Page 28 of Matched

Chapter Eleven

Tony

Ispent half the night tossing and turning while attempting to grow enough balls to bring up the sex topic with Inara. And now with the morning sun lighting up the living room, I’m still unsure how to proceed. So, I lounge against the back of the couch and try to distract myself with a word search. Not that I’m having much success in the distraction department. Every few seconds, my eyes glaze over and I’m back to the night before, wondering if there’s some kind of manual explaining the best way for a new husband to bring up how to better please his wife in the bedroom.

My hands tense, making the pen jerk across the paper, leaving behind a thick trail of blue ink. I sigh and readjust my reading glasses. I’m not getting anywhere, so I might as well finish this puzzle.

I look at the letters without actually seeing them.

I mean, it’s not like the sex was awful for Inara, right? Just a little quicker than she might have hoped for. But that last thing she’d said... ouch. Part of me woke up hoping it was a dream, except the stilted silence between us tells me otherwise.

That whole night at karaoke, the tension built between us. Her hand on my arms sent shivers down my body all the way to the tip of my dick, and I still shudder remembering her ass pressed against it. Yeah, it was good, but I hate the idea all that tension fizzled away for her, or worse, that she left our night either unsatisfied or bored.

I hate the idea that I let her down.

I drop the word search onto the cushion and lean my head back, trying to remember the name of the last woman I slept with. Brenda or Brandie. Something with a B, I think. I don’t know. For the life of me, I can’t remember much beyond checking the clock to make sure I had enough time to get back to base. I’ll be the first to admit my body count isn’t nearly as high as I pretend it is. But to think there could be a tribe of women out there who think I’m a lousy lay isn’t doing much for my mood.

I groan while slipping my fingertips under my glasses to rub my eyes. I’d always assumed I was good because no one until Inara acted otherwise. What was with that anyway? Did she find her comment funny? Because it wasn’t. I mean if she cooked a roast and burned it dry, I would still chomp that thing down like it was five-star cuisine. But then again, even a burnt roast beef fills a hole, and the effort put into cooking one is probably a hell of a lot more than I put out. How long do roasts take to cook again? Two, maybe three hours? Meanwhile, I’d lasted all of four minutes. Maybe five. And that’s being generous.

“I’m a moron.” Gritting my teeth, I curl both hands around the top of my skull, wishing I had hair so I’d have something to yank out. I expel the bad air from my lungs in one giant whoosh. Okay, time to quit freaking the fuck out. Beating myself up sure as hell isn’t going to solve this problem. And it’s not like there’s a crowd of dissatisfied customers lined up behind me.

No, I need to quit letting my fears run away with me. Inara didn’t actually say she didn’t like having sex with me. Although, that disgruntled noise she made, right at the end, and her parting zinger... oof. That right there pretty much guaranteed that I haven’t hit her top-five list. Inara has no patience for niceties, so if she dislikes something, everyone and their mother is gonna know it.

My gut twists into knots.

Fuck.

What if she tells everyone?

She probably already told Taya. And Taya will tell Jim. Though Jim probably won’t give me much shit about my in-the-sack skills given what his ex-wife put him through when it came to his sexual interests.

I sit up and straighten my shoulders. This kind of defeatist thinking isn’t getting me anywhere. So maybe I hadn’t hit the ball out of the park our first time. I also hadn’t mastered every single element of basic training right away. Not that Inara is like basic training, but at the time, basic was brand-new to me—sort of like having a wife. Maybe I put too much pressure on myself to succeed right off the bat. And one thing everyone learns quickly in the military—there’s always room for improvement.

I perk up. This situation is far from hopeless. I just need to fight harder to make things better. Practice makes perfect, right? I picture Inara’s naked body and shiver. Damned if I’m not willing to practice as much as possible. Relaxing a little probably wouldn’t hurt either. I’m a damn good cook. I could cook her something. I could please her in that way first and then she’ll give me a chance to really please her in the way I want to, the way I know I can. Blood rushes to my dick just thinking about her moaning in satisfaction as I go down on her right on the kitchen table. I’m going to SEAL this shit, figure out what she likes, and give it to her... all night long. She just needs to give me the chance.

“Good morning!”

Oh shit.

Out of habit, I reach up and yank off my glasses, hoping I’ve successfully managed to tuck them between my leg and the side of the couch without her noticing. But I glance up and catch her staring at me with a smile tugging at her mouth.

“Are you trying to pretend like I didn’t just see you shove those glasses into the couch?” she says.

Damn.

I widen my eyes and glance around the room. “Glasses? What glasses?”

Inara chuckles, placing a hand on her cocked hip. “You know, there’s no need to be embarrassed. They look cute on you.”

This weird heat flares across my cheeks. Almost like I’m blushing. It’s an uncomfortable sensation, so I sit up straighter and puff out my chest. “Of course they do. Everything looks good on me.”

I follow that audacious statement up with a wink, which prompts Inara to roll her eyes. But she’s smiling too. At least that’s something. Then the smile fades and her expression goes all serious. She perches herself on the edge of the sofa’s arm. “I’m glad I caught you here because I need to tell you something.” Her gaze drops from mine to study the way her fingers tangle in her lap.

My throat dries out. Oh shit. She can’t even look me in the eye? This is bad. Real bad. My performance must have been way worse even than I believed it was. I suck in a deep breath, filling my lungs with air, and brace myself. Whatever she says, I’ll do my best to take it like a man.

“I, uh, might have volunteered us to help out with Bennett again for a few hours over the next couple of weekends, if you’re able. Sorry, he sort of sprung it on me while I was at work and my mom was harassing me, and at that point, I would have basically said anything to get her off my back. I can totally tell him that you can’t make it if you’re busy.”

I’m so tense it takes me a second to process her words. Wait. Bennett? Her sudden change in demeanor isn’t about my failure to satisfy her in the sack? She’s worried that I’ll be upset because she volunteered me to help her stepdad build some more houses for his community members affected by the hurricane?

---