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before he answered. Weighing up how to phrase
it, I’d bet.
    “Not necessarily that, no. Just wishing that you’d let yourself
go every so often. Not be so good all the time.”
    “Good?” I lifted my head and stared up at him, into dark brown
eyes that melted my knees with their long, thick black lashes. “Is that what I
am now? Good?”
    God, I was boring. I’d slipped into that rut people
talked about. The one where the wife became staid and unyielding in the
bedroom. Where a bed was just for sleeping, maybe a quick fuck once a month.
The rut I’d always vowed never to get into. But that rut was deep; it went so
far down that I couldn’t see over the damn top when it came to talking dirty. I
bristled, knowing exactly what he meant, knowing I ought to keep my mouth shut
because I’d let things spill out that weren’t intended for him. No, what I
wanted to say was a torrent of sentences berating myself, and I couldn’t do
that, not in front of Jacob. He said it hurt him when I put myself down. Like a
physical pain deep inside. If I ranted now, I’d do so knowing I’d upset him.
    He stroked my face with both hands, staring down at me as
though I was the most precious thing to walk the planet, and I felt wretched.
For letting him down. Becoming ‘one of those women’. For allowing us to
change.
    “Tell me,” I said, disliking the begging tone that rimmed the
words. “Come on. Tell me what I used to say. Help me say it again.”
    I was desperate now, truly desperate to recapture what we’d
once had. The thought of how we’d been lately... God, it was shameful. I wanted
to say the words so badly, but something blocked their exit. They were all
there in my head; delicious, filthy sentences that would make any grandmother’s
toes curl; ones I’d read in a book many years ago, yet when I opened my mouth
to force them out, they lodged in my throat. Frustration added to desperation
made me whimper. I felt so helpless, useless, a stupid, insecure bundle of
nerves.
    He smiled, a stretch of those beautiful lips that showed his
straight teeth, all except the one canine that stuck out a little. “Let me see.
What did you used to say...?”
    My heart contracted with love for him. He was doing what he
always did—making everything okay again. Taking the pressure off me and
having the burden on his shoulders. How the hell had I been so lucky to
find him, to keep him? My eyes stung, and I blinked, swallowed hard and prayed
the tears wouldn’t fall.
    He glanced up at the ceiling, a teasing gesture that had me
wanting to grasp him around the neck and force his gaze back to me. I wanted to
reach up and touch the knobbly scar beside his eye, to brush my thumb down his
cheek. His pretence of being deep in thought drove a spike of new frustration
into my gut, yet I smiled, because as well as doing this for me, he was playing
with me. Enjoying it, too.
    “Fuck my cunt,” he said, lowering his head so his gaze met mine
again. “Fuck my cunt, that’s what you used to say. Jacob, come over here and
lick my wet pussy.” He brushed his lips over mine. “Remember that?”
    I blushed—damn it, I knew I would—and memories came
flooding back. Me on the bed with my legs open wide, my clit aching, throbbing,
the need for him to lick it, suck it into his mouth, so strong it took my
breath away. Me bending over the bed, hands on the mattress, feet apart on the
rug, begging him to fuck my cunt from behind. I’d said those words and
more, my God I had, but could I say them again?
    He continued. “Jacob, suck my nipples. God, yes, suck them
harder. Suck them until they hurt. That’s it, baby, bite them. Hold them
between your teeth and pull. Harder. Fuck, Jacob, fuck I’m so wet...”
    And I was wet now. As I shifted slightly from foot to foot, my
labia glided and juices seeped, dampening my inner thighs. My channel clenched,
a sharp spasm that coincided with my clit expanding. I dug my nails into his
back, drawing them down to