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After some time had passed, and we were both breathing evenly again, he whispered, “Don’t move” in my ear, disengaged from me, and got up briefly to get rid of the condom.
When he came back, he had brought a damp washcloth to clean me up. I don’t know where he picked up that idea, because in my experience, men only did that in romance novels. But he really did that. Could he get any better?
Apparently, yes. He climbed back into bed and re-spooned me. We just breathed, for several beautiful, long minutes.
And as I drifted off to sleep, I thought, in the back of my mind, that maybe this could be a real marriage. Maybe we were meant to be. Maybe he was my One.
When I woke up the next morning, he wasn’t there. But he had left a note on the pillow, and I smiled as I unfolded it, thinking it sweet of him not to wake me when he had to get up early.
Then I read the note.
Sorry. It won’t happen again. Promise. – J.
Chapter 19
Jack
I was living in hell. The past few days, I was spending most of my time at the shop or at the MC compound. I’d been drinking at night, trying not to think, and my days were spent suffering from the constant hangover.
It had only been two weeks, and I wasn’t sure if I could survive another five and a half months doing the same thing. But I couldn’t think of a better way to deal.
Obviously, I was avoiding going home, doing my best to steer clear of Ellie.
That night of our wedding was probably the single best night of my life.
Knowing that it was a one-off, that it would never be repeated—not any single part of it—that sucked balls.
What made it even worse was that thinking about her, looking at her, and knowing she was near had me in a constant state of semi- to full-on arousal. I had quickly realized that it was far healthier for me to avoid her and stay away from the house. I figured it was only for six months; I could do it.
There were several issues at stake, from my perspective. First and foremost, as my hard dick was an undeniably insistent motherfucker, was the sex issue. If I wasn’t going to have sex with Ellie, should I try to ease my constant hard-on with some other chick?
I considered looking to any of the variety of club bunnies to scratch my itch and unload my cock and blue balls. The bunnies were easy, readily available, and usually drama-free options.
But the thought of being with anyone not Ellie was strangely unappealing. It wasn’t about any traditional don’t-cheat-on-your-wife thing—though cheating had never been a part of who I was.
I never attached, so I could never be accused of cheating. I didn’t lie about it. Lying is work. I just preferred my freedom, lived moment-to-moment how I wanted, and made no promises to any woman. Life was easier that way.
But I had made promises to Ellie. And I’d broken the most important one once already. I swore—to her in the note, and to myself in my mind, on a daily basis—that I wouldn’t break it again.
The promise I had made to her in the wedding vows—I couldn’t make up my mind about how serious I was going to be about that. There was a case to be made that, since we both agreed not to sleep with each other, we should both be free to sleep with other people, if we so chose.
And that thought pissed me right, the fuck, off. The idea of her being with another man—that was unacceptable. My blood boiled just at the thought.
In fairness, I figured I ought not to consider being with another woman, and that I should make my thoughts on this issue explicitly understood by Ellie, ASAP. My MC brothers would have laughed at me if they knew I was seriously considering six months of celibacy—which is not something I had ever practiced or experienced before.
But fuck that. This was not about my rep or about what happened in MC culture. What it boiled down to was that I didn’t want Ellie to be with another man, and I myself didn’t want another woman—not any other woman.
Truth.
So, it looked like it would be celibacy for the next five and a half months.
I could do it. I could. But it sure as hell was not going to be fun.
Considering my acute reaction to Ellie every time I got near her, the obvious conclusion was that it was best I steer clear of her until the six months were over, and she got her money and we could both move on.
That was the mission.
Whenever I did happen to cross paths with her, going back to the house for clothes or something, it was awkward as hell. It was exactly what we were aiming not to deal with, thus the agreement not to complicate things with sex. Before I had gone and fucked it all up on our wedding night.
