“I don’t think there’s anything to say.”
He walks to me, taking the clothes from my arms and dumping them in the laundry basket. “On the contrary, there’s a lot.”
“I have to shower and get some sleep. Eight hours, at least. Tomorrow, I’ll order an Uber to fetch your car from the bar. The fridge is empty. I have to—”
“Violet.”
His tone shuts me up.
“What you saw tonight wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t meet with Ash to fuck her.”
I shrug, turning for the shower. “If you say so.”
Grabbing my shoulder, he forces me to face him. “She’s not a sex worker I picked up from somewhere. I know her.”
“I gathered. Is that all? I have to shower and—”
“What I’m trying to say is that I called her because…” Grimacing, he spears his fingers through his hair. “I called her because I needed someone to talk to.”
I nod. “About us.”
“Yes,” he grits out.
“So you discussed me with her.”
I suppose at any other time the notion would’ve piled on more hurt, but now there’s only a blank where my feelings should be and nothingness instead of colors. I lost my ability to see smells and sentiments in a rainbow spectrum, and all I experience is a detached sense of regret at the loss.
“I didn’t mean to talk about you behind your back,” he says. “I needed advice.” Reluctantly, he adds, “From a woman.”
I frown, battling to wrap my head around the logic. “You met with a hooker—sorry, sex worker—to discuss me because you needed advice about something you won’t talk to me about.”
He drags his hands through his hair, messing it up again before dropping his hands on his hips and hanging his head. After a moment of silence, he lifts his gaze to me. “I don’t have any experience with women, not out of bed.”
“Okay. Can I have a shower now?”
“Okay? That’s all you have to say?”
A wave of tiredness weighs my shoulders down. It’s low blood sugar. I should eat. Tomorrow, I’ll shower and eat before calling an Uber. I can’t be bothered now.
“Violet? Did you hear what I said?”
I sigh. “Yesterday, I may have told you people who are married don’t talk out of the bedroom, but today I understand marriage isn’t our dynamic.”
If I thought my words would make him happy because they exempt him from guilt or responsibility, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Instead of calming him, they have the opposite effect.
His expression turns thunderous. “Like hell it’s not our dynamic. We made those promises and I’ll keep mine, starting with exclusivity. If you can’t keep yours, I’ll do it for you. I’ll make damn sure I keep you to your vows.”
“What do you want from me?” I ask, exhausted and confused. “I just want to shower and—”
“I want what’s mine,” he says, all but growling the words. “I want everything that ring on your finger symbolizes.”
“You want sex? Why didn’t you just say so?”
“Damn you, Violet.” He slams a hand on the vanity. “Yes, I want sex. I always want sex with you, but it’s not just about sex.”
No, it’s about possession. Nothing spells it out clearer than the initials on my thigh. “How do you want it?”
He gives me an incredulous look. “What?”
“Do you want it from behind or with me on top?”
His eyes darken even as he clenches his hands as if not to reach for me. Yesterday, I would’ve felt intimidated being naked while he’s fully dressed, but now my only thought is that it’s more practical. Quicker. The sooner it’s over, the faster I can get to bed and finally sleep.
“Like this?” I ask, placing a foot on the edge of the tub. The stance opens me to him, showing what’s on offer.
He balls his hands so hard his knuckles turn white. “If you don’t close your legs, I’m going to take you up on that offer, so think carefully about what you want.”
“One hundred,” I say. “Two hundred if you want to come in my mouth, and three hundred if you want me to swallow.”
His eyes flare. “You did not just say that to me.” A muscle twitches in his jaw. “You didn’t mean that, so close your legs.”
I turn my knee to the side, opening my legs wider even if the pull in my hip is uncomfortable. “You taught me well.”
Grabbing my shoulders, he gives me a shake. “Snap out of it, damn you.”
“Some girls fall in the three-thousand-bracket. Others make it to a hundred. I guess I’m the latter.”
“Close your legs.”