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“How about the table? Or on the counter instead?”
“Please, baby,” she murmured, her head back as he kissed her
neck. “That’s not very romantic.”
“But it’s sexy,” he said.
“What if someone sees us through the window?”
“You’re no fun,” he said.
“Please?” she said again. “For me? You know how hot you make
me in bed.”
He kissed her once more, his hands traveling to her bra. He
unsnapped it from the front; he didn’t like bras that snapped in
the back. She felt the cold air of the kitchen on her breasts; saw the
lust in his face as he stared at them. He licked his lips before
leading her to the bedroom.
He was almost frenzied as soon as they got there, working her
jeans down around her hips, then to her ankles. He squeezed her
breasts and she bit her lip to keep from crying out before they fell
onto the bed. She panted and moaned and called his name,
knowing he wanted her to do those things, because she didn’t
want him to be angry, because she didn’t want to be slapped or
punched or kicked, because she didn’t want him to know about
the phone. Her kidney was still shooting pain and she changed
her cries into moans, saying the things he wanted her to say,
turning him on until his body started to spasm. When it was over,
she got up from the bed, dressed, and kissed him, then she went
back to the kitchen and finished making dinner.
Kevin went back to the living room and drank more vodka before
going to the table. He told her about work and then went to watch
television again while she cleaned the kitchen. Afterward, he
wanted her to sit beside him and watch television so she did, until
it was finally time to turn in.