Page 27 of Grift

My mouth is dry and my face is hot. “I’m your wife,” I stammer.

“You are.”

“They said, well, that is, my mother said,” I’m struggling to find words and wish I could disappear under the covers, behind the pillow, sink into the earth and never be seen again. He gives his head a shake, but when his next words come out, there’s an edge.

“She said what?”

“She said that you’re known to have some very specific desires,” my face is on fire. “The PI uncovered some seriously, well, she called it filth. I don’t think it’s filth.” I add the last part quickly.

Could I have mangled this worse?

“PI? You hired a private investigator to look into me, Jessica?” he sounds incredulous.

“Me? No. But my mother did, and she said that you go to a sex club. That you have a lot of different partners, and that you’re into, well things that aren’t on the usual menu.”

He gives me a half-grin as I say, “usual menu.” But there’s a storm in those eyes that I want to quell.

“I’m sorry, Patrick. This all happened so fast. She just wanted me to know what I was getting into,” I try again.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he says, voice a low and threatening purr. “If you want to know about my sexual desires, or what’s on my menu, or what I’ve done and with who, you ask me. You don’t listen to gossip, you don’t hire PIs, and you don’t discuss what happens – or doesn’t – between us with anyone. Especially your mother. Do I make myself clear?”

I give a timid nod, wishing with every ounce that I could take back the last five minutes. He leans forward. “Answer me, Jessica.”

“Yes, you’re clear, Patrick,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”

He drags a hand over his jaw. It was clean-shaven this morning at the church, but now it is already covered in dark, rough stubble. My friends would joke that he’s got too much testosterone, a thought with implications I can’t follow to their full conclusion right now. “I don’t want you to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just ground rules.”

He holds my gaze again. “As long as I know I can trust you, you can ask me anything and I’ll tell you the truth.”

He reaches down and picks up the book, flipping to a random page. It falls open to an image of a woman hitting a man that’s chained up with a riding crop, maybe? His eyes come up to mine, sparking.

“I’m an open book, Jessica.”

My mind races back to the file of photos, and what I’d been able to read online about the sex club. What I’d been able to digest about the book.

“Do you like normal sex?” My face flashes hot again as he barks a laugh.

Shame courses through me. I’ve accomplished a fair amount in my professional life. But inexperienced doesn’t even begin to describe my personal life. I’d had a couple of awkward fumbles in high school and college. But since then, with everything that happened, I’d barely dated. I’d never been face to face with a man I found so attractive, trying to discuss sex in any kind of open, honest way.

Trying to hold my own with him on this subject keeps throwing me off balance. “I mean, do you always try more adventurous things or do you ever just have sex with someone you care about?”

He goes silent for a long minute. “I’ve been known to go to that club in Boston, and I’ve tried most of what they offer over the years.”

Which isn’t exactly the question I asked, and something in my gaze tells him I’m unsatisfied. He tries again. “There’s not a lot of room in my life for relationships, Jessica. Most of the dating I’ve done is very casual. It’s been easier to handle my sexual needs in a straightforward way. That way, I don’t get anyone tangled up in my life and I don’t have to explain myself,” he runs a hand over his jaw.

Explain himself. Like I’m demanding he do right now.

“I’m sorry, Patrick. I didn’t mean….”

He leans forward, reaching out to close the distance between the chair and the bed, and puts a warm hand on my bare arm. It’s a simple touch that sends a current along my skin. “Stop apologizing, Jessica. As for what you’re asking, yes. I like sex, straightforward and more adventurous. Both. It’s not as much a physical thing as an emotional one. Love isn’t a thing that I’ve ever felt for a woman. But sex? That’s a fantastic way to feel alive.”

Wait. Love isn’t a thing he’s ever felt? I don’t know how to process that, so I tuck it away for later to consider when he won’t watch me do it.

“So you weren’t seeing anyone? Before this, I mean,” I say awkwardly. It takes him a second, and then he leans even closer.

“Absolutely not, Jessica. I don’t do infidelity. If someone was relying on me, I’d never have agreed to this,” his voice is intense again, the way it gets when he wants to make sure you’re listening. “I will never betray your trust while we’re married. I expect the same loyalty from you. Do you understand?”

Part of me balks again at him telling me what to do. But another part warms to the clarity, the command. He’s asking only for what he’s offering, and he’s giving me the chance to agree – or not. Just like he had back in his office.

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