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“Seems like it,” I whisper back.
He jackknifes to his feet. “I’m sorry, but I can’t sleep like this.”
“Like what?”
Even though I was just thinking the same thing, I feel insulted. Does he think I smell? Am I breathing too loudly? Did my stomach growl?
“I’m going to sleep on the couch.” He grabs his pillow.
“Wait.” I sit up. “What about the interview questions? They could ask about our sleeping patterns.”
He eyes the comfy blanket we’ve been sharing. “You can say that I’m a gentleman when it comes to the blanket, and that you like to wrap yourself in it without a care for anyone else.”
I look down and realize I’m turning myself into a burrito as we speak.
“I left my blanket in the linen closet,” I say. “Please use it.”
“Thanks.” He walks to the linen closet and grabs the blanket. “Sweet dreams.”
As I watch him leave, I battle an unexplained wave of disappointment.
This is stupid. He’s done us both a favor. This way, I can actually get some shuteye.
To that end, I close my eyes.
And wait.
And wait.
Sleeping should be easier now, right?
Nope.
I toss and turn for a half hour before giving up. Locking the bedroom door, I crank up the air purifier to the highest setting to mask any vibrating noise and take the toys out of my nightstand.
He did say I was free to do this in our bed.
I crawl over to his side and take a whiff of the sheets there.
Yeah. That’s the stuff. If hunger is the best spice, a hot husband you can’t fuck is the best masturbation enhancer. The orgasm that crashes over me curls my toes and makes me shake all over.
Feeling like an overcooked noodle in the aftermath, I drag myself to the bathroom to wash the toys. By the time I put them away, my eyelids feel like they’re being weighed down by boulders.
Sleep arrives the moment my head meets the pillow.
