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I hate how uncomfortable she looks, chewing on her bottom lip, waiting eagerly for my reaction.
I hate that I set the tone for this entire thing.
I hate that I don’t have a clue whether or not shewantsto have sex, just that we have to. It’s up to me not to appear disappointed or uninterested.
Slowly closing my laptop, I mentally encourage myself to give her the enthusiasm she needs.
“A fertile day,” I say, forcing a smirk on my face.
I love my wife, and there’s not a single day I regret that it’s her warm body filling the space on the other side of my bed. But when I roll over and tug her under me, I know deep down that I’m doing it because a stupid fucking app on her phone has told her that we have to have sex and not because either of us truly wants to.
Just once, I’d like to have sex with my wife for the sake of fucking.
Her legs fall open, and I cage her in with my elbows on the pillow on either side of her head. In the dim light of our room, I stare down at her and try to remember what it felt like in the beginning. When we were new, the weight of this situation didn’t loom over us, showering us with tension and guilt every time the pressure built too high.
I wish I could sayI love youto her, but that would be too intimate and personal. And what we’re about to do is anything but.
Lifting her oversized tee, I try to move farther down her body, but she grabs my arms and stops me.
“You don’t need to do that,” she says despondently.
I lift my head and stare at her, perplexed. “Let me at least make you feel good. I want to make sure you get off.”
She tugs me upward again. “I don’t need to get off to make a baby.”
“How romantic,” I mutter with a sigh.
“Caleb…” Her tone is pleading, and when I look up at her, I decide to swallow down the argument building inside me.
I hate this. I hate that my wife has to bear this and won’t even let me make it better for her.
But I can’t tell her I hate it.
“Not even if I want to?” I murmur against the tender, warm flesh below her breasts.
“It’s late, Caleb.”
Fuck, this is humiliating. Having to beg my wife to let me lick her pussy, both of us knowing full well that ten years ago, she loved how ravenous I was for her. But now it feels like we’re just performing roles in a well-rehearsed play. And doing a shitty fucking job of it.
Instead of burying my face between her thighs, I kiss her lips as if I’m trying to revive something long past dead. She tries to play along, humming against my mouth, but the performance is weak. And when she reaches between us to stroke my cock to life, I swallow down another dose of mortification.
Once she decides it’s hard enough to get the job done, she shimmies down her panties and puts me where she wants me. I spit into my palm to lube her up, but it feels like I’m touching a stranger. Staring at the headboard, I thrust inside her. There’s not a single moan from either of us, and it’s fucking depressing.
Deep down, I know she wants this to be over as fast as it can, so I lift up and thrust faster. She has her eyes closed, and it makes me miss the days when a fire would burn between us, caught in the throes of passion together. When the connection we shared felt like the biggest, most powerful thing in my life. Bigger than God. Bigger than my father and the church. Bigger than life and bigger than death.
Briar gave me something to believe in.
Shewassomething to believe in.
But somewhere in the past seven years, she’s plummeted away from me as if the weight of something pulled her under the surface beyond my reach. I don’t know if it was me or her or the birth of our daughter or this baby we’re so desperately trying to have. Or maybe all of them combined.
Time is the shackle dragging her down to the ocean floor.
In order to come, I have to imagine she’s staring up at me. In my mind, she’s the twenty-one-year-old who was off-limits, and fucking her was nothing more than a pipe dream. I have to imagine that what we’re doing is a sin.
My orgasm is silent and pathetic and fills me with shame instead of pleasure. I don’t miss the look of relief on her face afterward. Once I pull out and roll off her, she lifts her knees to her chest and stays that way for a while to keep my precious semen inside.
“Good night,” I say awkwardly before rolling over. I wish I could say more.
