Chapter 25 Jonah
JONAH
Winnie and I clean the kitchen together after her somewhat disastrous dinner. The steak was good quality though and the fact that she overcooked it on one side didn’t matter much. It still tasted good, and it’s the thought that counts.
Winnie finishes drying the dishes, and I put them away, showing her where everything goes as I do. It’s strange, but this is her kitchen now, too. No longer just mine.
When we’re done cleaning, she curls up on the couch with the Judy Garland biography I gave her the other day. I get a fire going, using some wood my father and I chopped a few months ago. Then, I settle down on the couch next to her.
“So, are we going to talk about last night?” I ask. “It’s been on my mind since it happened.”
Winnie looks up from her book, and her cheeks are tinged with pink. Her mouth is parted slightly in surprise, like she can’t believe I really brought it up.
“I’m direct, Winnie. To the point. I don’t skirt around things and this is something we should probably discuss,” I explain.
“What is, sugar?” She gives me an innocent look.
I raise a brow at her. “The fact that last night, while I was jerking off, I heard you moaning through the wall. Because you were touching yourself, too. And once we both figured out what the other was doing, we didn’t stop. We kept going. And I want to know why.”
Winnie’s cheeks redden even further, and I think about how good she’d look flushed in other contexts. Such as, legs spread open, at the mercy of my mouth.
“Um,” she says, and then covers her face with her hands.
“Really? You can get up on stage and perform, but you can’t talk about sex?”
“Jonah, I was a pageant queen, not a sex educator! We wear evening gowns and pretend everything is fine when it’s really not. We smile. We entertain. We make other people feel good. I don’t think I’ve ever talked about these things frankly with a guy.”
“Huh.” I consider for a moment that Winnie probably hasn’t had much experience with men. It doesn’t sound like her parents let her out of the house much. “Have you ever—”
“I’ve had sex before, okay! Why don’t you tell me why you, uh, participated in what we did last night? I don’t see why I need to explain myself and you don’t.” She crosses her arms.
I let out a hoarse laugh. “Christ. Isn’t it obvious? I’m attracted to you, Winnie. Have been since the moment we met.”
“I thought you hated me when we met.” Her blue eyes finally clash with mine. “You called me a ditz.”
“I was an asshole for saying that and I’m sorry for it.
But even while we were trading insults, I noticed that…
” I trail off and rub my face. “You’re beautiful.
And when I heard you moaning last night, when I imagined what you looked like spread out on my bed…
fuck I couldn’t help myself. I’m just thankful you wanted to hear me as well. And that you didn’t stop.”
Winnie looks away again, her blush creeping down her neck. “I’ve never done anything like that. It was more intimate in some ways than the sex I’ve had. Does that make sense?”
I think about how close to her I felt last night. “It does.”
“What does it mean, though? For us?” she ventures. “We’re not married in any way beyond a piece of paper and I’m not looking to get attached. I’ve had enough…control in my life.”
“Honey, I’d never try to control you, husband or not.
Your life is yours. And I’m not sure what it means either.
” I take a deep breath before I continue, because I have no idea if she’ll ever take me up on this offer.
“But if you ever want some help feeling good, just ask me. I’ll make it worth your while. ”
Winnie looks like she wants to both disappear into the couch cushions and launch herself at me. Her cheeks are still red with embarrassment, but her pupils are dilated.
“You like that offer, don’t you?” I murmur.
She nods.
“You’d like to know what my fingers feel like slipping through your wetness and parting you.
” She sucks in a breath. “You want to know how good I am at making a woman come with two fingers inside of her and my tongue against her clit,” I continue.
Winnie’s eyes are locked on mine. “Isn’t that right, Win? ”
“Yes,” she breathes.
I flick her lightly on her perfect, freckle dusted nose. The hazy look leaves her eyes and is replaced by one of surprise. “Well, maybe someday you’ll find out.”
And then I leave Winnie on the couch and saunter over to my room. I hear her say, “Idiot,” and then “Fucker” under her breath as I leave, and I can’t help but laugh.
Things in the Smith-Grant household just got a lot more fun.
Before I go to bed that night, I noodle around on my guitar like I normally do. I don’t play anything specific, just let my fingers go where they will. It always helps me think, and tonight only my wife is on my mind.
Winnie and I shared a sexually charged moment together, but there’s something else going on as well.
Earlier, when she offered to attend my mom’s scan with me for support, I think she actually meant it.
And I almost immediately agreed. Only my better judgement and past experience had me telling her that I’d think about it.
When Jessica and I were together, it felt sure.
Solid. I don’t know if either of us were in love, but we were on our way there.
But Jess didn’t want to spend a single minute with me in the waiting room while my mom was in surgery.
She barely even asked me how my mom was doing.
She said it was too much for her to handle, and even though I might rationally understand that because cancer is rough, emotionally I just don’t get it.
I’ve never left someone when they needed me most—not an injured, struggling horse, or a person who was hurting.
And now Winnie wants to do the things that Jessica couldn’t—she wants to support me.
I only wish I was able to trust it. Because this marriage isn’t real and Winnie has reminded me multiple times that she doesn’t want it to be.
She wants her freedom. And I get that—she’s twenty-six and she’s barely lived.
Despite all this, my chest aches with the sweet burn of hope. If I can’t have her for good, I’ll take whatever crumbs she gives me. That will be enough. It’ll have to be.