Chapter 13
An orgasm would do you good
NICK
Motherfucker.
I was a ship caught in opposing currents.
The turbulence and rogue waves were going to be the death of me.
I wanted Candy. That wasn’t the problem. It never had been.
The problem lay in the indisputable fact that she often pissed me off these days. This world had changed Candy. She’d fallen prey to the silly notion that high society members, like our friends, mattered. That what they thought mattered.
It was long established that people like our friends weren’t true friends, but Candy didn’t see it that way.
In fact, she made them her everything.
They were the judge, jury, and everything fucking in between.
Screw innocent until proven guilty. These people that Candy held on such a high pedestal would send someone to prison and watch them rot in there, innocent or not.
Metaphorically speaking, of course. Although I wouldn’t put it past some of them…
Unlike my wife, those people didn’t matter one iota to me.
Candy, on the other hand, did. She was my vice.
Addictive and impossibly difficult to quit.
Potentially hazardous to my health.
And getting involved with her would have a lasting effect that would carry with me for the rest of my days on this earth.
There was a point in time when Candy had told me that my indulging in a cigar or two a day would be the death of me. She’d listed the health risks and begged me to quit, if for no other reason than for her.
I had quit…eventually…but not for her, as much as she believed that to be true. I’d quit for the simple reason that I had been fed up with going outside like a dog to do their business when I wanted to light one.
Candy was a weakness I couldn’t afford because it made me unable to see straight. Even with my unhappiness. Mix that with the knowledge that I wanted to fight like hell to keep her in my life forever, and strong currents were the least of my worries.
The logical thing to do would be to divorce her and put an end to the misery.
I’d done my duty. I’d told her about it so that she wasn’t completely caught off guard. I felt like I owed that to her after everything we’d been through.
I’d removed my wedding band. What was the point in wearing something that symbolized vows we weren’t going to be holding on to for much longer?
’Til death do us part was a load of shit that could put a horse stable to shame.
It was more like ’til divorce do us part.
At least that was the case for fifty percent of marriages, which was a shockingly large percentage if you thought about it.
Remarrying wasn’t in the cards for me for multiple reasons, one of which being that no one was Candy, who was the best fucking standard I knew. Even with her flawed character.
I’d even gotten the ball rolling with my attorney.
Everything was situated.
Unfortunately, my desire to have her and be with her ran too deep, and after knowing her and being married to her, nothing would ever be the same. So, succumbing to her silly little request had been easy…far too easy.
But look where that got us.
Pianos.
And bickering.
And stupid fucking Christmas cards that did nothing but put us on display. Posing in a way that showed off our optimal angles.
Candy switched positions, nodding at something the photographer must have said, and I missed because I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what she was directing us to do. Not Candy, though. She cared. A lot. As she did with everything. Except me and our marriage.
To hell with the man standing beside her, taking the godforsaken photos with her.
But her body, and the reaction she consistently had toward me, told an entirely different story.
Candy still wanted me. She yearned for me, maybe as much as I yearned for her.
All of her. Especially the one thing that was so frozen and held captive under an icy cage that not even a blowtorch could defrost—her heart.
Following her lead, I didn’t listen to the photographer, only did what felt natural. I snaked my arm around her waist.
She held her breath, her body sinking into my touch, betraying her stiff shoulders.
Why didn’t she want me to know that she wanted me? There was a point in time when she had been more forward. Sure, it had been a minute…or a million.
It was a ridiculous thought, I knew, because that was a vulnerability Candy wouldn’t allow herself. She couldn’t afford to. After all, it might have weakened the armor she used to protect herself, to conceal real emotion.
“These are great.” The photographer turned the camera to the floor, still holding it even though she had a strap around her neck.
“Really, they are. You’re both doing great.
” Don’t oversell it. We didn’t need to be buttered up with compliments.
They were useless. Neither Candy nor I subscribed to words of affirmation for our love languages.
“So, what’s the problem?” I asked, getting right down to it. It was obvious there was a problem, so she might as well have just said so already.
