Page 65 of Bad Husband

I make some kind of noise close to her ear, somewhere between a gasp and a groan, as my body answers her reactions. “I can’t wait any longer,” I tell her, moving my hips once more.

Supporting my weight against the bed by propping myself up on the one hand, my left-hand moves to her breasts, massaging them with need and desire. My hips push against hers again, savoring the feeling. The sensation, a reminder, jolts through my body like a spark.

Pressing my lips to hers, I stare down at her and wink, but say nothing as I reach between us to position myself at her wet entrance.

Her cheeks flush in the night as I push forward, words rushing from my lips. “Oh God, baby… fuck, that’s so good.”

Madison tosses her head back against the bed, her hands still firmly on my shoulders as I pound into her with need.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re having sex right now? Isn’t that just covering your problems with sex?

Yes, it is, and as you can see, Madison and I are good at that.

Women? Here’s the thing. Men can be pissed at you, screaming at the top of their lungs mad, but if you drop to your knees and give us head, we’re gonna let you. And then when you swallow, we’ll go back to arguing with you. See how I added the swallow part? I’m just being honest.

Does it matter if you swallow?

Let me put it to you this way. Let’s say you’re having sex with your man and he finds just the right spot to get you off but then just before you come, he moves. What would you do?

Madison would straight up punch me in the face and tell me to get back to work.

My point is, if you’re going to go through all the work to give your man a blow job, finish the job. Don’t be a quitter or a spitter.

Anyway, my point is we don’t think of sex in the same way you do. We just want it whenever you’re willing to give it up.

“Faster,” Madison moans, drawing me from my thoughts.

“You’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow,” I growl against her skin.

“Oh God,” she whispers, a slow shake of her head like she can’t believe we’re doing this, but she also doesn’t have the strength to stop me because she wants it just as bad. I’ll take anything I can get at this point, so I don’t stop, and I’m intent on showing her just how badly she needs me by knowing I’m the only one who can make her feel like this.

“Say it, Madison,” I beg, my breathing heavy as my hands wrap tightly around her hair, tugging so her head angles toward me, eyes locking when I press all of my weight into her. “Tell me you want me too. Tell me you’re mine.” I pause, swallowing with a regretful shake of my head. I’m not sure what I’ll do if she says she’s not.

Sometimes you have to ask for something you want, and I’m fixated on making her do just that because if she does, there’s hope. This isn’t all a waste of time. Madison never says what she really means but if I can see her eyes, I know when she’s telling the truth.

She stares back at me, blues glowing in the night. “I’m yours....”

And there’s the truth. Look at her. Do you see it? There’s not a chance in hell she’s lying to me. She may not be willing to make it work, but there’s no denying this woman is mine.

“Oh God, Madison....” Her name is my weakness, spoken like a prayer against her lips as if I’m giving everything I have for her to love me enough to stay.

Her eyes snap shut when I slam into her again, filling her, over and over again. I want to slow it down, but I know we can’t, and I won’t. Her moans of pleasure mix with my grunts of need.

It’s quick—give me a break—it’s been weeks, and my body shakes as I let go, strangled words falling from my lips, my head thrown back.

When my body stops shaking, I wonder what she’s going to say to me next. It could be anything.

She stares at me, her hand drifting up to run her fingertips along the edge of my jaw. I’m dying to see warmth and connection in her face, and I do, but fear and sadness are there too. She’s so beautiful in this light, the moon shining down on her face outlining her perfectly defined cheek bones and that cute nose I love to kiss.

Her lids fall shut, tears rolling down her temples but she brings our lips together.

I kiss her back, trying to understand the tears and sadness because I thought she enjoyed that. Didn’t she? Normally you don’t cry after sex unless you’re a virgin.

Did it hurt?

I stare down at her, trying to figure out what she’s thinking. Under that sadness—the vulnerability and the emotion—there’s something in the way she looks at me, like I’m all she’s ever wanted, ever.

Her breathing falters when I slide out, her tears slowing.

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