Chapter 24 #3
Pointing a finger in my direction, he said, “Don’t.
I mean it. The kid is awake and we have work to do and I can’t hear that sound out of your mouth right now.
I can’t, Shay.” He shook his head. “Five minutes ago you were telling me it was a one-time deal. You were the one who said it couldn’t happen again. ”
“I mean, we shouldn’t.” The reluctance in my voice was as thick as butter.
He cut a sideways glance in my direction, his jaw rolling as he watched me. “But?”
I wasn’t brazen. I was not. I didn’t want to be dragged into a dark barn and pinned to a wall, my hands flat against wood and corrugated metal as Noah used me however he needed.
Yet I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “But it was really good.” I ran my fingers over my lips, down the line of my neck.
Where he’d kissed me, where he’d held me. “ Really good.”
With a rumbling growl, Noah pulled me off the countertop and marched me toward the stairs.
I’d have little bruises all over my ass from this treatment tomorrow.
Tiny spots of lilac and sapphire. “Up, now. Get out of here. Take a shower, find a bra, and do not come back until you can tell me what you want without changing your mind every few minutes.” He delivered a smarting slap to my backside. “Do as you’re told, wife.”
And that was how I ended up sitting on the floor of Noah’s shower and hosting a debate with myself as to whether we were the keys that unlocked some wild new desires in each other, or we were just starved for good sex and it happened to work out beautifully for both of us.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be like that the next time.
That was probably the case. It wouldn’t always be as good as last night. It couldn’t.
It might be better.
* * *
“Do you need any help?”
I glanced up to find Noah leaning against the doorjamb.
His eyes shadowed under another ball cap, he swept a glance at the boxes, totes, and suitcases strewn around me in his spare bedroom, the one right next door to his room.
I motioned to the bed with its starched white duvet cover, now splashed with the reds and pinks and purples of several of my dresses.
I hadn’t bothered packing my closet at Thomas House, instead grabbing everything off the rack and tossing it in the back seat of my car for the short trip up the hill.
“Not really. Just sorting things out.”
A significant portion of me hated this. I hated picking up and moving all over again, and I hated that—again—my life felt permanently temporary.
I hated leaving behind the sanctuary I’d found in Lollie’s home and I hated that I wouldn’t be able to wander around for hours and stare at nothing anymore.
Even if Noah said I was welcome to come and go as I wished, that didn’t change the fact I now lived with a family and I couldn’t do whatever I wanted without someone noticing.
If I parked myself on the porch, Gennie would come out to chat.
Noah would check on me. Members of the farm crew would pass by.
The chickens were bound to stare. I didn’t have the freedom to watch the clouds and knit myself back together in peace.
I was part of this place and this family now, and it didn’t matter whether I wanted that or not.
Part of me resented the hell out of Lollie for backing me into a corner with this will.
It didn’t have to be this way and I couldn’t imagine her wanting this for me or her land.
But here I was, filing away one dress after another in my new closet while my fake—and devastatingly potent—husband watched.
The other side of me—a very small side that could benefit from some intensive therapy—was quivering in delight, fingers pressed to her lips to keep from squealing and a smile as big as the sun taking over her face.
That side had a place to belong, a place where I was surrounded by people who not only wanted me but battled for my attention.
I was the fun aunt who laughed with Gennie over the absurdity of Noah grating premium French chocolate into the pancake batter because he didn’t believe in chocolate chips.
I was the frisky wife who tempted her husband until his jaw was solid granite and his words sounded like rocks tumbling down a mountainside as he chased her up the stairs and out of sight.
Neither of those things were true, not true like the north or the stars, but this side of me didn’t care about those details. This side would take the scraps and the crumbs, and cling to them as long as I could. It would make believe and I’d hold on until this ended the way everything ended for me.
“Let me help you with that,” Noah said as I reached for one of the smaller boxes.
“It’s fine.” As I said this, he grabbed from the other side and we bobbled the box between us.
This would not have been a problem if I’d packed like a sensible person.
