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Suddenly, I’d like a fight to go along with my bland toast and my bland husband and my new bland life.
“Partly, yes.”
I shift the nightie I’m wearing away from my thighs, pulling it up toward my hips. Slowly, I part my legs. Wide. A little wider. All the way. “Do you want sex now Tom?”
“Not when you’re angry.”
I roll my eyes. “You know nothing about women.”
“You’re right.” He’s not good at lying, this conventional husband of mine. It’s almost like he doesn’t even try. I watch as he lines up his utensils. When he’s finished, he meets my eye. “But it’s not good for the baby, for you to have cortisol flooding your system this way.”
“You have a point,” I admit. In all areas of life, never give the impression that you are angling for something—this will raise a resistance you will never lower. It’s best to approach people from the side. “But I think if you were to fuck me, I’d feel better.”
He glances at his wrist. “I have to be at work in a half hour. It takes me twenty-four minutes to drive there. Six minutes is not enough time.”
“I thought it was in the agreement,” I counter. I should have taken another angle, this gives him the chance to remind me I wouldn’t know. I never read the damn thing. But it’s a fight I’m looking for, and with Tom often that requires a bit of prodding. He doesn’t fight directly. “I thought it says one is never to refuse their spouse.”
His phone dings. He fishes it from his pocket and checks it. He knows I hate it when he does this. To make matters worse, he doesn’t look at me when he speaks. “There are stipulations.”
“Stipulations raise my cortisol level, Tom.”
The muscle in his jaw twitches again. Something in his expression shifts. I’m pretty sure it’s his resolve.
“Hypothetically speaking…” I start. He looks up briefly. And then back at the phone. “Say we were to fuck…what hormones would flood my system then?”
He likes to explain the things he thinks I don’t know. It appears to be his brand of foreplay. To each their own, I say.
“Endorphins and oxytocin.” He answers matter of factly. His eyes are on the phone.
I lower my voice, even my tone, arch my back and reach for his belt. “Perfect. You’ve got five and a half minutes.”
Of course, Tom goes with it. To his credit, he is very efficient. Sure, he didn’t finish his breakfast. But he seemed satisfied nonetheless. And in the end, I was too. After all, I earned equity I could later cash in on. I won this round, fair and square. Tom is no easy opponent. He doesn’t think with his feelings and only on occasion with his dick.
When it was over, I was a bit shaken. Those three and a half minutes might have been the best sex of my life. Hard and rough, raw and angry, it was different than it normally is. I was concerned I felt something. Something more than the thrill of winning. There’s nothing like it, but this felt like more. I guess sometimes things catch you by surprise.
Chapter Eight
Tom
I dial Beth on my way in to work. Just as soon as I’m out of the driveway, in fact.
I’m relieved when she answers on the second ring. “Howdy, friend.”
“I’m afraid we need to take action,” I caution. There’s no time for pleasantries. “It’s worse than I thought.”
“What happened?”
I step on the brake. “I don’t have time to go into it right now.”
She sighs, and I hear the exasperation in her voice before she even speaks. “Tom.”
“I’m late for work,” I huff. “Just trust me when I say, this has to escalate.”
A male voice says something in the background. She covers the speaker so that his voice becomes muffled. I realize it was probably a bad idea to call, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
I clear my throat. “Are you there?”
“Sorry,” she tells me. I flinch at the sound of her finger moving away from the microphone. It crackles in my ear. Beth sighs again. “You men, I swear. If it isn’t one thing…it’s another.” I don’t have time for another woman complaining in my life. She doesn’t seem to notice. “You have no idea how many fires I’ve put out just this morning.”
