Page 210 of Perfect
I blush in embarrassment, crossing my arms. “Do you like it?”
“I fuckingloveit.” I smirk at him. I knew he would love it, especially once I found the pen and ink drawing he’d stolen from my apartment in his desk drawer, along with a minuscule painting and one of my thongs.
Fucking stalker.
I framed all of them for his office, he just hasn’t noticed them yet.
He pulls me tight and stares at the canvas mounted on the wall for a moment longer before he finally drags me into the kitchen, where he starts laughing deliriously at the small painting of a Christmas ham hanging up on the wall.
I painted lots of small canvases with different dishes and food items and hung them up all over the kitchen, and Theo likes all of them except the one of coq a vin. He shoots me a look that’s equally irritated and amused when he sees it, and I grin at him.
Then he’s desperate to cook something.
We have food at home, but he insists on spending almost two hours at the little co-op anyway. He won’t let me leave his side, his arm around me as he spends a long time examining every available option and piece of produce. I have to remind him that we’re leaving in a week and that he can’t buy too much food. When I tell him I’m cooking him dinner later, I’m pretty sure he almost has an aneurysm.
He makes us salmon and a nice salad for lunch, and even pours himself a glass of wine from a bottle I have chilling in the fridge. We sit out on the porch, eating and watching the ships drift up and down the river, enjoying the nice weather, and then I climb into his lap and take my time enjoying him.
We nap on the small couch on the porch, although Theo startles awake at one point when a car alarm goes off several blocks away, and it takes him a few minutes to calm down, his arm tight around my waist the whole time.
When it’s time for dinner, he sits in the kitchen and watches me with a soft look as I make him a porcini risotto, and it’s not lost on him that it’s the first dinner he ever cooked me. We curl up on the couch to watch a movie afterward, but neither of us pays attention to the movie because he’s inside of me almost immediately. We sleep face to face, wrapped around each other tightly, and Theo sleeps for the whole night.
He has nightmares, but it’s nothing as intense as that first night together, which was apparently the worst one he’s had in over a year. We have frantic sex after his nightmares, but when he wakes me up from one of my nightmares, he’s barely touching me.
We don’t have sex after my nightmares.
He cooks elaborate meals three times a day and eats constantly. He sleeps for long hours, holding me tightly in bed or falling asleep on the couch with his head in my lap. He doesn’t let me out of his sight to the extent that he follows me into the bathroom, which I don’t even complain about the first time.
He won’t stop touching me, and we can’t stop fucking, even when it starts to hurt. He gets out on Sunday morning, and I’m so sore by Wednesday that I can barely walk. I lie on the couch in pain, my cunt throbbing and core aching, and look at him in horror when he kneels between my legs, undoing his belt.
“How are you not in pain right now?”
“Oh, Iam,” he says, wincing a little, “but I can’t help myself.” He winks at me as he leans down to kiss me, but I shove him away.
“Can you helpmeand get me an ice pack and stop touching me? You have the rest of your life to fuck me, so please calm down.” He laughs and retreats to the kitchen, returning with an ice pack wrapped in a thin dish towel.
“I’m holding you to that ‘rest of my life’ thing,” he says as he hands me the ice pack, and I groan as I press it between my legs.
“Baby, I will let you buy whatever insane goddamn ring you want if you just stop fucking me for a minute. Whatever you want, I swear, juststoptouching me.” He grins.
“I’mdefinitelyholding you that ‘buying you whatever I want, whenever I want’ thing.” I shoot him a dirty look.
“That’snotwhat I said.” He leans down and kisses me, grinning.
“Indulge me?” I roll my eyes and nod.
I like how he shows love.
***
The packages start to arrive the next morning. It’s two new phones, hundreds of miniature chip trackers, a variety of larger trackers, a shit ton of cameras, and a package Theo doesn’t open.
I lean against the kitchen island and sip coffee as I watch him unpack everything, preparing for a conversation I knew was coming. He seems tense, constantly glancing over at me as he neatly lays all the items on the counter. I just stare at him and wait, sipping my coffee and steeling myself.
“So…” he trails off, running his hands through his hair and shrugging as he flashes me a sheepish smile.
“You know I don’t have a crazy husband looking for me anymore, right?” He relaxes a little and smirks as he pulls me into his arms.
“Not yet, you don’t,” he says, kissing my forehead. I laugh at him and shake my head, looking at everything on the counter.
