Furious by Jeffrey Higgins (top 10 novels to read TXT) 📕

I ate my salad and smiled at him. I softened my expression, careful to keep any judgment or criticism off my face. I averted my eyes, like a polite stranger on the sidewalk. I come in peace.

Brad had slept for hours, his symptoms worsening. He seemed much weaker than yesterday, and his food lay untouched on his plate.

He leaned back and leered at my body. It had been hot all day, and I had shed my shorts and tee shirt in favor of my Brazilian bikini—a gift from Brad. My more modest swimsuit sat in the washing machine, and I wore this for the first time. My breasts bulged out of it and the thong left little to the imagination.

He stared at my chest without an ounce of self-consciousness. Apparently, he had forgotten our fight and did not care what I thought about him. Men were simple. His eyes glazed over from the wine. Almost nothing remained in the second bottle, and I had only consumed one glass. I had seen that look before. Brad was drunk and horny.

“You’ve got a sexy body, Dags.”

“Thanks,” I said, and covered my chest with my arms.

“I mean it. You make me hot.”

I looked at the water.

“I want to fuck you,” he said. Crass, brazen.

“Aren’t you sick? How can you think about sex when you can barely hold your head upright?”

“I can’t help it. I’m a man.”

“Listen. I know it’s been a long time, but—”

Brad lunged, grabbed me around the waist with one hand and squeezed my ass with the other. He dropped his head over my bikini top and wrapped his lips over the material.

“Brad, no.”

I tried to push him off, but he pressed his body flush against me, and I felt his arousal against my leg. He was much stronger than me and I could not physically stop him if he was determined. Brad reached between my thighs and rubbed me over my bikini bottom. I grabbed his wrist and tried to pull his hand away. He slipped his fingers under the fabric and touched me.

“I said, no. Stop it right now.”

Brad’s paused but kept his hand inside my bikini. He scowled with the sour expression of a scolded child.

“It’s been six months,” he said, slurring. “I need sex.”

“I don’t feel sexual, I—”

“You’re my wife. You have an obligation . . . we have an obligation to each other. Goddammit.”

I wanted to lash out at him, to stomp my feet and yell. My sex drive had always been healthy and denying him his release was not like me, but he knew why I had lost interest. He knew what had happened. I opened my mouth to protest.

“Fine . . . okay,” I said.

His eyes opened wide. “Really?”

I had surprised myself too. It had just slipped out. Maybe it was guilt, or maybe I wanted to get it over with, so he would stop asking. Maybe I wanted it too.

“Yes, but a quickie. Let’s do it before I change my mind.”

Brad smiled like he had won the lottery. My hesitation and lack of enthusiasm did not seem to diminish his libido. He reached around my thighs and pulled me towards him, sliding me onto my back. He hooked his thumbs under my bikini bottoms and pulled them past my knees, exposing me. The breeze tickled my skin, enhanced my nakedness.

“Here?”

“There isn’t another person for hundreds of miles. I want to hurry, while I still have permission.”

He slipped my bikini bottom over my feet and dropped it on the deck. He leaned close and pulled the drawstring of my top. It fell away, and I slipped it off. It may have been the sea breeze or six months of abstinence, but my body seemed ready, even if my mind was not. Brad stepped out of his swimsuit, erect, and his eyes flared with prurient desire. He mounted me without taking his shirt off.

I had little appetite for sex and my feelings about Brad were confused. I had committed to abstinence after Emma died, not as a conscious choice, but from a lack of interest. How could I feel pleasure while I grieved? How could I allow myself to have fun, to seek selfish gratification? My denial had gone on for so long, it seemed normal.

Brad guided himself inside me, and though I was wet and ready, it still hurt when he entered me. I had not touched myself in six months and this intrusion felt like the night I lost my virginity on the floor of my parent’s living room. A pinch of pain followed by pleasure.

Brad groaned and moved in and out of me, his eyes locked on my nipples, like my body existed for his pleasure. He had not even kissed me. I gazed at the stars and cleared my mind of dark thoughts. I concentrated on the physical sensations and my body warmed and tensed. My anxiety faded behind the familiar tingle, the flow of blood, the building pressure. I arched my back and rubbed against him, rocking back and forth with his motion—faster, desirous, lustful. I throbbed and my mind grew fuzzy.

Brad thrust deep and stopped. He scrunched his face and groaned, swelling inside me, filling me with warmth. He supported himself with his arms and his body bucked once, twice, three times, then he collapsed onto my chest. I wanted to tell him I was close too, but I did not know if having an orgasm was something I should allow myself to do. Not yet.

Brad braced his hands against the cushion and lifted his weight off me. He stared into my eyes with a hazy, dreamy quality. The tart odor of wine hung on his breath.

“Thanks, Dags. I needed that.”

I smiled, unsure of my feelings.

He rolled onto his knees and pulled out of me. He stood and slipped on his shorts, wobbling on unsteady legs.

 “I need to crash. I’m wiped out,” he said. “Will you take the helm for the first watch?”

I nodded. Silent.

Brad descended