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"Why not? Don’t you trust me?"
"It’s not that." He drags his fingers through his hair. "It’s not something I speak about to anyone."
"But I’m your wife." I move toward him.
"Just because I came inside you does not entitle you to know everything about me."
I stop so suddenly, I stumble, then manage to right myself. "That’s not fair," I whisper.
"I’m sorry," he says without turning around to face me. "I didn’t mean it that way."
"But you don’t think of me as your wife in the real sense, either."
"I already told you, you’re the only woman for me."
"But you won’t tell me about the incident?"
"I—" His shoulders rise and fall. " I can’t. I don’t talk to anyone about it."
"Maybe you should. Maybe you need to see a therapist about it and—"
"No. Absolutely not." His spine goes ramrod straight.
"It’s not a sign of weakness to speak to a therapist."
He doesn’t answer.
"Edward, I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re not over it. You’re still dealing with the fallout of it. It’s colored your life so far. It’s what caused you to lose…her."
Not that I’m complaining, but I’m not going to mention that.
He turns his head so I can see him in profile. "You’re psychoanalyzing me?"
"Only because you don’t want to go to a professional. When she married your best friend, you swore off women. You didn’t sleep with anyone for two years. You were, technically, celibate. That’s… unusual."
"That didn’t stop me from watching others masturbate," he says in a harsh tone.
I flinch.
"That didn’t stop me from touching other women and making them come, either."
"You’re saying all this to hurt me. And I know you’re doing it because you’re hurting inside."
He turns to face me, and his features are, once more, schooled into that mask I’ve named his 'Priest face.' Not that I knew him when he was a priest, but I imagine that’s how he came across to his congregation. All stern and upright and erect a-n-d…
No, that did not make me think about his cock. Not at all. This is not the time to have images of how his big, fat dick felt inside me. How he squeezed my tits and slide his finger into that forbidden part of me. How he made me come, and then how he allowed himself to orgasm inside me. How it felt to receive hot streams of his cum. Fish in the street, these are not the kinds of X-rated thoughts to have when we’re having a serious discussion. Not to mention, when he’s all but admitted he doesn’t regard me as his wife in the truest sense of the word. "And am I allowing myself to be distracted by salacious thoughts? Of course, not."
His gaze narrows. "You’re distracted by salacious thoughts? About us?"
"Of course, not." I redden.
"That’s what you said aloud."
"So?" I tip up my chin.
"So you were thinking about last night and how I wrung orgasms from your body?" There’s a knowing glint in his eyes.
"Fine." I throw up my hands, "I was thinking about how you made me come, and yes, I said that aloud. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re unable to tell me about the incident. It’s what made you who you are. It changed your life forever, and you can’t share it with me."
