Page 4 of Indulgence
Matteo smiled down at me and kissed the tip of my nose. “I love you.”
God, I felt like the worst wife in the world. I just faked an orgasm with my husband who only ever tried to make me happy. I wished I had a way to tell him that this wasn’t working for me anymore, but the last thing I wanted was to make Matteo feel as if he weren’t enough. He was everything. I just had to try to figure out what was happening on my end. Then I could fix myself, and we would go back to being the way we were.
That was it. That was all.
“I love you too.”
We rolled out of bed, and I headed for the shower first. With Matteo’s back turned to me while he grabbed a pair of sleep pants from his drawer, I swiped my phone from my dresser and slipped into the bathroom. After turning on the shower, I typed in the name of my favorite porn site and pulled up a tag that I knew would help me get the job done quickest.
I stepped into the shower and let the hot water hit my back while I watched a pretty brunette get both of her holes filled by two large dicks. Her face twisted in pleasure as they worked in and out of her. My fingers found my clit and rubbed back and forth, up and down. The sensations began building quickly, and a few minutes later while I watched the muted girl screamed out her pleasure, I bit my lip and came from my own hand.
The guilt from deceiving my husband crept back in, and I felt that shame that washed over me every time this happened, but a girl had to do what a girl had to do.
Chapter Two
Matteo
If I didn’t know mywife the way I did, if I was insecure in our relationship, then I would have thought she was having an affair. But I knew Natalie better than any other person on this planet did, so I knew that, without a doubt, she was not cheating on me.
Not that knowing that did anything to help me understand what Natalie was going through or why there was a disconnection between us in the bedroom. It seemed to be the only part of ourrelationship that had shifted. Everything was fine, and then it wasn’t.Or at least that was how it felt to me.
I questioned myself over and over, forcing my mind to think back, find signs I missed. How could I claim to know everything about my wife—like how she wouldn’t eat Oreos without peanut butter or that she twirled her hair around her finger when she was nervous—but not understand why she suddenly couldn’t come during sex?
She did her best to pretend, but she also didn’t realize she squeezed her eyes closed while she faked her orgasms. Watching her eyes as she climaxed was my favorite part of making love to Natalie. Her eyes were a unique shade of brown that was mixed with a deep honey. Watching the way her eyes rolled back and how the flecks of gold in her irises glowed made my dick swell.
When Natalie faked it, she closed her eyes. She was overthinking the act, making it sellable. When she came, she didn’t think about it, and her eyes just followed the sensations of the release.
As soon as she closed her eyes, it was like looking at the side-by-side photo in the kids’Highlightsmagazine where you had to find the six differences between the photos. She overarched her back, pitched her moans a notch too high, and squeezed her eyes closed.
When it happened the first time, I waited for her to tell me what went wrong and why she couldn’t get off. But she didn’t say a word and acted as if it were business as usual. I didn’t bring it up for fear of embarrassing her. Maybe she didn’t want to discuss it at that moment. Maybe she needed time to process what happened and why she didn’t finish. Typically, the only other times that happened were because we’d been interrupted.
After that first time I noticed it, the faking became more of a regular thing than coming. It wasn’t all the time, but it was far more often than not.
I couldn’t figure out what was going on with her, and it was driving me crazy. For me, sex had always been more than just getting off. It was about the connection. I didn’t care how much of a wuss that made me. I loved my wife more than anything, except for Jackson and Emma, and I cherished those moments where we were one.
The instant I met her, I knew she was different. She hated math, and I was trying to help her understand it, which never really happened, sothat smile I desperately craved from her seemed unobtainable. The urge to soothe her worries consumed me, so I kept at it. Shewas stressed and wound tight, but she drew me in.
When Nat came to our tutoring session after passing the first test she took with my studying help, she graced me with the biggest, brightest smile I’d ever seen. It was beautiful, andI was addicted. Her smile was my drug. We had been working together for a few weeks by that point, and I was already crushing on her, but after seeing the way her happiness could light up my world,I was a goner.
I had no doubts that Natalie was the one for me. She was the one I wanted by my side always. A life with her and everything it had to offer us.
We’ve been thrown some curve balls along the way, but we always came out stronger. I liked to believe that was because we had this way of understanding each other. Yin and yang. Natalie was the anxious one while I was the calm one. She had the temper where I could defuse the situation. Emma was a mini Natalie in every way possible, except math skills. Emma was almost better with numbers than I was. We understood our differences, embraced and leaned on each other, talked about things, which was whyher lack of openness with ourbedroom issue confused me.
I was fairly certain it wasn’t an attraction problem either.Natalie was still attractedto me. I could feel it in her touch. Plus, it wasn’t as though she was turning down sex, which I assumed would have been the case if she didn’t want to be with me. She just wasn’t climaxing during sex. She was getting herself off in the bathroom alone instead.
It was hard not to feelhurt after I saw her in the shower last week. We had finished making love, and she went to shower, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. Except, when I popped into the bathroom to grab my glasses and contact case, I saw what she was doing.
Through the frosted glass of the shower doors, I could see Nat’s silhouette. She was holding her hand out in front of her. I couldn’t quite figure out what the hell she was doing until I saw where her other hand was and where it stayed long past washing. Natalie was rubbing one out in the shower, watching something on her phone, porn I presumed.
We had just finished having sex, where she faked her orgasm, only forherto go flick her bean in the shower. I had a ton of questions, mainly I wanted to know why. Why not ask me? If the dick wasn’t working, why not ask for my tongue or fingers? Why wasn’t my wife talking to me about this?
If she wasn’t discussing the issue with me, she had to be talking to someone, which was why I broke the cardinal marriage rule: No snooping through the other’s electronics.
I needed to know what was going on, and I wasn’t going to wait any longer. I’d been patient for three months. It was long enough.
Natalie’s new exhibition opened tomorrow so she was working late, and Scotty’s mom was dropping the kids off from their after-school activities, so I had some time alone.
We kept our laptops and tablets in the bedroom. Our tablets sat on our nightstands. Natalie liked the read before bed, and I had an addiction to Words with Friends and 2048 because, well, I loved numbers. I’d play one for a little while as Natalie watched a show or read her books.
