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Boyd doesn’t take the hint, stepping in so his front presses into my back.
“We’re not done, though.” He places a kiss on my shoulder, his hands wrapping around my waist.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he didn’t come at all with the way his dick is pressed against me, still hard.
“I’m okay,” I say, giving him a smile over my shoulder then beginning to shampoo my head.
He takes a step back, and the silence behind me fills the shower with something more tangible than the steam from the hot water. Once I’ve foamed up enough suds on my head and turned around so I can rinse it out in the water, I see him leaning against the glass stall with his arms crossed.
Something inside of me flickers with irritation that he won’t just let this go. I can see it in his eyes.
It’s the same look Evan used to give me when I couldn’t come for him, either, the frustrated irritation I’ve gotten from several men who didn’t like when I wouldn’t let them keep trying.
As much as I think Boyd likes me, I know what that look actually means. It isn’t about the fact that I’m not able to have an orgasm. It’s about the fact that I’m not able to have an orgasm with him. The blow to his ego is too much.
That’s what it was with Evan, and surely that’s what it is with Boyd, too.
“What’s the issue?” he asks me, his voice low but still echoing off the tile.
My hands still where they are in my hair.
“What’s the issue?” I reply, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I’ve already talked with you about this. I’ve never been able to orgasm before. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is, though.”
“No it isn’t.”
“It is.”
“Not if you don’t make it one,” I sass back, dipping my head under the water to rinse the shampoo out.
He glares at me, all the tenderness between us from earlier seemingly evaporating.
“Why won’t you let me keep trying? It felt good, right? I mean, you’re probably just—”
“What?” I interrupt. “What am I, Boyd? Please, tell me what I’m doing wrong with my body.”
His shoulders drop. “Ruby…” His voice holds an apology, but it’s no different than the other times I’ve heard the same thing.
“You wanna know why I won’t let you keep trying? Because of that face,” I say, pointing at him. “Right there. That face of you being disappointed that you did something wrong. It’s not about you, Boyd. I’m the one with the problem. I’m the one who can’t seem to figure it out, and trust me when I say I’ve tried—over and over again. I’m sorry you weren’t able to step in and solve a problem I’ve had for years in only a few minutes.”
With that, I push out of the shower, closing the door behind me and leaving him alone.
I yank a towel out of the basket next to the shower and leave the bathroom, not wanting to have to stand naked in front of him as I dry off. Once that’s done, I pull on some clothes and wrap my hair up in my towel on the top of my head.
Only a few minutes pass before I hear the shower water shut off and the door open again.
By the time Boyd steps out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, I’m fully dressed except for the socks I’m tugging onto my feet.
When I’m angry, I need to exercise, and even though I just took a shower, a nice hike will probably be just what I need to calm the irritation in my chest.
“Ruby, I’m sorry,” he says, standing at the threshold between the bathroom and the bedroom. “I didn’t mean to imply anything or hurt your feelings or whatever I made you feel in there. Really.”
I finish tugging on my second sock and then look up at him.
“I just wanted to make you feel good. Is that so bad?”
Letting out a sigh, I tilt my head from side to side, stretching out the muscles and trying to let go of some of my frustration.
