Page 68 of Micah
And maybe, just maybe, I’m starting to see it too.
30
HOLLY
It started small. With a comment on my outfit, and a suggestion to change. Then he started shopping with me. Pretty soon, I wasn’t allowed to buy anything without his approval. Brent liked dark colors on me. They were more ‘slimming’, he said. That applied to nightwear too. He liked me in negligees, with scratchy lace and g-strings.
I hated them.
Hated how they felt, and hated what they represented. I don’t like lace. I don’t ever want to wear black again. Those negligees meant that my husband was going to demand something from me that I didn’t want to give. ‘Go be a good girl and put on something pretty’ he’d whisper to me.
His whisper against my ear would send a shudder through me. He always smiled, but to this day I don’t know if it’s because he believed the shudder was from desire, or because he knew I was terrified of him. I’d peck him on the cheek and slowly make my way upstairs, thinking about how I might stop it.
Because the nights I did as he asked made me feel worse somehow. I would feel the tension in my body rising as I carefully hung up my clothes and washed my face. Brent didn’t like anyone to think I was attractive, so I rarely wore makeup, only needing a few minutes to remove my mascara.
Then, I would begin my horrible preparations. Removing the lube from the back of the closet where I hid it, using my fingers to apply it, though I was usually so tense it was uncomfortable to insert even my own finger. Then hiding the bottle and pulling on one of the little lacy somethings Brent preferred. He’d want me sitting, waiting, on the edge of the bed for him.
Sometimes, I’d only wait a few minutes. Sometimes it was hours. It was all mind games, never allowing me to relax, forcing me to stare at the bedroom door, anticipating his arrival. I would sit there, anxious, wondering if it wouldn’t be better to push the screen out and jump down two stories. Maybe I could finally get away.
Then I have to remind myself of all the times I tried early on, and how painful my punishments were when his police friends brought me back to him.
I would convince myself that this is what wives do: submit. And sometimes it worked. Brent would come in and I’d pretend for a while that his kisses meant he loved me, that if he pulled my hair too hard, or bit me too deeply it was because he was so passionate for me. He’d coax me onto the bed, pulling my panties aside and pushing into me, telling me how good I was, that he owned me, and that he loved me. If I was lucky, he’d come quickly, then roll over and let me clean up.
If I was unlucky, he’d decide I wasn’t doing something right and get aggressive, trying to draw a response from me. Tears, screams, anything. And if he was feeling particularly nasty, he’d tighten his fists in my hair and push himself down my throat. Those were the nights that I wished I had provoked a fight, or tried to run. Anything but let him choke me until black spots danced in front of my eyes, then pull out so I can take a gasping breath before doing it again. Anything but be treated like an object, a thing with no value.
So why, I ask myself,do I think that I can do this? As I study my reflection, I can honestly say I like what I see. My blonde hair is tousled, my eyes especially blue, reflecting the light blue of the satin nightgown hugging my curves. I thought it would be fun shopping for it, but the idea of Micah seeing me in it kept me on edge as I tried things on. The idea of what was going to happen tonight sending me into a mix of desire and panic.
He’s out there right now, on our rug. Waiting for me. He thinks this is going to be another night of me touching him, exploring him, tasting him. We’ve done a lot of that. I’ve learned his body better than I know my own. I’ve traced every scar with my tongue, swallowed his groans when he comes. Nothing about his body scares me anymore. It’s the opposite, actually. The desire, the heat that I thought was fiction, made up to sell romance novels, is actually real. I feel it. My whole body tingling, pulsing as I touch him.
I backed off after the first night. Focusing on feeling him, pleasing him, rather than my own pleasure. And Micah’s complete surrender to me, to the process, was heady. He was so welcoming of my touch, wanting it desperately, it made me feel…desirable.
But tonight, it’s my turn to surrender.
I exit my room on bare feet, stopping to watch Micah, seated cross-legged on the rug, petting Minnie as she swirls around him, bumping him with her head and presenting her bum for scratches. He’s smiling, humming to her as she rubs on him. His head rises suddenly, his body stilling as he sees me.
I resist the urge to rush back to my room for a sweater…or an entire comforter to cover up with. He rises, walking towards me slowly, stopping to pick up his cat before she trips him. Placing her on her cat stand with gentle hands, he turns and prowls towards me, his body pure power. His eyes travel over me, but they lock on my heavy breasts, the nipples pebbled and pressing against the satin. I am suddenly hyper aware of my lack of underwear.
He swallows heavily, licking his lips. “Ah…”He stutters to a stop.“You naked under there?”
“Yes,” I whisper through suddenly dry lips.
“W…Why?”
“I’m hoping we can try something new tonight.” I take a deep breath, exhaling heavily. “I was wondering if you might be willing to…touch me.”
Micah makes an odd choking sound, and bends forward, bracing his hands on his thighs. “Willing,” he repeats, his voice muffled. “Willing.” A low chuckle rolls through him, and just before I turn and run back to my room, he straightens. “Want,” he growls, eyes burning with lust, chest heaving. “Tell me. What do you want? What should I do? What shouldn’t I do? What are the rules?”
My heart’s going to pound through my chest wall. “Ah…I’m not ready to have sex. Other than that, there are no rules.”
His eyes widen comically. “No…rules?” He chokes out. “I’m going to need you to be more specific, baby.”
“Specific,” I mutter, covering my red cheeks. “I don’t understand…just, do what you want?”
His jaw clenches. “I can’t do that. You’ve given me some details on the shit that Brent did to you. Why would you just…give me control so suddenly? It doesn’t make sense.”
Well, hell.
Why couldn’t he just be a typical guy and take what was being offered? “It’s not that sudden…we’ve been doing lots. Even my counselor agreed that I could move forward if I wanted to.” I say defensively. “Besides, it’s not about giving you control,” I explain in a whisper. “It’s about giving you my trust.”
