oxygen.
My clit feels like it could fall off my body.
Malcolm comes, and I think that’s the end, but it’s not.
He pulls out, and the toy never moves, continuing to drain the life out of me through my pussy.
I can’t take it anymore. He knows it, and I know it, but he’s not letting up until I call the word.
“Platypus, Malcolm,” I cry out. “I can’t anymore. Platypus.”
The second I say the safeword, everything changes. The toy disappears from my clit immediately, and he moves around on the bed.
"Okay, sweetheart. I've got you,” he says. His hands are gentle as he removes the blindfold and unties my wrists. He rubs his thumbs over the spots where the scarves had been before helping me sit up. "You okay?" I nod. "Words, Penny."
"I'm good,” I reply with a tired smile. He studies my face for another second before seeming satisfied.
"Stay right here."
"I'm not sure I could move if I wanted to."
“That was the plan,” he says with a wink, a grin tugging at his mouth.
He disappears into the bathroom for a minute before returning with a warm washcloth.
The whole thing feels strangely familiar.
Not this specifically, but being cared for by Malcolm.
For years he was the person who brought me medicine when I was sick, carried me to bed when I fell asleep on the couch, and remembered exactly how much cream I liked in my coffee.
Some things never change. When he's finished, he climbs onto the bed beside me and pulls me against his chest. I go willingly.
His hand moves slowly up and down my back while the other works at the tension in my shoulders.
A content sigh escapes me. For a while neither of us says anything.
I just listen to the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, then Malcolm shifts.
"What are you doing?" I ask, pushing him back down.
"Getting the food."
"No,” I whine. “I'm comfortable."
"You haven't eaten, and I just drained you of all life source. You have to eat,” he laughs, untangling his body from my own to get up out of the bed. Five minutes later, he's back with takeout containers balanced on one arm and two drinks in the other.
"You have never brought dinner to bed before.”
"You can’t walk or keep your eyes open. I’ll make an exception,” he says, making me laugh as he settles beside me again and hands me a drink.
I take a long sip and sigh as the liquid slides down my throat.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Malcolm glances over.
"Did you have a good time tonight?" I nearly choke on a French fry.
"That is an absurd question,” I reply, and his laugh fills the room.
"I'm serious. I wanna make sure you’re okay.”
"Yes, I had a very good time." The answer seems to matter more to him than I expected.
"Good."
I look down at the food for a moment, debating how to have the next conversation.
"Can we do it again?" I ask, looking up at him slowly as his eyebrows lift.
"Again?"
"Yes."
"I think that can be arranged."
"Maybe more than one more time,” I say, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. His expression changes immediately, and the teasing disappears.
"Penny,” he starts, and I look down at my lap. "What are you asking?"
It's ridiculous. We've been married before. I've seen this man at his best and his worst. I've signed divorce papers with him, and somehow this conversation still feels terrifying. I set my food aside.
"When we were married, I never really told you what I wanted,” I start, and his eyebrows pull together.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean..." I sigh. "I spent a lot of time trying to be the easy wife." His expression immediately darkens.
"Penny."
"No, let me finish."
He nods.
"I kept telling myself I was fine. Fine with whatever. Fine with less. Fine with not asking for things." I pick at a loose thread on the blanket. "The truth is, I wanted more."
"More what?" he asks, his voice softer now. I laugh nervously.
"Everything,” I admit as I look up at him. "More affection. More attention." His eyes never leave mine. "And honestly?" I say. "More of this." Understanding immediately flashes across his face.
"Oh."
"Yeah. Oh."
"I thought wanting things like this made me demanding. I thought asking for more would make me difficult,” I tell him, and his jaw tightens.
"You could never have asked too much from me."
"See, that's the thing." I look away. "I know that now, but I didn’t then.
" Silence settles between us. "I spent years convincing myself that quick, routine, checking-the-box intimacy was enough because at least we were together.
" The confession feels heavier than I expected.
"But it wasn't enough." Malcolm reaches for my hand, and I let him take it.
"It wasn't about what happened tonight specifically.
It was about feeling wanted. Feeling pursued.
Feeling like you couldn't wait to get your hands on me. "
"I do feel that way."
"I know you did tonight.”
“I still do, but I did back then, too, and I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel like I wanted you as bad as I did.” For a moment neither of us speaks. “So what are you asking me?” I look down at our joined hands then back up at him.
"I'm saying I regret not telling you what I needed." His thumb brushes across my knuckles. "And I'm wondering if maybe we're both old enough now to stop pretending we don't want each other."
His laugh fills the room. God, I missed that laugh, then he sobers again.
"What are you asking, Penny?" This time I answer immediately.
"I'm asking if we can try again."
"Again as in dinners?"
"Yes."
"Movie nights?"
"Yes."
"Stealing my hoodies?"
"Obviously."
A smile tugs at his mouth.
"Again as in us?"
I nod.
"Us. I want you and all this kinky shit to come home." He leans forward with a smile on his face, pressing a kiss to my forehead. A simple gesture. One he used to do all the time. One I've missed more than I ever admitted.
"Yeah, sweetheart," he says quietly. "We can try again." I smile against his shoulder.
"Good."
"Good?"
“Yeah, I don't think I'm done with you yet,” I say, and his eyes darken as his arm tightens around me.
"That's convenient."
"Why?" I ask innocently, and a grin appears on his face.
"Because I'm definitely not done with you."