Page 24 of Salvage Him
Sex was a sensitive subjectforus.
Paul knew about my past; the stuff I was into made him feel inadequate. Even when I made suggestions to make our sex life better, he took it as a blow to his ego and made me feel bad because I had experience. He would say, he didn't want to learn any of the dirty tricks I learned from all my otherboyfriends.
Paul was the second man I had been in arelationshipwith.
The one guy I used to date, before him, had many faults, but at least, the guy knew how tofuckme.
"Yes, yes, yes." He punctuated each thrust with this wordeverytime.
We usually had sex in this position, me, facing away from him. When we did it missionary, Paul never looked at me. Like he couldn't stand to see who he was fucking. It used to make me sad, but now, I was sadforhim.
He removed his finger and jabbed at me with short bursts. His breath labored and took on a high-pitched squeal. He pushed in one last timeandcame.
He grabbed me around the waist, pressed into me hard so as not to slip out and fumbled with mypussy.
"That was amazing," I said as I pushed his hand away and pulled up my leggings. I didn't even fakeenthusiasm.
I turned around and tookhimin.
He wiped his hands on his black slacks. His cock laid flaccid down the front. It had shrunk back to itsoriginalsize.
I leaned in and laid a quick peck on Paul's lips and headed toward thebedroom.
I got as far as thecouch.
"I'm leaving tonight for Dubai,"hesaid.
Istopped.
"I'll be there for about threeweeks."
"Why did you even come home?" I turned tofacehim.
"To checkonyou."
"You don't need to check on me. I'm fine." I stared at the floor. "I have plentytodo."
"Well. Great. I won't worry." He picked up his phone and pointed at his suitcase in the hallway. "Pack me some lighter suits and my swim trunks. You forgot last time. Thanks,Brooke."
I pouted, but he had already tuned me out and was on hisphone.
I wanted to protest, stomp my feet, or throw myself out the window—something to get his attention—but I didn't. I grabbed his bag, hauled it into the bedroom. I packed his things. I ignored his specialrequests.
What does a thirty-nine-year-old man need with a bathing suit on abusinesstrip?
I shookmyhead.
The quicker I got this done, the quicker he would be gone. The quicker I could return to my little fantasy where my life wasperfect.
* * *
Ijumpedwhen the phone near the front door rang. It was a direct line from the front desk, and it startled meeverytime.
Where I grew up, I didn't have adoorman.
I pulled myself off thecouch.
"Hello." I said, but no one responded. I pushed the button under the speaker. "Hello."
