“Why?”
She squeezed my arm with hers and inclined her head toward mine. “Because he’s going to take you home. You need to get laid more than you need cake.”
CHAPTER 5
Dear Future Husband,
Here's the thing, future husband, if I'm marrying you, then you must be a pretty awesome person. I promise to love and cherish you always. But if I annoy you, just walk away, but don't leave. Don't get mad at me and then don't speak to me.
- Kristen
Ohio, USA
Present Day
Fiona
I fell asleep on the ride home.
We were talking about the night, snuggling in the backseat, and apparently I collapsed against him. He must’ve carried me upstairs and put me to bed, because when I woke up I was naked.
Typical.
I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was 3:04 a.m. and I was awake. I was awake because Greg was home, and the knowledge that he was here made me restless. I typically slept less when he was home because I didn’t want to miss a minute.
Not helping matters, Greg’s equally naked form was wrapped around my body, his hands on my stomach and breast. Slow, even breaths were hot against the back of my neck. Add to this cornucopia of matrimonial extravagance, the super-soft cotton sheets warm against the bare skin of my side and legs, and I was all tingles and hopeful, impatient desire.
And yet . . . I needed to brush my teeth. And I hadn’t shaved my legs in weeks. Or tamed my lady closet as Greg was prone to call it. I didn’t take the time to groom before the party and now I was regretting my inaction. Staring into the darkness, I debated whether to make a move on my husband or take care of business first.
“Fe . . . are you up?” His voice was a low whisper, roughened by sleep, the sound sliding over me like a silk sheet.
It stole my breath. I’d missed him so much. So. Much. The ache was physical and constant, vacillating between a sharp, stabbing pang and a dull, simmering tightness.
“I’m awake.” I closed my eyes, concentrating on where our bodies touched, trying to memorize every texture and sensation.
He moved, released me, and the heat from his body shifted away, causing my eyes to fly open.
I twisted to look at him. “Where are you going?”
“Just a sec.”
I heard him briefly rustling and moving items on his side table before he was back, and his hand reached for one of mine.
“Take this.” He placed a small, smooth rectangle in my palm.
“What is it?”
“It’s that dental chewing gum. I know you’re thinking about getting up and brushing your teeth. Don’t.”
I grinned into the darkness. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I heard him unwrap his own piece, followed by the sound of him chewing. “You have two minutes.”
I popped the strongly flavored gum into my mouth. “Two minutes?”
“I have questions. And you have two minutes before you’re interrogated.”
I turned to my other side, so now we were facing each other. His hand moved in unhurried circles on my body, caressing me from my shoulder, down my arm, hip, thigh . . .
“What kind of questions?” I whispered, though it might have sounded like a pant.
His movements stilled and I could just make out his eyes by the dark grey light filtering in through the closed drapes. He was staring at me. My palm was pressed against his chest and I felt the uptick in his heart rate, the change in his breathing.
“Fe . . .” He said it like a plea.
“I miss you.”
He gripped my wrist before I could move it lower, guessing my intentions correctly. I didn’t want to talk, not yet. Maybe later.
. . . maybe not.
“I miss the sound of your heartbeat,” I continued, because I did. I missed it. I craved it.
“You must stop,” he growled and groaned.
“Why?”
“Because I am worried. You cannot fathom how much I need you.”
“That sounds like a reason not to stop.”
His hold tightened as I halfheartedly tried to pull out of his grip.
He ignored me, instead clearing his throat and changing the subject. “You know I’m not one of those weird bastards that fixates on my partner’s eating habits, but I can’t help noticing you’re not eating at all. You’ve lost nearly a stone.”
“Remind me, how much is a stone? In pounds?”
“Fourteen pounds.”
“Hmm . . .”
“Hmm . . .” he mimicked, threading our fingers together and bringing our joined hands behind my back.
I hadn’t lost fourteen pounds. It was more like eleven pounds. And the reasons were simple: nothing tasted good and I was busy.
“What’s going on, Fe?”
I shrugged, lowering my eyes to his lips. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Things are . . . busy.”
“So busy you’re not eating? What can I do to help?”
Staring at his lips, my first thought was, kiss me.
My second thought was, touch me.