Her Secondhand Groom(81)

She gasped. “Then explain all the other times.”

“You only bled the once. What more do you want me to explain?”

“Why it hurt the other times.”

He blew out a deep breath. “Perhaps it wouldn’t have hurt as bad if you had let me touch you a bit more first. But you didn’t like that. You found it degrading that I’d dare to suggest touching you there, and snarled and tried to push me away when I did.”

“You were shaming me!”

“No,” he countered, stepping closer. “I was trying to get your body ready so it wouldn’t hurt when I―”

“Carelessly jammed your member into my tender regions, then slammed into me until you released that disgusting liquid,” she said acidly. “Fine, Patrick. Since apparently this is a larger interest of yours than you originally led me to believe, I’m sure something can be arranged.” The venom in her voice was unmistakable.

“No, it can’t,” he countered. He blew out another deep breath and went over to her.

“Yes, it can. We shall resume our Friday night schedule so you get the fulfillment you crave so dearly.”

He ground his teeth. “That is not necessary.”

“Clearly it is, or you wouldn’t resort to such barbaric methods.”

Though shame was the emotion her words had likely been intended to provoke in him, it was anger that surfaced. “Perhaps I’d accept your offer to share your body with me if I knew you wouldn’t cry and recoil from my touch as if I were nothing more than a footpad trying to molest you.”

“Well, if you weren’t such a brute, I wouldn’t.”

“How am I a brute?” He earnestly wanted to know.

“You just are,” she returned with a shrug.

“How so?”

An all too familiar look took her face, and she curled her upper lip as if she’d just seen a chimney sweep dare touch her pristine chemise. “Your midsection is unsightly, covered with all that thick, coarse hair. The calluses on your hands scratch my skin when you touch me. As for your male part, well, it’s just disgusting to look at, Patrick.”

“I’m not asking you to look at it,” he said through clenched teeth. Why would she think he wanted her to look at him naked? He’d never know. She’d made her disgust for his body quite clear on their wedding night when she’d shrieked and had thrown the covers over her head when he’d removed his dressing robe.

“No, you aren’t asking me to look at it,” she agreed. “You’re asking me to allow you to touch me with it.”

He closed his eyes in an attempt to block out her words. He could recall her shrieks, whimpers and cries well enough, he didn’t need her to give her account of the details of their long ago intimacies “And what would you have me do differently, Abigail?” he cut in. “I’ve tried to kiss you and you wiggle away. I’ve tried to touch you and you squirm. I’ve tried to do everything I can think of to do and you want none of it. What could possibly make it more enjoyable for you?”

“There’s nothing you can do. Nothing would make it more enjoyable, Patrick. I detest the activity, and cannot understand why you cannot just be content with lying close to me.” The hurt in her voice tore at his heart. She met his eyes again. “But since you don’t love me enough to care about my feelings, the least you could do is just do your rutting and be done with it.”

Too angry at her outright declaration that his love for her was insincere to care where his shy wife had learned such a term, Patrick crossed his arms, and said, “Perhaps I could be about my rutting a little faster if you’d give me a reason to be excited about bedding you. But since you insist on wearing your nightrail and whimpering the whole time, it’s hard to be quick.”

“I do not do any of those things.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” She inclined her chin a notch.

“And how would either of us know that? It’s been more than three years since you’ve allowed any sort of intimacy other than cosseting and the occasional chaste peck on the lips.” An overpowering wave of guilt swept over him at those words. He hadn’t once expressed or even thought an unkind remark about her in this regard. He’d just accepted his wife was one who didn’t enjoy such activities, and chose to handle himself accordingly. So why was it such a pressing matter now? He swallowed. “Abigail, I do love you, and I will no matter what. Can we let this drop now?”

“No. You wish to bed me, and I shall let you.”

“No.”

“And why not? Do you not find me desirable?”