Limits (20 page)

“
This
feels damn right,” he says, his voice ragged.

I move my hand down, tugging at the zipper of his pants. “This? It’s illegal you know.”

“We’re not very good with law,” he points out with a half-grin, his hands pressing up under the sequined skirt of my tiny dress. “I try to be open-minded about things, Gen. I do. But watching you walk out the door in this?” The palms of his hands press up and down my thighs, the rough pads of his fingertips breaking my skin into goose bumps. “I wanted to follow you just so I could beat the shit out of any guy who looked at you.”

“You’d have been doing a lot of beating up,” I tease, drawing my arms out of the jacket and letting the straps of my dress slip down my shoulders.

“Don’t tease me like that.” He presses his lips in a line across my collarbone. “You think I don’t know how gorgeous guys find you? How lucky I am?”

I dip a hand under the waistband of his boxers, and he’s already so hard. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know how much you turn me on.” His voice grates out. I curl my fingers around him, pulling up and pressing back down slowly, my eyes locked on his. “No one’s ever turned me on the way you do,” he grits out.

He collects a fistful of fabric from the front of my dress and tugs down. My breasts pop out and my nipples go hard and stiff in the swirling night air. He clamps his mouth over one, using his hand to press and knead the other.

My knees sink into the cool sand as I push harder against him, letting my free hand tangle in his thick, soft hair and press his mouth closer. I look up to check and make sure we’re alone. In the distance I can hear the buzz and whir of the highway, but right here, there’s nothing but the arching sky, bright with stars, the soft sand under us, and the waves crashing hard on the beach and sending a tangy spray of salt air into the wind.

I hook my thumb in my thong and yank it to the side, sliding over him and pressing down with one quick, urgent thrust. Adam fills me, so hard and tight, I take a second to let my body adjust to the feel of him.

Adam’s hand presses against my back, tangled in my hair, his face pressing on my skin, his groan vibrating against my chest. “Damn, Genevieve. You feel so good.”

“Like this?” I pump on top of him, and he thrusts deeper, making me suck my breath in through my teeth.

“Genevieve. Holy fucking...doll, you’re...” He’s breaking off his words to kiss and suck at my skin, his hands tight on my hips, braced on my back, running up and down my thighs, wild over my entire body.

I dig my hands into his shoulders, lean back, and drive harder over him, so hard, I’m panting at the edge of an orgasm. I look at his face, his green eyes fierce and possessive, his mouth twisted with the deep, hungry moans that are still a surprise to my ears, coming from my controlled, scientist husband.

“Come on me, babe,” he begs.

I run my hands under his shirt, pressing against the hot, tight muscles. And then he grabs my face and kisses me, his tongue twined with mine, and I groan into his mouth, my body shuddering just a few seconds before he grabs me tight around the waist and goes rigid against me. I fall forward, half dressed, half buried in the sand, completely spent and slick over him.

It takes a few long seconds for our breathing to regulate. Adam sits me up and rights my dress, puts the jacket snugly around me, and moves me, gently, so he can button and zipper his jeans.

“Ready to head home?” he asks, gathering me in his arms.

“Mmm. Can we stay here for a few more minutes?” I hear how tired I am, the way the words slur out. He has work to do. I should let him take me home, but I feel so wild and so intimately bound to him here.

“Of course.” His voice comes out softly.

I don’t know how long I lie in his arms, the sound of the ocean lulling me into a deep sleep. The last thing I remember is Adam carrying me into bed and spooning his body around mine before we fall into a deep, perfect sleep.

I set the tomato fritters and garbanzo bean salad onto the tiny dining table and then turn my attention back to the chicken. I peek inside the oven, and it’s still cooking nicely, bubbling in
its own juices and flecked with herbs. The marinade that I brushed on it over and over again for hours today fills our apartment with the smell of Dijon, oregano, and thyme. I also lugged our laundry down to the complex’s laundry facilities and had everything washed, dried and folded before noon. This feels way more productive than attempting to muddle through my chapter questions on quantum mechanics..

My heart picks up pace when I hear the door knob twist, and Adam walks in.

“Hey,” I call, glancing over my shoulder and welcoming him home with a big smile.

There’s this way he looks when he gets back from a long day of work at the labs; his dark hair sticks up in odd directions because he runs his hands through it when he’s worried, and his clothes are a little sloppy from rolling his sleeves up and untucking his shirt so he can get his hands dirty with his experiments.

The best days are when there’s a light in his eyes, like things are working according to his master plan and the yeasts are all doing whatever it is he wants them to do.

I haven’t seen that shine in over two weeks, and I’m worried about how drawn and tired he’s looked lately.

“Hey yourself.” His voice is weighted. Tired. I know I can help make that go away. It’s something I love doing for him. “Is everything okay?” He sets his bag down and tosses his keys into the catch-all on the counter.

“Everything’s great with me, but how was your day?” I double check the saucepans and fiddle with the heat. I’m happy in our little place, but I wish we had a better stove. This stove is electric with cheap coil burners, and the heat elements are temperamental. Nothing can piss me off faster than burning a sauce I worked for hours to get perfect.

“Good,” he says slowly. But his eyes are narrowed and his mouth is flat.  It’s a far less sexy, much more serious look than the one he had for me last night. “And you’re
sure
you’re okay?”

I toss the pot-holder onto the counter and turn to face him, my hand positioned firmly on my hip.

“Of course, I’m okay. Obviously something’s bothering you. What’s going on?”

Adam exhales sharply.

“You weren’t at school today, Genevieve. You missed a pop quiz.”

Shit.
“Well, I’ll see if I can make it up.” I give him the sexy smile that’s been a quick cure-all for any time we’re gearing to argue, but it doesn’t even faze him.

