Page 30 of My One Week Husband
I wish I could talk to the river. I wish it could tell me what to do about my desire.
But there’s no river here.
No one to ask either.
I can only ask myself if I’m going to proceed with the role-play. Take the game we began to the next level.
I flash back to Nadia’s words in the shop, to my own confidence then.
But then intimacy with Daniel was merely a delicious idea.
A lovely notion.
Now it’s real.
Now it’s happened.
Do I want it to happen again?
Well, the obvious answer is yes.
But can I withstand it when we need to stop playing?
Can I control my need?
We slide into a small circular booth, and his thigh grazes mine. A bolt of electricity rocks my body. Lights me up again.
I am flammable around Daniel Stewart.
One touch and I melt. One kiss and I flame. That’s how I feel around him.
Like I’m truly combustible.
Maybe because it’s been so long for me. Perhaps because I’ve shut down those parts of myself since my marriage, when my sense of faith and trust was immolated.
Or perhaps I’m vibrating with desire simply because I want Daniel Stewart madly, deeply.
The woman from behind the bar circles by our table. “What can I get you two? We have some specials if you’d like to hear them. We also have local wines.”
My instinct is to say yes to a white, but I need something stronger. “I’ll take a dirty martini, please.”
“Sounds perfect,” Daniel agrees. “Make it two.”
When the woman leaves, he looks at me and says, “We don’t ever have to do that again. But what we do have to do is this. Make sure we’re all good.”
At his words, all my worry slinks away. It tiptoes out, turns the corner, and barely waves goodbye. It simply fades into the night.
The fact that he cares so deeply about us, our friendship, our partnership, means the world to me.
“What do you think we should do?” I ask, eager to know where he’s at.
He locks his blue gaze tight to mine, holding my eyes with his intensity. “Scarlett, I’m wildly attracted to you. I want to take you to the room and fuck you. I want to bring you pleasure over and over again. I want to have you,” he says, and I tremble with lust. I squeeze my legs closed, my thighs rubbing together, my center aching for him. How can he do this to me over and over? Maybe the answer is because he’s so damn direct. He owns his lust. “But the next day, I want us to be like this again.” He gestures from him to me. “I want us to talk. To banter. To make decisions together.” A small, vulnerable smile crosses his lips. “That may be a dream. But it’s mine. Is that even possible?”
He raises an excellent question, one I don’t have the answer to, even though I love the idea. “Is it?”
He shrugs, sighing heavily. “I don’t know how that would work. I’ve never had a relationship like that,” he says, his tone more vulnerable, more earnest than he’s ever been.
And because he’s been honest with me, I must be with him. “I’ve never had anything like that before either. I’ve never had that kind of relationship at all.”
“Have you always been in serious relationships? Committed ones?”
The answer is easy. “Yes. I have. My marriage, and before that, I was always in relationships. I’ve never truly had a fling. I wouldn’t know what one’s like.”
He takes a beat, but his eyes never stray from mine. “Do you want to try?”
“I don’t know,” I say, answering from the heart as the server swings by, setting down our martinis.
“Here you go. Enjoy your stay at Le Pavillon de Giverny.”
He smiles at her as she leaves. “We will.”
I love his confidence. I want to scoop it up, take a spoonful, and taste it. I want to feel that same boldness. But maybe I can by believing him. By believing the we will when it comes to us.
He lifts his drink. I lift mine.
“To questions, and to finding the answers,” I offer.
“I’ll drink to that.” We clink glasses, and then we do what we’ve always done.
We talk.
“At the risk of knowing the answer, I suppose flings are something you’re familiar with?” I ask.
“Flings. One-night stands. And arrangements. I’ve played the field. I’ve had threesomes, as you know.”
I do know this about him. Before Cole fell in love with Sage, he and Daniel had engaged in threesomes, the kind where the two of them would focus solely on the woman’s pleasure. Daniel had entertained me with stories of some of those. I ate up those tales, loving the debauchery, the decadence, and the way he told them—with zero guilt.
With only an appreciation, it seemed, for the purity of pleasure and the pursuit of it.
