Page 50 of The Carver

His soapy hands gripped my tits and massaged them with the soap, his chin down and his eyes soaking in the curves of my body like he hadn’t just taken me roughly as soon as we’d walked in the door from breakfast.

How did he desire me so deeply when he could replace me with someone younger? A woman who was a zero or even a double-zero. I wanted to voice my curiosity, but I was afraid that I would plant the idea in his head and this erotic fairy tale would be over.

His eyes lifted to mine, like he’d somehow felt my change in mood. “What is it?”

“How do you do that?”

He smirked like he knew exactly what I was referring to. “Quick reflexes won’t keep you alive, not when you have to react to something without notice. It’s intuition that saves your skin, detecting the threat before it’s fully formed. And I know you well enough now to feel your changes in mood as they happen. So, what is it?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“You want me to be honest with you? Then be honest with me.” He didn’t say it with a tone of anger, just a calm simplicity.

My eyes dropped to his wet chest, the fair skin obscured by dark ink, a man who was covered in layers of muscles. “Sometimes I don’t understand your fascination with me, is all.”

“Really?” He gave me a quick look-over, tits to pussy.

“Well, you could have a woman ten years younger, and her tits would be even better.”

He cocked his head slightly, and his eyes narrowed just a smidge, like he was truly surprised by that response. “I remember who I was at twenty-three. I had to grow up fast, but even then, I was still a child in many ways.”

“I don’t see why that matters.”

“Because a twenty-three-year-old woman is too young for me.”

“To fuck?” I asked incredulously.

His eyes narrowed farther. “You think all we’re doing is fucking? I made it clear?—”

“This is why I didn’t want to say anything.”

He seemed on the verge of getting angry, but he swallowed it back and kept the calm. “Help me understand.”

“Look at you.” I gestured from his shoulders to his fat dick between his legs. “You could have anyone, have as many girls as you want at once, and you’re choosing to spend your time with me, a woman about to be divorced and almost thirty. It just seems a little unbelievable sometimes.”

He stared at me long and hard, the sound of the falling water fading out in the tension. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“I’m not crazy?—”

“You’re fucking crazy. Crazy to let that asshole steal your confidence. Crazy to let that idiot strip you down to a hollow shell of insecurity. Let me tell you something about men, sweetheart. They cheat because they cheat. It’s as simple as that. His gaze didn’t wander because you were less than, because your ass wasn’t hard enough or your tits weren’t perky enough.”

“I appreciate that, but that has nothing to do with it.”

“It has everything to do with it. Because there’s no fucking way that a woman who looks like you could possibly question her worthiness otherwise. Why would I want a woman ten years younger than me when I can have you? A woman who’s intelligent, experienced, speaks her mind, whose sass hits harder than a goddamn bullet.” He grabbed me by the throat like he was about to slam me to the floor. “You’re. Fucking. Crazy.” He squeezed me before he let go. He turned off the shower then stepped out, pulling the towel off the rack and drying himself quickly.

I followed him and stood on the bath mat, soaking wet because I didn’t have a towel.

He tossed me his when he was finished.

“Look, I just mean?—”

He turned back to me, sexy with his damp hair a mess from the towel. “I thought we were done with this.”

“I just think someone like you would be one of those guys who never wants to commit or settle down because you don’t have to.”

His furious eyes stared into mine like I offended him.

“That’s all I’m saying.”

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