Love Is Strange (I Know... #2) by Whitney Bianca Page A

morning, after he fucked me soft and slow, he hooked his arm around my neck and held me to his chest, rolling over so that I was sprawled on top of him. I stared up at the ceiling, feeling his lungs expanding and retracting beneath me with each breath he took. I reached my hands up into the air, stretching my muscles. My shoulders and neck were still sore from the events of that weekend and they protested the movement. My joints were achy in general. My hips and knees especially. But as I stared up at my hands, the raw pink and red skin around my wrists couldn't go unnoticed. The marks called attention to themselves, like tattoos or brands. I stared up at them, memorizing them for the sake of posterity. Every mark was different, every time. No two marks were ever the same. When they healed, they would be gone forever.
    “This is how it should be,” he whispered in my ear. “We don't need anything else. Just each other.”
    “We need other things,” I said, running my fingers over my palms.
    “Not much.” He pressed his face into my hair and I didn't say anything else because I didn't want to ruin it.
    On Monday, he let me go.
    I could tell that he didn't want to. I could tell he wanted me to stay there with him and kneel at his feet with my head on his thigh as he watched TV. I could tell he wanted me naked and tied to the bed when he got the whim. But we'd already done that all weekend. Three days of playing wasn't enough, but it would have to do. I pulled on one of my new turtlenecks and pulled the neck up high to cover the purplish new bruises and the yellowing old bruises on my throat. I pulled on a cardigan with long sleeves to cover the red marks on my wrists. Luckily, all the other marks he'd left on me were easily hidden under my clothes. But I would have to be wary all day of keeping my wrists covered. Two weeks before, I'd gotten careless and my sleeve slipped back during a meeting. I didn't notice it until I caught my co-worker Janice staring at my wrist. I didn't want to repeat that. The last thing I needed was people getting curious and gossiping about me. I needed to stay as normal as possible for as long as possible.
    At least until we figured out what we were going to do.
    He slid his arms around my waist and settled his chin on top of my head, pulling me close to his naked chest. I pretended to ignore him, putting on my earrings and spritzing perfume on my wrists. When I tried to push away to pick out a pair of shoes from the closet, he tightened his arms around me.
    “Don't work late tonight,” he said, his voice husky in my ear. I scoffed, crossing my arms over his.
    “Don't tell me what to do,” I said, even though a part of me definitely liked when he told me what to do. I don't deny it - I liked when he sounded so possessive. It turned me on. But it also frustrated me because there wasn't enough time. There wasn't time to be with him in the way that we both wanted. I had to keep a routine. I couldn't deviate without being suspicious. I'd already taken off more sick days than usual since he'd been with me. I couldn't keep drawing attention to myself. Not until the heat died down.
    “You want me to come drag you out of there again?” His deep voice sounded so petulant, like an over-grown child. But it also sounded threatening, because I knew he was serious. I knew he'd do it again. “Because I will.”
    “No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No more of that.”
    “Are you telling me no?” he asked, lifting his hand and cupping my breast through the thick cotton of my shirt.
    “Don't make things so difficult,” I said, tilting my head to give his mouth access to my neck. But he didn't take the bait. He flicked at my nipple through the two layers of fabric – the shirt and my lace bra. My nipple goes hard immediately and I closed my eyes for a moment, letting him win for the brief moment.
    “I want to bite here until you scream,” he whispers, tweaking the hard little bud. I stifled