Sighing, her face scrunched up, making her appear like she was in pain.
A feeling I knew all too well thanks to this session.
“Well, it’s just that…I’m not feeling the love.
Or your holiday spirit.” She sighed and looked from me to Candy.
“Maybe, Candy, you can place a hand on Nick’s chest and look up into his eyes with admiration and appreciation?
Like you’re full of joy. Like he’s your dream come to life.
Like you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else, with anyone else, this time of year? Try gazing soulfully into his eyes.”
Whoa. Okay. That was asking a lot from a look. Did she know these were just going to be printed on cardstock and mailed out to people who would inevitably throw them away anyway?
There were admiration and appreciation, like she’d said, and then there was shit that was never going to happen. If she was waiting for that, then I hated to be the bearer of bad news, but she’d be leaving here and heading to an old folks’ home. That was how long she’d be waiting.
Candy extended a hand behind her and touched her updo that looked tighter than her pussy felt when I’d fucked her for the first time.
I thought no way is my dick going to survive this.
Now I was thinking no way is she not going to need to take something to subside the pounding headache she was going to have from her hairstyle.
“The guidance isn’t necessary,” Candy finally managed, her face the look of annoyance. “I think we know what we’re doing.”
I knew a lot of things actually. Posing for a photo happened to be one, luckily for them.
It didn’t feel like brain surgery. It didn’t even feel like it took a brain.
Okay, maybe that was wrong. It took a functioning brain.
It was a good thing that mine worked just fine.
Besides when I’d agreed to push back the date of our legal separation.
“Your hair is not going anywhere,” I said, drawing my arm back and getting ready to help myself to the whiskey I’d left unattended on the top of the piano. “You should have worn it down.”
Her head whipped around, her eyes snapping to me at lightning speed. “I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Did I speak to myself? “I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.” I cracked my knuckles. “What’s wrong with you? You’re usually intelligent enough to pick up on shit.” Unless her mind had become frozen with time too.
She narrowed her eyes and strode over to me where she proceeded to poke a finger at my chest. Not exactly what the photographer said, but fine. The woman must have taken this as some sort of win in whatever messed-up book she kept, since she started snapping photos like crazy.
Jesus, at this rate, I should be expecting these photos to be submitted to a publication for consideration on the damn cover. Had she worn her hair down, we might have actually been picked up by one.
“You can be insufferable,” she whispered through a tight and forced smile.
This was probably not a moment Candy wanted captured, but I didn’t care one way or another.
To me, this might’ve made the whole thing less trite.
Who cared about holiday cards anymore? I happened to know that we threw out every single solitary one we received.
Some of them Candy didn’t even want to be bothered to look at.
I’d call out the name of the person who sent it, and she’d wave a hand.
That was her way of saying throw it out.
I was sure others were the same way. Especially Irina, who Candy seemed to look up to.
Lord knew why, though, considering she herself didn’t have an original bone in her body.
She was like a parrot, but worse because repeating wasn’t cute coming from a human.
I grabbed her finger, holding tightly onto it as we stared into each other’s eyes, but not for the reason the photographer wanted us to. “You can be tense.”
She scoffed, never once breaking our contact. “What does that mean?”
I didn’t loosen my grip on her finger, only leaned in and blew against the shell of her ear before whispering in it. “An orgasm would do you good.”
She gasped as I backed up, her lips parting beautifully. What I wouldn’t give to feel those lips on mine as I shut her up and tried to fuck the frost out of her. Before she said a word, her gaze fell, and she fixated on my hand.
Angling her head, she swallowed, her lips becoming nearly nonexistent as they formed an incredibly thin line. “Where is your wedding band?”
Holy crap. I glanced up, looking this way and that way.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure I didn’t miss the pigs that are flying by.” She attempted to pull her hand from me, but I only tightened my grip on her. Looking back at her, I cocked my head. “I thought that’d be the only time you noticed—when pigs were flying.”