and cuddled back into the warm bed listening to him grab towels out of the closet and get the shower started.
A nostalgia mixed with an unhealthy dose of sadness swept over and through me as I thought this was what it was supposed to be like in regard to my marriage. We were supposed to take care of each other, respect each other, and love one another. It was with a grim hindsight that I realized none of those things had been reciprocated by my ex. I had let him charm me, but the moment we had gotten married, that was it… he didn’t need to try anymore, and he didn’t.
It was never real. None of it had ever been real… I was simply his cover. I was simply a means to an end and that end was keeping him in the life he was accustomed to, getting him through college and well on his way and once that was accomplished? He quit and had just been going through the motions.
And to think, I had thought it’d been me – that I wasn’t good enough, that I didn’t anticipate his needs, or work hard enough to meet them, or that there was something wrong with me.
It wasn’t me, though. It was Charles… and it hurt on top of everything else but I was honestly just so emotionally exhausted, I couldn’t seem to muster up any anger. I just felt spent, drained; and I know how pathetic in some ways that made me but it was true.
Fenris was changing all of that, and I know that probably wasn’t exactly healthy either. My self-worth shouldn’t be dependent upon any man, but I wasn’t entirely sure it was like that with Fen. It was just nice to have someone interested in me, and if Fenris were this interested in me as I was right now, stripped absolutely bare, soul floating, tattered, wafting in the wind and barely clinging to what was left of me…
Well, I couldn’t wait for him to see what I could be like when I wasn’t so wrecked, when I didn’t feel so raw and bleeding, which I had to say, I was feeling much better after last night. So much more, I don’t know… present? Solid? Here?
He returned to me in a few short minutes, bending at the waist to kiss me, pulling the covers away from my body. He helped himself to a handful of my chest, kneading my breast, massaging the ampleness of it and pinching the nipple between forefinger and thumb.
I moaned deeply into his mouth and he chuckled back into mine – the sound rich, the vibration decadent, the entire exchange sinfully delicious, like a slice of chocolate torte for dessert when you know you really shouldn’t.
“Come on, let’s get on with the day,” he said. “Feel like I should maybe give you a little break.”
He spanked my pussy lightly, sending a shock and a thrill through me and I let him pull me up and onto my feet, curling my bare toes into the fur rug at his bedside.
“Do you have to?” I squeaked and he laughed, head thrown back; a full-throated sound. I smiled, and he winked at me and led me across the hall to the bathroom which was steamy and inviting.
We made out in the shower like a pair of teens, his hands slick with my bodywash running all over me, washing me clean and turning me on. Likewise, I did the same for him, the sweet scent of my soap mingling with the earthy tones of his – not quite clashing, but definitely not very compatible. Mine smelled like a bright champagne, girly with a grapefruit finish. His smelled like rich earth, the forest after a rain, the loam on the ground turned up and fragrant with notes of cedar and musk.
I ran my hands over his muscular body, inked with tattoos of ancient knotwork and animals, over innumerable scars, slick and flat, tan of the relatively new and pale, pale white with age. Seams along ribs, gash marks and what I assumed had to be knife marks. Knicks and the like along his hands, rough with work and tears along his forearms.
“What are these?” I asked softly, finding my courage to ask.
“Fights, some,” he said with a sniff. “Others, accidents. Some from farm work.”
“This one?” I asked, running a fingertip along a tan line along his ribs, dotted to either side with punctures from stitches.
“Fight at one of our