Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“Yeah, well,” he says. “I don’t need some geeky bean counter riding me.”
I rise up on my toes to press my lips to his ear.
“I’ve got an idea.” I grab the hand hanging limply at his side and place it on the naked curve of my butt in the skimpy thong I hoped he would have noticed by now. “Instead of thinking so much about Cross riding you, think about how I’ll ride you when we get home.”
He swallows, and that twitch happens again. Here and gone like a tumbleweed blowing across his face before I can catch it. He drops his hand from me and walks deeper into our closet, approaching his shelves of custom-made shoes.
“Damn, Sol,” he says, his tone cool. “I tell you I’m stressed at work, and you go straight to sex.”
I stiffen and force myself to reply evenly. “I didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities, but when you haven’t fucked your wife in nearly two months, she tends to bring it up every once in a while.”
“It hasn’t been two months.”
“It has.”
“If you’re that horny,” he says, turning to glower at me, “you have a battery-operated solution in your bedside table.”
“Oh, believe me, it’s been earning its keep.” I practically stomp over to my side of the closet. “And if you thought you’d make me feel ashamed with that snide comment, sorry to disappoint you. I have needs, and I’m not embarrassed by how I meet them when you won’t.”
Something has fundamentally shifted in our marriage the last two years. Every couple experiences slumps, ruts. We are no exception, but it’s more than that. I’ve felt Edward slipping away from this marriage, from this family. I’ve tried everything to stop it, but my arms feel emptier, our bed feels colder, every day. I can’t hold off a landslide by myself, and lately Edward seems content to watch it all fall down.
I turn away from the row of designer dresses to find his hard stare. “I love sex, Edward. I always have. You used to like it too.”
“Can we not do this right now?” His words are graveled with irritation. “I have enough on my plate without having to think about satisfying my sex-starved wife.”
“That’s unfair. Why are you trying to make me feel bad for wanting to save our sex life? To revive this marriage? I understand if—”
“You don’t understand a damn thing.”
“I understand if,” I resume, carefully laying out my next words, “you’re having trouble in that area. Sometimes as men age—”
“I’m forty, Sol,” he fires back. “Not eighty. You ever think maybe the problem isn’t with me, but with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Women’s bodies change.”
“I’m in the best shape of my life.” I hear the note of defensiveness creeping into my voice and start again. “I do yoga and Pilates a few times a week. If anything, I’m trying not to lose this.”
I grab my generous ass. A gift from my abuela, it ain’t going anywhere anytime soon. It is time-tested and exercise-resistant, and I like it that way.
“I don’t mean the outside.” He reaches for his suit jacket. “You have pushed out three kids. Things get loose down there. What’s that thing women do to tighten up? Vaginal rejuvenation or whatever? Maybe that’s where you start reviving our sex life.”
It’s a sucker punch that knocks the breath out of me. I go still, my hand hovering over the red dress. I can’t believe he said that, and with such deliberate aim.
“Your three kids,” I reply, making sure the wobble I feel inside doesn’t make my voice waver. “I pushed out your three daughters. They literally had to stitch my vagina back together after the last one. Until you’ve known the pain of a third-degree tear, don’t complain to me about my loose pussy. Go to this party by your damn self.”
I stride out of the closet and into the bedroom, snatching my robe from the bench at the foot of our bed. Slipping my arms through the sleeves, I sit, bracing my hands on the bench to hide their shaking.
When did Edward turn cruel? He wasn’t always like this. Maybe I was so fooled by his brightness, by the beauty of him, that I overlooked this ugly underside. He was ambitious, yes, and sometimes careless, but something is rotting inside him now. It’s only lately I’ve smelled the stench.
He walks back into the bedroom in bare feet and with measured steps. The look he angles at me from under his brows is careful, calculating. I know this man. He needs me on his arm tonight at this party and is wondering what he should say to get me there.
He squats in front of me, taking my hands in his. “Look, I shouldn’t have said—”
“No, but you did.” I hold his gaze, not softening mine even though he appears contrite.