Chapter 6 Kairo
Kairo
I pulled Khloe close, wrapping my arm around her waist and letting my face snuggle into that soft spot between her neck and shoulder. She still smelled like vanilla and honey mixed with a little sweat from all the work we’d just put in. It was perfect.
My eyes closed before I even realized it. That kind of night would always put a man straight to sleep. Fifteen years in, and she still had the power to undo me. Every time felt like the first with that same fire mixed with the same damn rush.
I was just about there, drifting, when I felt her turn around placing her lips on my cheek. She kissed me soft. Then another. And another.
I smiled, half-asleep. She would always kiss me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention or in a deep sleep. That shit made me feel like a man. Like I was truly loved—even when we were at odds or when she pretended she didn’t want to be near me.
But then I felt her hand sliding beneath the sheets, traveling lower.
“Are you ready for more, baby?” she whispered against my mouth, her breath sweet.
My eyes fluttered open. I couldn’t lie. My body wanted to say yes, but it needed a damn minute to recover.
“Yeah… just give me a minute, baby,” I said, still catching my breath.
That’s when I saw the disappointment flash across her face like a cloud blocking the sun. Her whole energy shifted. Damn.
She looked at me like I’d just rejected her, like I’d turned down a once-in-a-lifetime offer. I was tapped out. My hips felt like I just ran suicides. My abs were screaming, but I held that shit in.
I wanted to say “Baby, you wasn’t looking like that when I was deep diving like I was training for the olympics, or when you were yelling go deeper like we were filming a damn documentary on your uterus.” But I didn’t because I knew better.
If the roles were reversed and she had been up top riding on her tippy toes for ten straight minutes, she would’ve asked for a break, a Gatorade, and maybe even a breathing treatment.
I ran that whole argument in my head but kept it on mute. The last thing I needed was to ruin the one night we weren’t at each other’s throats, but damn if I wasn’t tired.
I reached for her hand, tried to bring her close again, but she was already shifting away, turning her back to me, clearly irritated.
I sighed. So much for a peaceful night.
Khloe sat up in the bed. I wiped a hand down my face because I already knew what was about to happen. I could feel it coming before she even opened her mouth.
“I just don’t understand,” she started, “how you can have all the energy in the world for everyone and everything… but when it comes to me, it’s never the same.”
I stared at the ceiling.
Here we go.
“You miss this, you miss that,” she kept going. “After dinner you maybe watch a little TV, then you’re ready for bed. And when I wake up in the morning to roll over to touch you, you’re already gone. Every. Single. Time.”
I clenched my jaw.
It was the same speech. Worded a little differently each time, but always the same message.
And every time, I wanted to say the same thing back.
I wanted to say how she complained about my work but didn’t hesitate to swipe that damn card, didn’t hesitate to enjoy the lifestyle it provided.
But I knew better than to say it since it would only add gasoline to her fire.
Khloe worked, yeah, but not even enough to call it part-time.
Her dad had it sweet for her at his firm.
The only time she really had to be there was when he truly needed her, which was rare.
Maybe once or twice a month. The rest of the time was her choice choosing her own clients and schedule.
And I loved that for her. It gave her flexibility to be the kind of mother she wanted to be for Kennedi.
It also allowed her to still feel like she had her own identity through her own career.
What man wouldn’t want that for his wife?
I really don’t remember my own mom working much growing up. She was a stylist for a few people here and there, but outside of that, my father carried the load. And that’s what I wanted to do too. That’s what I learned.
Khloe came from that same world.
Her daddy still worked his ass off while her mom walked around in pearls, having lunch dates and tea parties with her friends. So I thought she would understand more than anyone.
I just let her talk while she unloaded every frustration she’d been holding onto.
Then, she snapped, “So you really just gonna sit there?”
I sighed and turned toward her. “Khloe… I really don’t know what you want from me.
Yes, I work a lot. But I work for us. Could I be more present?
Yes. I promise I’ll work on that. You deserve more time.
But when I walk into this house, it’s the only place I feel like I can finally breathe.
My body just shuts down. I’m tired. I’m sorry. ”
She cut me off immediately. “You’ve been saying that for two years. I’m tired of that excuse. Come up with something else.”
I was so fucking pissed that she wasn’t even trying to give me a little grace.
I stood up from the bed, frustration boiling over. “Come on, Khloe! You want sex so bad when I literally never said no. I said just give me a minute. But you know what, come on!”
She looked down at my dick and rolled her eyes. “I don’t want it if you’re gonna act like that. Don’t give it to me like it’s a chore or like it’s something you don’t even wanna do.”
I ran a hand through my hair, breathing hard. “Damn. Nothing will ever satisfy you.”
“SEX WILL!” she screamed. “Hot, nasty, sticky, long, earth-shattering sex will! Make me feel seen. Make me feel wanted.”
