Page 23 of Bartholomew
“The fireplace is quite the statement piece. But it’s that, over there, that I’m interested in,” she answered somewhat shyly, pointing to the small bookcase in the nook of the large tri-windowed wall.
“The books?” I asked, as she nodded. “Oh, then I know exactly what room we should go to next,” I replied with delight, my grin widening. I took her by the hand, barely noticing how the smile dropped from her face when I touched her. Barely, but I did notice.
“Is it okay for me to take your hand?” I asked, stopping my steps to the next room and standing before her.
“Yes, of course,” she answered, but I was not sure I believed her.
“If there is ever anything I do, especially in my touch, that you do not like or do not want, you must tell me. Your consent is vital to me. When I touch you, I want you to crave it. I want you to desire my touch, Delilah,” I spoke softly but fervently. Her eyes lowered, and that blush returned.
“You are my husband. You may touch me —” she began, but I could not stand for that kind of talk in my home.
“No, Delilah. Look at me.” Immediately, her eyes were on mine. “In this home, you are Delilah, first and foremost. Not my wife, but Delilah, first. You have bodily autonomy,” I insisted.
“Bodily autonomy?” she questioned, her brow furrowing. With a smile, I took her hand again, pulling her with me towards the couch where we both sat.
“Yes. Bodily autonomy, meaning your body is your own. It does not belong to me, only to you. If you do not want me to touch you, then you have the right to say no,” I tried to explain.
“But you are my husband and Zion —”
“Zion can shove off,” I spat out, curbing my normal cursing for her benefit. “I know what Zion teaches. They teach us men many things as well. But I believe that a woman has the right to a say in what happens to her body.”
I sat there for a moment and waited for her to respond. The only response she had was her eyes widening and her jaw going slack in what I guessed was shock. I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Delilah, I view you as a person. And I hope you believe that someday. I’m willing to take all the time in the world, but I need to be clear. You are a person, a human of value and of worth. That is why I married you. Because you are deserving of more than what people were saying about you.” I immediately cringed at my words.
Good job, Ollie. Make her think everyone in town is talking about her.
Her eyes lowered, and I knew I’d done it.
“Well, that’s me just turning this entire conversation tits up,” I sighed heavily. My own eyes lowered until I felt her hand on mine.
“Bartholomew — Ollie—. You are not telling me anything new by saying that people have been talking about me. I’m not that naïve. I may be somewhat innocent, but I’m not naïve. While I appreciate your honesty, I’m shocked by your words, but… I’m hearing you. I’m listening if you want to continue.”
Well, knock me down with a feather. Progress.
Her hand left mine, and I was sorry for that loss. But it was day one. Only day one.
“I just want you to know that here, in this home and with me, you have value, and you have worth. And while I am in no rush, I look forward to learning all of those parts of you. Each and every one of them. But only with your consent.” I let my words sink in for a moment before standing again. “Now, let’s head to the next room, shall we?” I asked brightly.
She nodded and off we walked down the hall towards my study. I knew she would love it and could not wait to show her all the books I had been collecting. As my hand touched the doorknob, I stopped. Her hand touched mine, and I turned towards her.
“You may take my hand anytime you like, Ollie,” she said simply with a smile. I returned that smile tenfold before opening the door and leading her in.
Progress indeed.
CHAPTER6
DELILAH
If I had thought his house was nice, it was nothing compared to this room. This room could have easily been a formal dining room. Perhaps it had been once upon a time. It was large enough to fit a large dining table with plenty of furniture, but the room housed a simple, sleek looking desk. What held my attention were the walls. Each wall sported floor to ceiling custom shelves. Shelves that were stocked with books.
I felt my chest tighten with forgotten breath; the sight taking me by surprise. So many books. If someone would have told me that Bartholomew Temple was a closet book nerd a week ago, I would have laughed in their face. As it was, standing there in his study, I could see I had completely misjudged the man.
“What do you think?” he asked anxiously, rocking back on his heels as he bit his lower lip between his teeth. That look on his face, the way he looked at me in hopeful anticipation, did strange things to my stomach.
“It’s incredible. You have quite the collection,” I whispered into the room, immediately doing my best to hold myself back from scrounging through every title with voracity.
“Every book in here is available to you. Anything you want to read,” he said with a smile that grew over his face. He had such an infectious smile it was nearly impossible not to return.
