Page 9 of A Method to His Madness

Interesting.

If I wasn’t such a wordsmith, I might have missed the slip.

What does it mean?

In any event, I’m not going to…sleep with Caleb. God no.

Not only would that be out of character, but being intimate with someone as a form of therapy is…extreme? Isn’t it?

Just for a moment, however, I allow myself to picture an act that I’ve heard described by men around the farm, when they don’t think I’m listening. I imagine myself reaching up from the couch to unfasten his belt, rubbing my palm against the swell in his pants while my husband watches helplessly from three feet away, his head falling shamefully into his hands while Caleb pushes his shaft between my waiting lips, groaning.

Stroking my hair lovingly while he pumps firmly. Inch by inch vanishing into my mouth. Holds himself deep while I whimper, blinking up at him.

A swallow catches in my throat when a foreign wetness gathers unexpectedly between my thighs. I almost look down to inspect, but I don’t want to draw attention to the issue. What…is that?

“Would you like Waylon to leave now, Ashley?” Caleb asks, eyes flickering.

I should take some time to consider my answer. Or the fact that Waylon is going to retaliate against me when he comes back from the fishing trip. But he’s going to be a putrid, violent monster, either way, isn’t he? I might as well gasp this final breath of freedom being offered. “Yes. I would.”

Waylon snorts, but he’s got a fine layer of sweat on his forehead. If we were at home, he would be in my face, shouting, shaking me. Threatening me. But right now, I don’t feel an ounce of fear, though, and it’s because Caleb is there. At the ready. “You think you’re going to get her into bed, man?” Waylon snorts again. “Ain’t no chance of that. She’s as frigid as they come. You’ll see.”

“If you think that’s true, you’re even dumber than you look, Waylon,” Caleb responds without missing a beat. “And it’s time for you to go.”

“If you think I’m going to leave my wife here to…to be—”

“Get the fuck out, Waylon. Before I throw you out.”

Oh lord. My heart is slamming sideways in my throat. That moisture that had started to trickle between my legs is more prominent now, soaking my panties. I’ve never felt the urge to touch myself. I thought that was for other women. Women who like sex. Like men. But if I was alone right now, I think I might slide my fingers among my wet flesh now and explore. My nipples tingle and plump inside my bra. What is happening to me?

Finally, Waylon lunges to his feet with a snarl, though Caleb doesn’t so much as flinch. He merely watches my husband storm out of the office with a wry smirk, running a slow hand down the length of his tie as the door is slammed shut.

I’m not going to bed with you.

Those are going to be the first words out of my mouth in the wake of Waylon’s departure. Just to set the tone. But he speaks first and surprises me once again.

“Name something you want, Ashley. It can be anything.”

“A typewriter,” I breathe. “And some paper.”

He doesn’t roll his eyes. Or complain that I didn’t answer that I want sex.

Caleb only nods, examining my answer, as if he appreciates this clue about who I am. “That can be arranged.”

CHAPTER 5

Caleb

As luck would have it,I took over this office from a lawyer who started practicing law in the sixties. It doesn’t take me long to locate an old typewriter in the storage shed out back. While still outside, I blow the dust off the machine, entering the office through the rear door and setting the typewriter up in front of a window on the far side of the room, stacking a sheaf of paper alongside. Then I gesture for Ashley to sit in front of it.

“I hope you won’t mind if I get some work done while you write,” I say, raising an eyebrow, trying not to inhale too deeply of the orange grove scent she’s introduced into my office, like a ray of sunshine. I don’t have many tasks to complete. My clients are few and far between at this early stage in my practice and I blew through my to-do list over the last two sleepless nights. But I want her to relax, I want her to feel safe being alone with me, and that means time to adjust. To exist in the same space without any expectations or pressure. “I’ll just be at my desk.”

Her gaze is wary, but it strays to my mouth, cutting away quickly. “That’s fine.”

“Good.” I notice the slight flush on her neck and wish I had the freedom to suck that flavor into my mouth. “Would you like me to take your coat now?”

“No,” she says quickly.

I nod. “Very well.”

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