I smacked my lips. “You are seen and wanted. Who the fuck said you aren’t? We literally have sex every other day. What do you want—every day?”
She shot back without hesitation. “Every day. Multiple times a day.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You gotta be kidding me.”
“You used to,” she said quietly. “There was a time I had to beg you for a break.”
I snapped. “Yeah—and we were fucking teenagers with stamina and no real-life shit going on! Yeah, I worked, but we didn’t have these bills. These responsibilities.”
She just looked at her nails. Then the words slipped out before I could stop them.
“You know what? Since I’m just not enough for you sexually… How about an open marriage.”
Her face dropped. “What the fuck?” she yelled. “So that’s what you want?”
“No,” I said immediately. “That’s obviously what you want. I love my wife. I love my sex life. I don’t see a problem here, but clearly you do. So go use your hall pass.”
She scoffed. “What the fuck, Kairo! That is not what I’m saying.”
“But it is,” I said, with a bitter laugh leaving my mouth. “So go ahead. Go have your little fun.”
I walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
I stood in front of the mirror, hands gripping the counter, feeling aggravated and defeated.
I knew Khloe. I knew she’d never do it. I was the only man she’d ever been with and wanted to be with, but I needed her to understand that I couldn’t keep being torn down like I wasn’t doing enough as a man.
I stared at my reflection trying to calm down when the door opened. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was her.
“So that’s what you want to do?” she said behind me, talking loud enough to piss me off more. “You want me to fuck someone else?”
I closed my eyes.
Jesus Christ.
She wasn’t hearing a damn thing I’d said. Not one word. And at that point, I was so over explaining myself that I didn’t even have the energy to correct it.
“No,” I said, taking a deep breath. “That’s not what I want.”
She took a step closer. “Then why would you even say something like that?”
Because you weren’t hearing me.
Because I felt cornered.
Because I didn’t know what else to say to make you understand.
But I didn’t say any of that. I turned to face her slowly.
“Khloe,” I said, trying to control my voice, “if you going to fuck some other nigga—with obviously more stamina than me—will get you off my fucking back over dumb shit, then go ahead.”
Her face fell.
“I’ve never cheated on you,” I continued. “Not once. Hell, you know my every fucking move. You know where I am, who I’m with, what I’m doing damn near every minute of the day.”
She stood there frozen, tears building in her eyes. I was so mentally exhausted with the shit that I could cry too, but I was too pissed to cry.
“I admit it over and over that I work too much. I know that,” I said. “But this is the life you wanted. This is the stability you wanted. This is the man you married.”
My chest rose and fell hard. “I can’t keep walking into this fucking house every day to something. I work my ass off all day. All fucking day. And then I come home and it’s like I gotta clock back in and work even harder on my fucking marriage.”
The second the words left my mouth, I knew they came out wrong. I saw it on her face immediately. Her expression of anger and rage went straight to deep hurt.
“Khloe—” I stepped toward her instinctively, reaching out. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t—”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, backing away from my touch. “Don’t touch me. This will be our last time discussing this topic.
She turned and walked out of the bathroom, leaving me standing there with my hands still half-raised.
After cooling off in the bathroom for a while, I finally splashed cold water on my face and took a deep breath. My chest still felt tight, but I wasn’t mad anymore. I was just tired. Tired of arguing. Tired of trying. Tired of not knowing if I was doing enough, or doing too much of the wrong thing.
I cut the light off and headed into the bedroom, expecting it to be empty.
Khloe had this thing where she’d grab her pillow and storm off to one of the guest rooms when shit got didn’t go her way and we’d go back and forth for a while.
She called it “protecting her peace,” but really, it was just her way of icing me out.
But when I walked in, she was still in our bed.
I walked over and leaned down to press a kiss to the side of her head. She didn’t move or even breathe any deeper to let me know she felt it.
Nothing.
That was a different kind of pain. That was the part they don’t tell you about in vows — how silence could feel louder than any scream.
I climbed into bed on my side and stared up at the ceiling, praying for sleep to catch me quick.
My body was still, but my mind wasn’t.
Khloe could argue all night. We could talk, scream, throw low blows and somehow still find our way back by morning. That was our toxic ass pattern. But her silence was something else. She didn’t just check out of the argument. She checked out on me.
And that silence was the real punishment.
My thoughts started racing. I told myself she wouldn’t do anything. I knew my wife. She wasn’t gonna actually use that damn hall pass. I only said it to prove a point and to show her how ridiculous she sounded.
But what if…?
What if I pushed her too far this time? What if all those moments where she begged me to be present, to slow down, and to see her — what if that was her breaking point?
Maybe I’d broken something that couldn’t be fixed with kisses and time.
I rolled to my side, watching the curve of her shoulder in the dark. Wanting so badly to reach for her, but scared that she’ll reject it.
It wasn’t just about sex. Or Greece. Or another argument we’d forget by next week.
It was a shift.