“I need another shower. And then I have a day filled with paperwork. Feel free to watch television if you need to entertain yourself.
I believe him. Paperwork is never ending, and I know a lot of doctors push it all off to the weekend, so as not to split their focus.
But something makes me sit up in bed and ask, “Rhys?”
“Yes?” He’s over at his dresser now, pulling out clothes to wear when he gets out of the shower.
“What was that?”
His back stiffens like someone caught in the act.
But to his credit, he doesn’t try to act like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
“My plan is to spend the next two weeks getting you out of my system. This time safely, with protection,” he answers. “I don’t like how mental you make me.”
I nod in total agreement. Quiet as I keep it, I don’t like how he makes me feel either.
But then I find myself once again saying, “Rhys?”
“Yes?” His expression is wary. Like I’ve got a knife in my hand.
“I choose TV.”
He nods, “Fine, yes, whatever you want.”
“What I want is for you to watch TV with me.”
He falters, his whole body visibly stiffening. “What does that mean?”
“It’s cool if you spend the next two weeks fucking me out of your system. And you don’t have to give me back my job if it’s too hard to work with me. But…” I let out a heavy sigh “Can you stop hating me? Treating me like dirt? Can we be nice to each other? Like we were back in St. Louis? At least until we’re done with this mini-quarantine?”
He stares blankly at me. Then suddenly lunges forward.
One moment, I’m sitting up in bed and the next I’m on my stomach with one of Rhys’s hands at my core and the other kneading my breast.
“Do you know what I gave up to be with you?” he asks, rubbing at my clit with one hand while the other pinches and rolls my nipple. “How it fucked with my mind when you not only dumped me like an afterthought but refused to answer any of my calls or texts?”
His hand on my breast hurts but the one rubbing at my most sensitive spot feels so good. A sweet ache rekindles inside of me, and it’s hard to distinguish between the pleasure and the pain.
“You keep telling me it was only six months. But that six months turned me into the kind of nutter who moves to a small town in Missouri just to get back at the woman who broke his heart.”
Before I can even process that confession, he pushes into me from behind, rough and hard. Like he doesn’t care if he hurts me.
He doesn’t hurt me though. Just the opposite. I’m shamefully slick with desire. And his fingers at my clit while he pumps into me from behind makes it even worse.
I don’t care what he’s saying or how cruel his voice sounds in my ear. Soon I’m little more than a desperate animal caged inside his tight hold.
My legs spread out underneath him. Wanting this. Wanting more. Whatever he’s willing to give.
There’s no smooth roll this time. He moves inside me in wild, unhinged jerks. Rough, and so hard, it’s difficult to believe he came just a few minutes ago. But whatever happened before, there’s no denying it now. He’s completely out of control as he takes me hard and fast.
Another orgasm begins to build, and I claw at the covers, fighting the pleasure.
But there’s no fighting this. I’m helpless against the rising tide. And just a few moments later a climax overtakes me, so big, it leaves me choked and gasping for air.
Rhys’s pumps into me even faster, then comes with a coarse yell just a few moments after me. I find out then that Rhys did put on a condom before taking me a second time. And my whole body heats with shame because I didn’t check.
For a little while, we lay there. Him covering me like a very heavy blanket. Me, trying to figure out what just happened.
Then he growls low in my ear, “No…no, I can’t stop hating you.”
And with that, he pushes himself up from the bed.
I watch as he grabs his clothes and disappears into the bathroom without another word. Leaving me alone, naked and trembling.
By the time he comes back out, I can’t look him in the eye.
Which is why the shirt he tosses me seems to drop down into my eye line, like a gift from God. It’s another tee shirt.
I’m about to tell him I don’t need to borrow his clothes since there’s plenty of things for me to wear in the suitcase E left outside the back house door yesterday. But I stop when I see that it’s his old Death Buddha shirt. I remember it well. He used to wear it to afternoon brunch after we passed Sunday mornings making lazy love in his bed.