“Let’s not waste that.”
His voice is a low rumble as he looks me in the eyes and pulls my hand towards his mouth. He takes a bite out of the strawberry and licks the stray chocolate from his lips. Hooded eyes still on me, he takes the remaining piece in his mouth and chews. I move to take my hand back, but Rhys’s grip is firm, almost painful.
“You’re a mess,” he says in a husky voice.
He takes my index finger into his mouth and sucks, licking until all of the chocolate is gone, then moves onto the next finger. My breathing quickens, and I feel myself flush, my skin on fire. As he makes his way through all the fingers on my right hand, ending with my thumb, I feel myself getting uncomfortably aroused. It’s not that I’m finding his actions particularly erotic, as much as it’s been averylong time since I’ve had sex. But despite my body’s reaction, I’m not mentally ready to sleep with Rhys again. I’ve agreed to try again, but that doesn’t mean I trust him entirely.
“Rhys…” I start to protest, but it comes out as a moan which only spurs him on.
“Do you need me to clean you up anywhere else?” Rhys releases my hand and dips two fingers into the chocolate sauce. “How about here?” He smears it on my neck, letting it trickle down to my collarbone. Before it reaches my shirt, he licks the drip from the bottom all the way to the space just below my ear.
I try again. “Rhys…” but he’s too focused on kissing every inch of my neck to hear me. And it was a feeble attempt to stop him.
Goosebumps erupt over my skin when I feel his fingers trail a line from my collarbone down between my breasts. He has easy access, with the first couple of buttons of my shirt being undone, but as he starts to unbutton more, and his tongue follows itsnew, chocolatey path, I come to my senses.
“No,” I breathe.
“Oh, come on, Muffin, you’re loving this,” he says against the skin of my chest.
He’s right. I’m so aroused by now, the slightest touch between my legs would send me over the edge. But this isn’t what I want.
“No,” I say more firmly, lifting his head away from me.
Realising I’m serious, he pushes away from me and storms to the other side of the room, pacing angrily.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, avoiding his eyes. In a panic, I reach for a wad of napkins and roughly clean the trail of chocolate until my skin is sore.
“You’re my fucking wife, Matilda! I should be able to have sex with my own fucking wife.” He kicks the footstool on his way past out of frustration. I jump in my seat but try to stay calm. I’ve never seen him lose his temper like this before.
“I’m just not ready.” I try to stay as small and quiet as possible so he doesn’t get more angry.
“I’m not taking your virginity, Mat. It’s just sex, we’ve done it before.”
“I know, but after everything that’s happened, I don’t think I’m ready to jump back into bed with you yet. Maybe we could spend some time getting to know each other again before rushing into anything?”
Rhys gives me an ice-cold stare and shakes his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re coming back to this again.” He looks around as if trying to find someone to back him up. “I’ve apologised for my part in what happened to us, but can’t you just take a little bit of responsibility for our marriage falling apart? Can’t you, for once, admit that you were in the wrong too?”
How ironic. I do nothingbutblame myself for anything and everything, but Rhys clearly doesn’t see that.
“I know I’m the one who slept with someone else…”
“Multiple people,” I say. I can’t help myself.
“Multiple people,” he grinds out. “But I’m not naturally that kind of guy. Have you considered that there might have been a reason I acted so out of character and went around fucking other women?”
Sinking lower into the cushions of the couch, I try to catch my breath, but a sharp pain stabs my ribs with each inhale. Is this what Ivy was warning me about?
“I know it’s not been easy for you,” he continues in a calmer tone. “You’ve been struggling with your weight, let yourself go a bit since getting married, so I get that you’re self-conscious. But don’t I get any credit for putting up with it? For using my time to help you track your food, encouraging you, being honest with you when most wouldn’t? For loving youdespitethe way you are?”
He moves to sit back on the couch so our knees are touching. I try not to look at him; I’m afraid I’ll start crying if I do. I keep my trembling hands between my knees so he doesn’t notice how worked up I am. I don’t want to add fuel to the fire. Luckily, Rhys carries on, oblivious.
“I love you, Matilda. Even when you’ve made it really hard to love you, I’ve done it anyway. I’ve stuck by you. Do you know what it’s like to see my mates’ girlfriends looking after themselves, making an effort, then coming home to you with no make-up on, gorging on crisps? I deserve better than that, but I didn’t want to abandon you and risk you not finding someone else. So I stayed, but fucked around on the side to get it out of my system. It made coming home to you easier, for the sake of our relationship.”
The pain in my ribs increases with every breath until breathing itself becomes difficult. My lungs burn from lack ofoxygen, and my head starts to spin. Rhys notices me swaying and grabs me by the shoulders, pulling me into a hug. Instinctively, I inhale deeply, seeking that familiar scent that never fails to soothe me. Then I remember that scent isn’t around anymore, and my heartbreak only worsens.
I try to match Rhys’s deep breathing, and, after several gruelling minutes, the pain dissipates and I breathe more easily.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Mat,” he whispers, rubbing small circles on my back. “And I’m not saying we have to have sex right now. But I need you to see this from my perspective. Things have been tough for a while, and then you went away for weeks. I just want my wife back. I want the girl I proposed to. Is she in there?”