I had not. I’d tossed everything in without concern for where it went or whether I’d be able to find anything later, and that was how five children’s storybooks, a bottle of probiotics formulated especially for women’s health, and two vibrators ended up on the floor between us.
We stared at the toys for a solid minute. They were excessively veiny and blue, and completely devoid of any anatomical accuracy. One of them had a pair of uneven, asymmetrical heads. The other had circles and bumps up the shaft that called to mind an octopus.
It was a lot of information about the things I enjoyed inside me.
Eventually, Noah cleared his throat. “I know I shouldn’t ask this but”—he ran a hand over his mouth—“how are those working out for you?”
“I—um.” I looked anywhere but the floor. I wasn’t ashamed but I was embarrassed, and that ticked something into gear for me. Something needy and insistent between my legs. Something that thrived on the unknown, the unfamiliar, the uncomfortable. “They’re okay.”
Noah kicked the door shut behind him. “Just okay?” He bent and picked up both vibes. He stared at them, turning them over and clicking through their settings. His ears flamed red. “Would it be wrong if I—” He paused and I knew he was forcing the words over his lips. “If I asked you to show me?”
“Not wrong,” I managed, my whole body a hot, wet pool of yes, please . “But I don’t know how.” I gulped. “To show you, that is. I’ve never.” I peered up, silently begging him to finish that sentence for himself.
“That’s all right.” The toy rumbled in his hand. “I’ve never watched.”
“How do you know you want to?”
“I know .” His gaze darkened. I swallowed hard. “Gennie is down at the goat pen. It’s milking time.”
The whir of the dual-headed vibrator was so loud. Like a wind turbine. Like a jet engine. “That’s probably going to take an hour or two. Right?”
“At least an hour.” His gaze swung between me and the toys.
After an interminably long minute, he moved toward the small desk tucked up against the wall, in front of the window.
He grabbed the desk chair and positioned it backward at the foot of the bed.
He set the vibes on the duvet, one of them still buzzing like a very clear, very crucial invitation.
For I couldn’t even begin to contemplate this without the granite-carved clarity of that invitation.
I couldn’t do the things I did with those toys while Noah watched unless I knew—I believed in every last cell of my body—that he wanted this without question.
He dropped into the chair and folded his arms over the back. Tipping his head to the side, he asked, “Isn’t there something you’d like to show me?”
I blinked at him until I stopped thinking of all the problems with this plan. Then I dug in one of my bags until I found the item I needed. I held it out to him. “That one too.”
Noah studied the deep red toy in the shape of a rose, and dark grooves of confusion immediately lined his forehead. “What does this—” He ran his thumb over the petals. “How is it—”
Before I could talk myself out of it, I stripped off my clothes and snatched up the rose. “You’ll see.”
He dropped his chin to his forearms and watched with a cool stare as I climbed on the bed.
I didn’t know where to put myself. Most of the time, I used these toys under the sheets.
No thought went into positions or perspectives.
I didn’t care what it looked like. There was no one judging the thickness of my thighs when I spread them gratuitously wide or the way my belly jiggled as I chased an orgasm.
There was no one watching and that was the precise reason I could do those things.
Suddenly I wasn’t sure I could do them without the confidence that came with being alone. With knowing the only thing that mattered was making myself feel good.
“Down here,” he said with a nod toward the end of the bed. “Bring the pillows with you. I want to be able to see your face while you—” He cleared his throat but didn’t say anything else.
My inner thighs quivered as I settled on the bottom half of the bed, several pillows under my head and my bare feet resting on the footboard.
I clutched the rose vibe hard in my hand and pinched my knees together.
This felt dirty in a weird, new way. It wasn’t entirely comfortable.
It was awkward and a bit unsettling. If I thought about it for any time at all, I’d convince myself I didn’t want this.
I didn’t want to demonstrate the proper use of sex toys while my husband watched.
I didn’t want him to know how I touched myself when I was alone.
If I thought about it, I could convince myself that I shouldn’t want the overwhelming arousal that coursed through me like a fever.