Chapter 15 #2
He chuckled. “Sweetheart, I’mma tell you the truth. If that’s how you wanna wield your power, I’m completely wit’ it. You can also get me to grab your ass, suck on your neck, and even finger pop you.”
“Double!” My cheeks burned red.
“What? I’m being honest. Just say the word, and I’ll do anything you ask to that sexy-ass body.”
“Double.” I repeated.
“What? Too far?”
I blushed even more deeply before I admitted the truth. “No.”
Later that night, after dinner, while we were sitting on the sofa with my feet resting in his lap, I spoke. “Hey, Double.”
“What up?” He never moved his eyes from the television or took his hands off my feet.
“I want to open up a dialogue.”
He chuckled. “When you say stuff like that, especially with your accent, it sounds formal as hell. What do you want to open up a dialogue about?”
“As your wife . . .” I began.
“Oh shit. You said, as my wife. Okay.” He stopped rubbing my feet and gave me his complete attention.
I grabbed one of the throw pillows and put it over my face to hide the blush that was rising. “No, don’t look at me. I’m embarrassed to say what I want to say. If you look at me, it’ll make it worse.”
He laughed. “What?”
“I don’t want you to look at me. It’s going to make me self-conscious.”
“So where you want me to look, wife? At the floor? At the wall?”
I laughed at myself, but didn’t take the pillow from my face. “I don’t know. Just don’t look in my face, okay?”
“But your face is one of my favorite things to look at.”
“Double,” I whined.
“Sweetheart, your request is crazy as hell.”
I snatched the pillow down. “You don’t think I know that?”
“Do you?”
“Yes, I do. Come on. You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
“Fine. Can I look at my phone?”
“Yes.” I sighed. “That’s perfect. Look at your phone.”
He grabbed his phone from the cocktail table and started to scroll on it.
“Okay,” I said. “You already know that I don’t have much . . . experience in the physical intimacy department.”
“Right. Right.”
“I like you. I’m physically attracted to you, and you’ve told me before that you’re physically attracted to me.”
“I think you’re beautiful as fuck, Sweetheart, inside and outside.”
I smiled. “I don’t want this to be a, I don’t know, dry marriage.”
He chuckled. “Me either.”
“I want us to . . . consummate this marriage at some point. But I don’t want you to have to suffer through all of my inexperience.”
“I wouldn’t be suffering. Trust me.”
“Sir.”
“What?”
“Let me get this out.”
“The floor is yours, Sweetheart. Say what you need to say.”
I cleared my throat. “Okay. Can we have a make-out session?” His eyes flew from the screen of his phone to my eyes. I quickly grabbed the pillow and buried my face in it. “Don’t look at me!”
Silence fell over the room for a beat or two. I slowly eased the pillow down to see why he hadn’t spoken. His light-brown eyes met mine. They weren’t judging me like I thought they would be. They were soft and curious.
“Repeat what you said again.”
I huffed out a sigh. “Can we make out so I can get used to . . . making out with you?” I held my breath because, to be honest, there were several ways he could respond.
“Absolutely.”
I giggled in spite of myself. “I was not expecting you to say that.”
“I don’t know why not. I’m definitely open to us gettin’ used to being physically . . . demonstrative with each other. But let’s go deeper. When you say make-out, what does that look like? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like blue balls.”
I giggled again. “So.” I dragged out the word. “In my mind, I’m envisioning kissing and touching each other.”
“Cool. Are we fully dressed, are we naked, or are we in a state of undress?”
He was asking questions that I hadn’t gotten to in my thought process. “Uh, maybe a state of undress. Like, maybe I can be in my panties and bra?”
“You askin’ or tellin’?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Are you sitting in my lap? Are we layin’ in the bed?”
“Well, for the first time, I think on the sofa with me in your lap is good.”
“You want me to make you come or . . .?”
“Oh my gosh, Double.”
“What? That’s a fair question.”
“I want you to take me as far as you want to take me, husband.” I hesitated before speaking my next thought because I didn’t want my mouth to write a check that my ass couldn’t cash. Since I felt reckless, I let myself say it. “If you make me come, I’ll make you come.”
“Straight up?”
“Straight up?” I repeated.
“It’s like, ‘word.’ It means the same thing, like are you serious? No lie?”
“No lie,” I assured him.
“How are you gonna make me come, Sweetheart?”
“This might seem off-brand for me in your opinion. When Faylise and I first started our company, another friend from university was starting her company, too. She was actually one of our very first clients. She graduated with a degree in psychology, and she wanted to work with women regarding sexuality.” I gave a sigh.
“In the Iredian social structure, a sexually free woman is considered very low-class.
Women of higher standards are expected to be much more Puritanical—dressing modestly, never using vulgar language, not having any sexual knowledge, except what their husband taught them .
. . you know? Stuff like that. Adele, my friend, wanted to go against that.
She wanted to teach Iredian women to take the reins of their own sexual agency.
“She would host classes for women on how to buy the dildo that was right for them, how to be a pro at performing fellatio, and stuff like that. When she first started the classes, they wouldn’t fill up. She would ask Faylise and me to come as like . . . seat fillers.”
“So you took a class on how to be a pro at giving fellatio?”
“Classes.” I stressed the fact that there was more than one class.
“Plural. Faylise and I went to at least a dozen of her classes as seat fillers until her business took off. I also know how to give a hellafied lap dance.” I expected that to draw some type of reaction from my husband, but Double held his game face. His expression remained impassive.
“Say less,” he said finally. “And lose the top and the shorts.”