Page 42 of The Marriage Agreement (Agreement)

“Yes!”

“Good girl.” I begin moving fast inside her. She screams out loud. I stop and rub her ass, smacking it.

“Who’s your husband?”

“You are.” Smack.

“What’s my name?”

“Luke Blythe.” Smack.

“Good, that fucking imaginary guy better remember who you belong to.” I increase my pace, smacking her ass gently between thrusts. She moans louder, fisting the sheets.

“I’m … coming… Luke…”

“Good, come for me and only me.”

She comes, screaming out loud. Her walls tighten around me, sucking me into bliss. I cum in her, releasing all of me. I collapse on her, then roll off once I realize my weight.

“You can be my dancer anytime you want, just no fucking imaginary husband, because I can touch my wife whenever I want.” She laughs and rolls onto her back. I turn to face her.

“That’s the point of the game. You were a good participant,” she teases.

I pull her to me, her head resting on my chest. “We make our own rules, Dele. I like touching my wife.”

“Maybe you can touch yourself next time.” She laughs.

“Okay, but no damn imaginary husband, too.”

“Imaginary husbands are fun. He’s handsome and debonair, sitting mysteriously behind the imaginary glass, with a glass of whiskey, watching to make sure you don’t touch me.” She pokes my chest and smiles.

“I will never share you, not even with an imaginary husband. He’s out.”

“Uh, you are no fun.” She pokes me again and gets off the bed.

“Where are you going?” I call out.

“Shower, with my imaginary husband before you kick him out,” she answers, sticking her tongue out at me.

“Oh no, you won’t.” I race after her.

We spend the next hour in the bathroom, with me sinking inside her again, making her scream out my name, reminding her who her husband is. By the time we’re out, and she creams her body, I’ve worn her out. We’re not going out today. I order our dinner, and we sit on the balcony facing the beach to have our meal. I listen to her tell me all about her friend and the crazy dares Osei makes her do, or things to get himself out of a hot spot. She laughs as she recounts one instance where one of Osei’s girl threw a drink in her face.

“It wasn’t funny when she tossed the glass of red wine at me,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“What did you do?”

“I was shocked at first, then made Osei pay for my pain and suffering,” I chuckle.

“How did he pay?”

“He took me shopping. I made him watch two rom-com movies with me. As you know, Osei would rather walk on hotcoals than sit through a rom-com at the theatre, and he had to bring me lunch for two weeks.”

“Looks like you got the best of it.”

“I did, because who else is going to carry the banner of his favorite girl and deal with all his women drama?” She rolls her eyes. “Osei has dra—ma.” I laugh at the way she stresses the word.

“How did you guys meet?” I ask. She arches a brow.

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