Page 13 of Say You Love Me

I’m trapped, but there is nowhere else I would rather be. My breath catches in my throat and already there’s moisture between my legs. I’m desperate for him. My heart feels as though it’s going to explode. This is what I want. This is what I need.

Him. Me. Us.

Hudson looms over me. His chest rises and falls with each breath. Grabbing my chin roughly, he jerks my head up, demanding that I look at him.

He doesn’t say anything but, my god, the look he gives me is enough to make me want to collapse to the floor in a trembling mess. I want him to take me, use me, love me, fuck me. I need him to claim me and remind me that I’m his.

But I can’t read his expression. His glare is hard. It burns with something but I don’t know what. My jaw begins to ache between his fingers but I don’t move away. I want him to hurt me. I want him to do something, anything. I just want him to love me again.

He lets go of my chin, but I don’t drop my eyes. Our bodies are close, our chests rising and falling in unison. Hudson’s gaze moves. First, it lingers on the red marks which must be showing on my jawline and then it moves down my neck and over my collarbones. Only once he reaches the swells of my breasts does he stop. They feel weighted under his gaze, heavy and full. With one hand, he flicks open the first button of my dress, exposing more flesh. Then he flicks open the next and the next, until I’m stripped bare to my waist. When he uses the softest of touches to pull the material aside, my chest swells, pushing towards him in wanton lust. My nipples are so hard I feel as though I might die if he doesn’t touch me. They ache. Throb.

But then he takes a step back.

And another.

Everything within me deflates as his gaze freezes and turns cold. “I—I don’t know what you want,” I stutter.

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t acknowledge I spoke at all. “I’m going for a shower.”

“But dinner is almost ready.” My voice is pathetic and small. I pull my dress back together with trembling hands, my fingers fumbling with the small buttons. Mere seconds ago, I was longing for his touch. Now, all I want to do is hide.

“I’m not hungry.” His eyes flick over my body again, as though he’s trying to tell me it’s not the food he doesn’t want.

It’s me.

He takes the stairs two at a time, footsteps thudding through the house almost as loudly as my heart.I sink to the floor, pulling my knees tight to my chest. I don’t want to be the woman crying that her husband doesn’t want to fuck her anymore, but I am. Sobs wrack my body until I can barely breathe.Reaching upwards, I yank the tea towel off the bench and use it to wipe away my tears. I jump a little when the timer goes off and I get to my feet to pull dinner out of the oven.

Overhead, I hear the creak of the shower faucet and then the hiss of water. Careful to avoid the floorboards that groan, I slip up the stairs. The door to our bedroom is open just a crack. I peer through it and see he’s left the bathroom door wide open and steam is pouring into the bedroom. In the reflection of the bathroom mirror, his figure is silhouetted against the white tiles of the shower. His shoulders are pressed to the wall, his head tipped back and his lip caught between his teeth. The misty haze makes him a little blurred, but I can see him. He fists his cock, tugging up and down. His entire body is coiled, straining. From the rivulets of water that are running down the glass, his body is cut into lines of focused and unfocused perfection.

The sight is so erotic, I stay in place, watching him as he masturbates. I imagine I’m in the shower with him, running my tongue up his rock-hard abs, the water hitting my face and running down my naked body. I imagine his hands on my shoulders, pushing me to my knees and begging me to take him in my mouth. I imagine the feel of him, the sight and the taste.

Lifting my skirt, I dip my fingers under the white lace of my underwear. I’m wet. So wet. I let my eyes feast on him and slide my fingers over myself. Hudson pulls his body away from the wall, choosing instead to lean, bent over with one hand placed on the glass. His body is closer now, more defined, more everything. My breath sharpens, my fingers work furiously. It only takes a few seconds, a few strokes and when he comes undone, so do I.

We both stand there panting, Hudson under the stream of water, me cowering in the hallway. I wait and watch him wash himself, admiring the sight of the muscles sliding under his skin as he washes his hair, watching as water pours down his back and over the mounds of his backside before swirling to the drain below.

The ring of the telephone startles me out of my reverie. Hudson glances toward the door, and I duck out of sight, surprised at the flush of heat in my cheeks. I race down the stairs quickly, not caring that the phone is ringing, and only that my husband doesn’t see me lurking in the hallway, watching him shower like some demented pervert. Besides, I know who will be on the phone, and I don’t want to talk to them.

chapter six

THEN

~

FINITY

Our house is a single bedroom apartment within a block of other run-down apartments. Water stains run down the walls and the person that lived here before us must have been a smoker as the ceiling is yellow where it was once white. But it is ours and we love it.

Even though I’ve been away from home for months, Mum still calls at the same time every day. Seven o’clock. I think it’s because it’s late enough that she knows I’m home, but early enough that she can still pronounce her words without slurring.

“So you’re still happy with that man?” She never starts off our conversations with ‘Hello’ or ‘How are you?’ My mother has an abhorrence for small talk. She refuses to talk about the weather, or share the latest celebrity gossip, even though she spends most of her day watching television.

“Yes, Mum. Hudson is…” I fall silent, a contented sigh falling from my lips. “He’s perfect.”

“No one is perfect,” my mother says bluntly.

“He’s my perfect.”

“And you’re still serving drinks at that bar?”

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