Satin Princess(61)

“And he wants to be a part of the child’s life?” Dad asks.

“Yes. We’re going to raise this baby together.”

“But he hasn’t proposed.”

“He doesn’t subscribe to the same archaic beliefs that you two do,” I say. “We’re alike that way.”

“If he respects you at all, he’ll propose.”

“Did you respect Mom when you cheated on her?” I snap.

I’m so angry that I don’t even regret my words. I get the expected silence from the other line. Then I hear the click of a receiver.

Someone’s hung up on me.

“Dad?” I ask tentatively.

“That was your mother,” he says in a defeated whisper.

“I’m not going to apologize,” I say, knowing that I sound like a petulant little kid. “It’s the truth. You have no right to lecture me about relationships.”

“Who told you about the affair?” he asks. He says it like it’s a dirty word. I suppose it is.

I close my eyes. “I overheard you and Mom fighting about it one day.”

I can practically hear him nodding somberly. “It was one time and it was a mistake. The worst mistake of my life.”

“Because you loved Mom? Or because you got caught?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“The right one,” I say. “I know you, Dad. You and Mom. The two of you live your lives by this rulebook that doesn’t always make sense. Tell me, do you love Mom?”

He doesn’t answer.

I nod frantically. “You see?” I continue. “I want to do things because they feel right to me. Not because I feel morally obligated to. I don’t see the point in making decisions like that.”

“Sometimes, Jessa… I don’t understand you.”

That cuts deeper than I thought it would. “Listen, Dad, I didn’t mean for this to become a big fight. I just wanted to let you know you were going to be grandparents. I thought you’d be happy.”

“We’ll be happy to have you home one day. With your child. And your husband.”

He makes sure to emphasize the last word.

“Is that the only way I’ll be welcomed back?”

“Jessa…”

That's enough of an answer. I don’t need to hear any more.

“Goodbye, Dad.”

I hang up and then immediately burst into tears. I feel stupid. Stupid for calling, stupid for caring, stupid for thinking they’d be happy about my news.

I consider cooking and decide against it. I consider walking and decide against it. In the end, I just wander aimlessly around the room, picking things up and putting them down with no purpose in mind.

The truth is, I know the only thing that will make me feel better right now is seeing Anton. But the suite remains eerily quiet. His smell is everywhere, but he is nowhere.

I find a half-baked brownie from yesterday’s aborted cooking and sit in the living room to eat it while watching the sunset. But when I’m done, I feel emptier and lonelier than before.

So I head to my bedroom and put on one of the nightgowns Anton brought for me. I climb into bed, but it’s only nine o’clock. There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep. Not with all this pent-up frustration raging inside of me.

I need an outlet.

I need Anton.

And somehow, the two needs spark a desire inside me that I can’t seem to get rid of. My center throbs, making me aware of how long it’s been since he last touched me.

I lie flat on the bed and slowly slide the hem of my nightgown up my thighs. I palm my center and then drag my fingers over my slit. I’m already wet.

My eyes flutter closed, and I imagine Anton standing above me. Those pale gray eyes running over my body with appreciation. I sink into the fantasy and my skin tingles with the excitement of it.

He was hard when he got into the tub with me the other day. He’s hard around me more often than not.

And still, he never touches me. At least, he doesn’t touch me in a way that will lead to anything. I haven’t initiated out of pure self-preservation. I don’t think I can take another rejection, whether it’s for my benefit or not.

So instead of agonizing over what I can’t have in real life, I picture it. I imagine Anton undressing for me, wrapping his hand around his cock as he watches me.

I run my fingers up and down my slit, sliding them in to the first knuckle.

I picture Anton crawling over my body, his naked skin pressed against mine.

My mind is so wired and my body is craving his so much that I keep jumping between fantasies. I picture him behind me, ramming his hips against my ass. Then I picture his cock in my mouth. Him eating me out on a plane, him railing me on the edge of a cliff with the wind in our hair.

I moan as my fingers probe deeper and deeper. With my right hand, I touch my breasts, imagining it’s Anton’s hand squeezing my nipple. I run my fingers over my clit and my eyes flutter open.

That’s when I see the shadow.

I pull my hand back, but his voice cuts through the near silence. Deep and commanding.

“Don’t stop.”

Anton steps forward, the lamp light illuminating his face. He looks like some brooding angel who decided to clip his wings.

“Keep going.”