He stared at me, digesting, panicking, possibly on the verge of a meltdown.
“And… I’d really like to try pegging.”
His voice cracked. “Pegging?”
“Si.It’s where the woman wears a strap-on and fucks the man’s ass—”
“I know what that is,” he blurted, standing up from the chair and storming back into the kitchen. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured himself iced water as I fought every cell in my body to hide how close I was to hysterics. I schooled my expression when he turned back around and started laughing. “You are fucking with me. This is a joke.”
Cue dramatic overreaction in three, two, one. I jumped up from my chair, my face flashing with rage. “How dare you?”
He blinked. “How dare I what?”
“You are kink-shaming me! Do you know what century we are living in? Do you know who I am?” I screamed, slamming my hand against my chest. “I’m a strong, independent woman, open-minded about sexual exploration, and I like what I like! You do not get to judge me!”
“I’m not…” he spluttered, lifting his hands in a distinctly Italian gesture.
“You laughed at me!”
“I thought you were joking!”
“Because you are kink-shaming me!”
“No, I’m not,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair and then meetingmy gaze. His lips twitched as he said, “I’m politely kink-declining.”
“Ah, so you’re not the man to meet my needs? Got it.” I gave a curt nod, flopping back into the chair. He groaned, dragging his hand down his face.Oh my God. This was so much fun.
“You’ve got to give a man a minute to drink his coffee before you bring up strap-ons so early in the morning, beautiful.”
“You asked,” I argued. “I thought we were having a consensual adult conversation.”
“Yes,” he moaned, looking stressed as hell. “People can like what they like. I’m all for sexual empowerment, but that’s not my thing.”
“What’s not?”
“You know.”
“Say it.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t even say it, can you?”
“What? Dressing in a thong and being fucked in the ass with a giant dildo strapped to my wife? No, not my thing.”
I gasped, shaking my head. “That was a very judgy tone.”
“Oh for—”
“Fine. If you’re not comfortable with it, I respect your boundaries. Perhaps you could respect mine by installing locks on the bathroom doors.”
He laughed so loudly, shaking his head, then drank half the glass of water in one go, staring at the ceiling. “I did not predict our first marital disagreement would be over this.”
“We are obviously not sexually compatible,” I said, crossing my arms and smiling at him sweetly. “Perhaps we should quit while we’re ahead.”
“Oh, really?” He smirked, amusement and heat dancing in his eyes, making me squirm with memories. “We seemed pretty compatible last night. I didn’t hear any complaints.”
“I was drunk from all the champagne. I don’t remember much.”
