Page 52 of The Marriage Game

Oh how I wish my wife needed me, but she’s entirely too self-sufficient. The only time she ever truly needed me was when she had her breakdown.

The memory of how good it felt to be needed by her still haunts my late night tossing and turnings. I don’t want Jill to ever get so overloaded that she breaks down again, but I can’t deny that the way she looked at me during that time–like I was her champion, her conquering hero…I feel sick with guilt over the fact that some part of me misses that. And I can’t deny that I think some part of me will always be chasing getting that feeling back.

Chapter 20

Max

17 Years Ago

“Alright,Mrs.Bernard,I’mgoing to pick you up now,” I tell my new wife.

“Please do, Mr. Bernard,” she replies with a flirtatious drawl. She wrinkles her nose. “Wait, that doesn’t sound as sexy as Mrs. Bernard. It’s not fair. Your name didn’t change, so calling you by your last name isn’t exciting.”

I chuckle. “Believe me, Mrs. Bernard, we’re outside our hotel room on our wedding night–everything you say sounds sexy.”

Jill’s answering blush heats my insides. It’s the most thrilling feeling knowing that we don’t have to hold back anymore.Driven by impatience, I bend down and scoop her up. She shrieks in surprise, but it quickly turns into a gasp of excitement.

“Across the threshold we go, wife,” I say, struggling with my key before finally managing to get the door open with what can only be sheer force of will. I carry her across the threshold, her arms looped tightly around my neck. I make my way toward the bed, but she stops me.

“Wait!”

“Wait?” The word comes out a little grouchily. “All we’ve done for the last three years is wait.”

“Well then it won’t hurt us to wait just five more minutes. I want to put on one of the negligees I got at my bridal shower. I’ve got this sheer black one picked out.”

I’m momentarily distracted by the thought of Jill in a sheer black anything, but then she places her lips on my neck and gives me a slow kiss there. I forget all about everything but the end goal, moving us toward the bed as fast as my feet will carry me.

“Max!’ she squeals. “I’m serious! I want to change. This night has to be perfect and part of that involves the sexy black negligee!”

“What you have on is sexy enough,” I growl out.

“Oh please, it’s a white dress. Everyone knows black is the sexiest color. Anyway, I don’t want to be sexyenough. I want to be flat out sexy, no qualifiers needed, and black clothing gives every woman a sexier edge.”

“Jill, you’re killing me,” I groan. “I swear on my life that you are the queen of sexy. The very picture of sexy. The sexiest of all. That’s right. If that mirror fromSnow Whitewere here and we said ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the sexiest of them all?’ The mirror would say you: Jill Bernard. No, actually scratch that, we don’t even need to ask an enchanted mirror–the title is yours, no question.”

“Max!” She giggles, her cheeks flushed with pleasure, but then she starts to push me away again. “C’mon, give me five minutes—I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“Two,” I counter.

“Three,” she shoots back.

“Fine three minutes,” I give in and she immediately moves toward her suitcase. “You know,” I grumble as she unzips it, “if clothing has to be black to be sexy, then they should just make wedding dresses black.” This earns another laugh from Jill—not what I was after. She retrieves something from her suitcase—presumably the negligee—then looks over her shoulder at me.

“Can you unzip me,” she asks.

“Not if you want me to abide by the three minute agreement.”

“Funny.” She shakes her head at what she seems to think is me joking around. “C’mon, Max.” Seriously, this woman—my wife—, seems to have no idea what she does to me. I approach her and lift my hands to the zipper. “I wasn’t joking,” I whisper into the shell of her ear. She shivers, and goosebumps break out across her skin. “You continue to test my self-control, wife,” I murmur, then, summoning the last shreds of that quickly dwindling control— I tug her zipper down and step away.

“Your three minutes start now,” I say gruffly, turning away.

I watch the clock the entire time she’s in the bathroom. It’s the longest three minutes of my life, but when she finally emerges my legs give out.

I guess Jill was right: black clothing is extremely sexy. Especially when there’s so little of it.

“Worth the wait?” she asks, actually sounding a bit shy.

“Definitely,” I say breathlessly. Then I proceed to show her just how much I mean it.

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