Page 6 of The Girl He Loves
My eyes grew wide, and she was speechless for a second. Yes, I spoke well. I’d been speaking since I was ten months old.
She studied the cheetah more carefully. “Uh… you’re right, little girl. It’s a jaguar.”
I remember wanting to knock my head against the floor. I just shook it instead.
“It’s not a jaguar, it’s a cheetah,” I told her in that‘You are very stupid, lady’tone.
“Oh…” She studied it again, and set it back to where I had originally placed it, not daring to touch another animal. “You are a very smart little girl, aren’t you?”
I was still watching her boy, hoping he’d put back the lion but he walked away with it. My heart pounded at the sight of him stealing the animal. I chased after him. “Give me the lion, please.” I asked politely. When he didn’t oblige, I asked him more sternly. “Give me the lion,” I repeated. When he didn’t, I ripped it out of his hand, and then pushed him for good measure. My mom yelled at me. “Mischa! That’s not nice!”
The boy got up and headed straight for the animals. Somehow he knew they meant a lot to me, he wasn’t stupid like his mother. He kicked all of them, sent them flying in different directions. I jumped on him and brought him to the floor. I punched his face repeatedly until I was pulled off of him. All I wanted was to retrieve the animals and restore the order, but my mother wouldn’t let go of my arm. She scolded me and gave me a long speech about proper behavior. All the while, the chaos in the room was making me hyperventilate.
That was the first episode I remember. The first of many.
3
I’m watchingModern Familyand folding laundry when Brian walks in our master bedroom, all smiles. Unlike most people, I love folding laundry. I find the motion of folding the clothes and towels at perfect angles extremely satisfying. The feel of the fabric in my hands is soothing.
Brian sits on the floor next to me. He doesn’t help. He just watches intently because he knows how much I love it. He’s fascinated by how precise and pragmatic my folding is.
He inches closer, and presses his mouth on my shoulder. The heat of his breath warms the fabric of my t-shirt. “You’re the best folder I’ve ever seen,” he teases.
I laugh. I know exactly what he wants. He always kisses my shoulder or my neck when he wants to get busy. And I always act coy. It’s a little game we play. I think he likes it as much as I do. “But I’m folding laundry.”
He turns to glance at the clock. “Um… you’re right. It’s 8:57 PM,” he says. “It’s TV and laundry time. Three minutes until free time.”
I shake my head. Why does he insist on making fun of me? All. The. Damn. Time. I study the impish expression on his face. He knows I’ll forgive him because he’s so damn beautiful, and he knows I want him as much as he wants me. Even after all these years, he’s grown even more attractive to me. His wavy dark hair is just as full as it’s always been. He hasn’t even gone grey yet. Me, on the other hand, need to dye my roots every month. His green eyes are as intoxicating as ever and the few pounds he’s put on these past years only make him sexier.
I fold the last of the laundry. “I bet all the girls in your classes have crushes on you,” I blurt out, surprising the both of us.
He’s mildly amused by my comment. “Nah, they probably think I’m an old geezer.”
“You’re thirty-nine. You’re not exactly old.”
“To teenage girls, I’m ancient.”
I smile. “Well, not to me… you’re not. You’re still a hot young stud.”
He grins, and checks the clock again. “It’s nine o’clock on the dot.” He grabs my hand and pulls me to the bed. “Time for me to rock your world, baby.”
I laugh. “Trevor and Tristan are still awake.”
“Oh, they’re both holed up in their rooms, with earbuds in, I’m sure.”
“Go lock the door.”
He hops off the bed and obliges.
I’m wearing a plain t-shirt and plaid lounge pants — nothing sexy, but it’s good enough for him. He loves me like this. He goes straight for my stomach, and pulls up my shirt over my breasts. I just happen to not be wearing a bra. He drops soft butterfly kisses just below my navel, and his kisses go straight to my sex. He slides his tongue and swirls it around, like he always does.
“I think you have a belly button fetish, Mister,” I tease.
He laughs. “That, I do. And I love yours,” he whispers. “You have the best belly button in the world. Not too big, not too small.”
I shake my head, thinking that I’ve married a very odd guy.
He pulls at my lounge pants, and I lift my hips off the bed as he slides his large hand under my ass. He kisses the curve of my hip. “You also have the sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted.”
