Page 55 of Shame

“My clit,” she whispers. “I like that spot. I touch it at night.”

Now it’s my turn to make feral, ungodly sounds. “Tell me about that.”

“That’s how I get to sleep at night. I rub my clit with two fingers, around and around, and think about bad men who call themselves Daddy touching me under the covers.”

Her words slide into my brain and push on live wires I have never consciously allowed myself to connect before. “Grace…” I gasp as she rocks her hips. “Yes. Fuck. Rub against me.”

She presses her face into my neck, her breath hot against my skin, and I jerk my hips, desperate to come with her, wishing we weren’t closed, wishing I knew how to do this without hurting, wishing I was touching her under a blanket and making her come on my fingers first, then my cock.

“You can always ask me for this,” I settle on, my voice cracking as her breath quickens, her hips flying now. “This is safe. This is just for us. Nobody else will ever know that we like this. God, you feel good. Yes. Come for me. Come on Daddy’s cock, Grace. Do it. Fuck. Fuck, you’re so little, so perfect, so hot, fuck I’m coming Grace…”

* * *

“Do you still want dinner?”

She looks at me wide-eyed. “Uh…”

“Fuck, was that too far?”

“No.” She whispers it. A single sound. Then she shakes her head. “That was hot.”

“I didn’t think—”

“I started it.” She kisses me, quickly, then glances down at my crotch. “Do you need to clean up?”

“Yeah.” Which is easier said than done in a single room loft. I get my, my pants a sticky disaster, and ignore that the best I can as I grab a change of clothes from the suitcase on the floor. Then I toss them on the bed, because fuck it, she’s my fucking wife, and I cross to the bathroom instead.

Leaving the door open as I strip out of my clothes, I wet a washcloth and scrub jizz off my belly. Then I stalk back to the bed and pull on boxers and fresh jeans. Good enough for now.

“You’re freaking out,” she finally says.

I shrug.

“It’s okay, Luke. It was just sex.”

That was notjustanything. “Mmm hmmm.”

“Look at me.” She says it softly, and I blink down at her. She has a smile that matches the tone of her voice. Gentle.

I don’t want gentle, I want safe.

Maybe for the first time, I get the difference. She’s being gentle as fuck with me, but this doesn’t feel safe at all. “Those things I said…”

“Were fine. And hot. And what I needed to get off in a pretty spectacular way.” She stands and adjusts her halter top. “Now to answer your question, yes, I do still want dinner, but I’m going to have to change first, because there’s no way I’m leaving the building like this.”

24

Grace

We don’t doit again. I don’t know why. I don’t feel like seducing him again, probably, and he doesn’t initiate it, which irritates me for reasons I know I have no right to be irritated by. So after another week, I decide, fuck it, I’m going to try his dating plan.

Not with the P.O. Box. Nobody needs to know my husband is still pining for me, that’s weird. Not to me, it’s secretly starting to feel very sweet to me in a dangerous way, but it would be weird to anyone outside our relationship.

Instead, I download a couple of apps, and try my hand at internet flirting with strangers.

It’s not fun at all.

The first date is a non-event, a complete disaster of nothingness. I show up, I order a drink at the bar, and I people watch. No sign of the guy who I emailed back and forth with a bit. Nobody who looks anything like his picture. He finally arrives ten minutes after the hour, and it’s awkward and painful.

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