For the first time in what feels like forever, I can relax and take comfort in knowing I’m exactly where I should be with the woman who was born to love me—and vice versa. Not to mention she’s fun and funny and loving and sweet and smart and compassionate and strong and everything I ever wanted in one delicious, sexy, adorable package.
If only this shit with the FBI wasn’t hanging over our heads, everything would truly be perfect. I can’t figure out what more they could possibly want with us. We had nothing to do with the murder of the lawyer who sold Natalie’s story to one of the Hollywood news shows. Did I want to kill him for the anguish he brought down on her? You bet I did. But that was as far as it went. Desire to see someone dead doesn’t equate to murder.
When it becomes apparent that sleep is going to remain elusive tonight, I settle Natalie on a pillow, kiss her forehead and leave her to sleep with the wildebeest snuggled up to her. I still can’t believe the little bitch bit my ass. I’ll admit to myself—and only myself—that it was sort of funny. And the “punishment” that followed led to some of the hottest sex I’ve ever had. I should be thanking the little beast for that, except that my butt still hurts where she latched on, so I won’t be thanking her quite yet.
I pull on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and go into the kitchen to make some coffee, planning to take advantage of the sleepless night to catch up on work. Hayden is after me to make a decision on the next project we’re going to take on after we complete the film he’s currently editing, which still doesn’t have a name.
I go over his list of potential names, add a few of my own and send that off to him. Then I lose myself in the screenplay Hayden has insisted I read first about a recovering drug addict who sets out to fix the damage he’s left behind. The story is engrossing and compelling, and definitely has my interest.
As I read, I realize I’m spinning my wedding ring around on my finger. It’s amazing how quickly I became accustomed to having it there and how right it feels, when only a few months ago, the thought of being married was appalling to me. That was before Natalie crashed into me and changed me forever.
Thinking about her makes me want to be near her, so I put down the script, shut off the light and return to the bedroom. I slide into bed next to her, snuggling up to her back. She doesn’t wake but turns to me, cuddling into my embrace. God, she’s sweet, and even when she’s sleeping, I can feel how much she loves and trusts me.
I have so many things I want to do and explore with her. I can’t wait for all of it. Soon, I’ll take her to the club, where she’ll get her first exposure to the public aspect of my chosen lifestyle. I hope someday we’ll get to the point where scenes at the club are a routine part of our life together. But if we never get there, I’ll be perfectly satisfied—and content—with what we already have.
We spend a lazy and relaxing weekend at home. Natalie’s foundation notepad is never far from her side, and she adds to it regularly as we brainstorm ideas for programs. She wants to bring in the national teachers’ union as a partner in helping us to reach the children most in need, which I think is a fantastic idea. Who would know better than the teachers who work on the front lines with the kids each day?
I love her passion for my passion project, and I’m thrilled to have her involved.
All weekend, I try to forget about the looming appointment with the FBI agent. That he wants to talk to Natalie, too, fills me with anxiety that has me tossing and turning on Sunday night.
At some point, I fall asleep only to be awakened by the alarm on Natalie’s phone. It’s way too early to be awake after being up most of the night stewing, but remembering why she had set the alarm so early puts me immediately on alert. The goal today is to end this bullshit with the FBI once and for all.
“Did you sleep?” Natalie asks.
“Some.”
Fluff stands and stretches, spots me on the other side of Natalie and shows me her ten stumpy teeth. She gets a lot done with those remaining teeth.
“Stop it, Fluff. This is Daddy’s bed. He can sleep here, too.”
“When did I become her daddy anyway?”
“When you married her mommy.” She says this as if it makes perfect sense, which is utterly adorable.
“I never signed on for that, and P.S., this is our bed, not mine. Ours.” I yawn deeply, remembering the multiple events that lie ahead.
It’s going to be a long day and nowhere near as much fun as the weekend was. I’m thrilled to finally receive an Oscar nod for acting, but I’d much rather spend today alone with my new wife than schmoozing at yet another Hollywood event. “I need a shower to wake up. Want to join me?”
“Only if you’ll sign a no-sex waiver. I’m on hiatus.”
“Says who?”
“Says my bruised and battered body. And judging from the bloated crampy feeling I woke up with, I’m due to get my period today, so we’re out of commission for a while.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Yes, we are.”
“Have you forgotten that you signed over control of your sexual satisfaction to me, which means you don’t get to say when?”
“I get to say not then.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No. You don’t.”
“Where’s Fluff when I need her?”