He shakes his head and squeezes his thumb and forefinger on the bridge of his nose.

“You can’t make up quizzes, Gen.”
              I shrug, feeling the muscles in my shoulder constrict. “Okay, well, I’ll see if I can get some extra credit or something. It’s not a big deal. It was one day, Adam.”

“You’re right, but it reflects badly if you aren’t showing up for class—”
              “Oh, you mean it reflects badly on you?”

“No, it looks bad for the both of us, Genevieve. I don’t want my colleagues feeling like they need to give you special treatment because of our....relationship.”

“Our marriage?”

Adam sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “Yes, our marriage.”

“Well, they don’t need to do me any favors. And you need to settle down. Did you even notice I got all of this done today?” I motion around the spotless apartment.

Every surface has been dusted and wiped down with some pine cleaner. That, combined with the amazing smells coming from the kitchen and the light cotton dress I put on with Adam in mind—since he claims he likes when I’m dressed down so much better—should have been a clear recipe for total marital harmony, no doubt. I thought for sure Adam’s arrival home this afternoon would be the beginning of a satisfying night, just the two of us totally focused on how amazing it feels when we’re together.

My imagination dreamt up something that was clearly world’s different from our reality— our perfect night is quickly avalanching into our first real argument.

“The place looks great, Gen. But I don’t want you skipping school to do all of this.”

I look around our home, frustrated that he doesn’t register the amount of work that goes into caring for this all. Maybe he thinks because it’s so tiny, it’s easy to take care of? Its size makes it more of a challenge to keep things neat and tidy. He doesn’t have to worry about that because I don’t ask him to. I know he needs to focus on his research right now, and I’m happy to pick up the slack around in other areas.

“But we have a home to upkeep, and a life together, Adam. I wanted to make things nice for you. Easier for you. Trust me, you’d be upset if you came home to a mess and no food. You’re taking it for granted because this is always the way it is when you come in.”

I yank at my apron ties, suddenly feeling like an idiot because I thought I was such a badass domestic goddess.
              “But what about school? You’re just not going to go so that you can stay home and clean house?” His voice is weighted with disappointment, and I’m instantly deflated. I thought I was finally figuring out how
not
to screw everything up. Apparently I’m just figuring out new ways to do it.

The next words snap out with a barbed edge. “Maybe. I don’t know. I thought you’d like it.”

He holds his hand out like he’s asking me to listen, to understand, but his words sound pretty damn arrogant to my ears.

“This is not what I signed up for Genevieve. I wanted to give a life with you a shot because I thought we could make it work and that we had common goals. I don’t want a housewife with no ambition of her own. I want you to want more for yourself than just cleaning baseboards and baking challah. I’d be much happier grabbing a burger on the way home and knowing that you were home studying than...this...”

My temper flares.

This?

So it’s not science, so it’s not schoolwork. It’s fucking
life
! More specifically, it’s
our life
, and I don’t appreciate the way he’s brushing it off like it isn’t important.

“You sure didn’t mind me acting like a wife in other ways,” I accuse. My throat tightens and burns with the tears that I refuse to let fall. I will not cry my way through this argument.

He reaches his hands out to hold me, but I brush them off. He follows me across the kitchen, standing behind me at the stove as I snap every burner off and slam the oven door open, pulling the chicken out.

“Gen, it’s not like that. Don’t—”

I whirl around, almost in his arms, but the closeness feels infuriating instead of calming. I push him back and grip the counter with both hands, trying to stabilize myself.

“I don’t understand you, Adam. You said the other day that you wanted this to be a real marriage. So why are you trying to ruin things? I cooked all of this because I wanted to make you happy. I want to spend time with you and talk and eat. You can’t grow marriage in a damn petri dish in your lab! You need to invest time and energy into it. You need to come home, and the home has to be...it has to be a place worth coming back to!”

“Okay.” He blinks a few times, like he’s trying to process what I just said, but he doesn’t look convinced. In fact he looks mostly confused.

“I just wanted you to be happy.” The words come out wispy and so tragic, I’m embarrassed for myself.
              “I am happy. I really am, Genevieve. I never thought I’d be this lucky, to be with someone like you.  I just want you to put school first.” Adam moves toward me again, and this time his hand catches my waist and pulls me so close, my nose is buried in his chest. I inhale the smell of him and can’t help but soften a little. “We’re doing good, I just don’t want to lose that. I don’t want us to have nothing to talk about because you just gave up on everything you had going for yourself. For me.”

I hook my finger under his collar, flipping the edge out and flattening the crease with my hand. “Okay. I just don’t know if school is what I want. I don’t think I’m cut out for it. I barely enjoy it. This, cooking and feeling useful...I dig that.”

Adam sucks in a breath through his teeth that sounds like a hiss, and I pull away from him.

“What?” I demand, and he acts like he can hide what he feels. Like I can’t read the way he crushes his teeth together and grinds them back and forth. He’s aggravated, no matter what he says.

“I just...never mind.”

Aggravated as I might be at him for feeling angry or disappointed, I cannot—
cannot
—deal with his giving up. Not caring. I’d rather fight than walk away any day, and I need to know that, no matter how differently we feel about things, Adam thinks that’s essential to our relationship too.

I grab him by the arm and try to force him to look at me, but he avoids my eyes. I contort my neck, attempting to twist at an angle that will make him face me, and when I succeed, his eyes are burning. Good. “No. Not
never mind. What?”

“I...
Damnit, Genevieve! One of the things I love most about this country is that you can do absolutely anything you want. And I want you to do what makes you happy, but being a housewife? Come on, is that really what you want? You want to throw away your classes and all you’ve learned to cook me dinner?”