Page 15 of Dirty Husband
I'm sure it makes no sense to her.
It barely makes sense to me. No, it doesn't. But I don't have the luxury of sorting it out.
She smooths her dress. "You're sober."
"Yes."
"And you'll stay sober."
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"They're still selling the old chestnut about life."
"No." She presses her palms into her thighs. "How long do you want to stay married?"
I can't start at a month. Or a year even. I need room to work my way down.
She wants this to be easy. She wants to forget the last six years. The ultimatum. The months before it.
I turn my body toward hers.
She shudders as my knees brush hers. She wants that too. Wants my body over hers, my lips on her skin, my hands between her legs.
"Until I decide to call it off," I say.
"Forever?"
"Yes."
"So you… what do you think is going to happen? I'm going to see your bank account and fall in love?"
"You know what's in my bank account."
"Your—" She motions to my crotch.
"My cock."
Her cheeks blush. "Are you… expecting that?"
"I'm not paying you to sleep with me."
She stares at me with that samereallyexpression. She wants to keep this light. To shrug this off.
Part of me does. But the other part—"I'm not paying for your body, Jasmine."
"You pay me to sleep in your bedroom and while we're there—"
"No. I'm not going to touch you until you ask." And I'm not inviting anyone intomybedroom.
"I won't."
"Until you're so desperate you're on your knees, begging for my cock." I slip my leg between hers.
She groans as my knee brushes the inside of her thigh. "I won't."
"You will."
