“Yes…”
“He must be good in bed, then.”
Now it’s my turn to blush while Bec smirks. “Can’t say I’ve ever found the experience particularly enjoyable.”
Bec grimaces. “Jesus, sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
I wave her off, face still flaming. “It’s fine.”
She shakes her head. “Anyone who doesn’t prioritize their partner’s pleasure is a horrible lover.”
I shrug. “A woman’s pleasure is secondary to a man’s.”
Bec glares at me. “That’s bullshit, Della.”
“That’s what I was taught.”
“Well, you deserve to find pleasure too,” she says with full sincerity.
“Thanks.” I plaster on a fake smile as we walk back to the camp in silence.
The idea of telling Bec that I’ve never found pleasure in sex is embarrassing. My priority has always been ensuring that Gabriel finds release, but I’ve never even gotten close to achieving climax. At least, not with my husband.
There was one time when I thought Gabriel was out of town. I was alone in the house and decided to take a hot bath and try to bring myself pleasure. I touched myself, explored my body, found what feltgood. He caught me with my hand between my legs and was so angry he broke the vase of flowers on the vanity. Then he forced me to walk across the floor littered with shards of glass and took me roughly from behind while my feet still bled.
A hand touches my arm gently.
“Hey, where’d you go?” Bec’s looking at me with concern.
I shake my head to clear the memory. “Sorry. Did you say something?”
Her face morphs into one of pity. “I’m here too, if you ever need to process anything.”
I ignore her offer. I don’t think I’m ready to process anything yet, let alone say it out loud to another person.
“I’ll see you later.” I quicken my steps and hurry away, only to run straight into someone who smells oddly comforting.
Maverick
Present Day
“We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.”— ELIE WIESEL
Her hair is wet. Not wet like damp from the mist that constantly hangs in the air here, but wet like she washed it. She looks up at me with wide, surprised eyes, and I notice her cheeks are flushed.
“Sorry,” she says, moving to rush past me.
I reach out and grab her bicep gently, and the contact sends a jolt through me. “Hey, you okay?”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m fine. Though it would’ve been nice to know that you’re acquainted with my husband.”
I release my hold on her arm, scratching at my stubble. “I’m happy to answer any questions you have.”
She looks down at the bundle of fabric in her arms. “Can I put these wet clothes down somewhere first?”
I reach for them, but her grip tightens on the sopping material.
“I got it.” Her nose scrunches. It always seems to do that when she argues with me, actually. It’s cute.
