If anyone had ever asked me why I had lost interest in Thayne, I couldn't have given them an honest answer. He was great-looking and built well, and he liked to make love often. His job paid rather well, so much so that I was able to play housewife for him, and I did that in such a fashion that he never had cause to complain or question how I spent my days. He was a fantastic husband, a great provider, and had the utmost consideration for me. The silently ungrateful wife. All in all, it should have been perfect, but something was missing.
I think that it was his considerate way of going about the sex he loved so much that just rubbed me wrong. There was just something about the sedate stroking, gentle touching, and lack of imagination that left me wanting more. I mean, there are only so many positions that you can try in a bed before it all becomes somewhat lackluster and mundane. It wasn't that Thayne didn't know what he was doing - that is one thing that I could never accuse him of -- it was that I could almost feel that he was holding back from me what I was craving, and I didn't know how to get it from him. The force, the near explosive passion that rocks you when you are so lost in the moment that you go nearly blind with pleasure, was the spark that was somehow just not there. And it was ruining the perfection that should have been all mine.
Sometimes when we kissed, I could almost feel the violence trembling behind his lips, could almost taste it on his skin, like a candy that I wanted to sink my teeth into and suck on until there was no more. It could have been wishful thinking, my own desires creating things that weren't really present. I'm not sure. Thayne's hands would tense, for just an instant, almost to the point of pain, and my breasts would tighten, my heart beat just a little faster, thinking that this might finally be it. Then the moment would pass, almost like fickle smoke blowing away on an errant breeze, and he would be back to normal. Normal, protective, gentle, boring Thayne. And I was sick of it.
It's a difficult thing to admit to your lover that they aren't quite satisfying you. An even harder task to admit to yourself that the things you desire may not be as normal and easy as you would like. How does one ask another to hurt them? How does one explain that pain induces pleasure for them? That the thought of teeth nipping just a bit too hard or the idea of hands bruising and nails scratching nearly steals your breath away? I had no worldly idea how to broach the topic without scaring the hell out of my straight-laced husband, so I settled for seething in silence and playing out my little fantasies in my mind until I couldn't stand the lack any more.
I remember that it was almost unbearably hot that night. I was wearing my summer short-shorts and a tank top, both of which were plastered to my skin. The air conditioning had blown earlier in the day, and though Thayne had begged and pleaded with nearly every repairman in the area, no one was able to come and relieve us from the baking heat until the next day. I was in the living room with a glass of iced tea and Thayne was in his office, working late as he often did when there was a project going to hell at work.
I honestly couldn't tell you what came over me. I'll blame it on the heat and the fantasies I'd been dreaming up all day. I was leaning back and rubbing ice on my neck, letting the water slip in rivulets down my chest, when the idea to practically rape my husband took hold and wouldn't let go. I actually tried to talk myself out of what I wanted so desperately to do, but the more I pictured approaching Thayne as he clacked away on his computer, the more damp I got. And the dampness had nothing to do with the heat.
I stood up slowly, almost hesitantly, my heart racing as images of what I was going to do streamed through my head. I walked down the hall and peeked through the office doorway at Thayne. He was sitting in a straight-backed chair at his desk wearing only his shorts and a pair of navy blue flip-flops. His hair was disheveled as though he had just been running his fingers through it. As the observation came to me, so did the image of me fisting my hands into the golden brown strands and forcing his head back so I could nibble along his collar bone.
I felt hot, and it had nothing to do with the temperature in the house. It was empowerment and the knowledge that I was finally going to have what I had needed for so long. I slid into the room, sneaking up to where my husband sat toiling away, knowing that if he caught me in his presence before I wanted him to that my plan would most likely fall to pieces. My feet sunk into the soft grey carpet as I stalked closer, my breath coming in silent whispers, my heart pounding in my ears, all making me feel like a huntress after her prey. Closing in on an innocent victim who remained clueless to the danger he was so near and the hunger he was about to sate. Almost there, just a few more steps...
Thayne pushed away from his desk just as I stopped next to him. He had a moment to look startled before I straddled his lap and sat down facing him. The jackass actually laughed.
"Jess, what are you doing? It's so hot!" Thayne chuckled as he tried to stand me up, but I wriggled closer, pressing myself into him and wrapping my arms around his neck.
"I was getting lonely out there all by myself." I kissed around his jaw, nipping softly every once in a while. "I thought I'd come and see what you were up to." I slid my hands up into his hair, letting the silky smooth locks slip between my fingers until I reached the back of his head, then I did make fists, just as I had pictured myself doing as I stood in the doorway. His body went tense beneath me and it sent waves of heat through me, making me want to move faster though I knew that doing so would ruin my plans. I bent forward for a kiss and I released the breath I didn't even know I was holding when he put his hands on my hips.
