"Vomited?"
"Yes," I said. "Not something a wife wants to see after kissing her husband."
"I'm sorry."
"Me, too."
We sat quietly some more. Kingsley's eyes were open. He continued looking up at the ceiling, or at nothing. His chest reminded me of a powerful, idling truck engine.
"So, have you lost all interest in sex?"
"Well, I don't consider myself sexual," I said. "I consider myself, in fact, a monster. Monsters don't have sex."
"When was the last time you orgasmed?"
It was late. We were alone in bed. We were talking softly to each other. My innate need for privacy cringed at the question, but we were adults here, and it was a legitimate, if not too-personal question. I didn't have to answer it, but I did.
"See my comment above."
"Six years?"
I nodded. Kingsley, I knew, could see me in the dark. No doubt he saw my gesture, or sensed it.
"Hell of a long time," he said. "Do you miss it?"
"I don't think about it. Quite honestly, having orgasms is pretty far down there on my list of things to worry about. Besides, I don't think I can anymore."
"Why do you say that? Have you tried?"
I knew my face was red. A crimson-faced vampire. Go figure. But what can I say? I never talk about my sex life. Not even with my sister, who was one of the very few who knew my supersecret identity.
"No," I said. "I haven't tried."
"You haven't wanted to or haven't tried?"
"Both. I haven't wanted to even try."
"Because you feel you are a monster. And monsters don't have sex, or orgasms, or real lives of any type."
I said nothing. What was there to say? That part of me was dead, I was sure of it.
Kingsley rolled over on his side and faced me. "You have been punishing yourself a long time, Samantha, for something that wasn't your fault."
"I'm not punishing myself," I said. "I'm dealing with it the best I know how. Besides, I don't feel sexy. I feel cold and gross, and what man would ever want to touch me?"
Kingsley suddenly put his hand on my hip as if to answer my question. His hand nearly covered my entire left hip. Jesus, he was a big boy. And then he did something that even I wasn't expecting. He gently nudged me to my back and as I fell backward, he slipped his hand between my thighs and opened my legs. His hand, through my jeans, felt remarkably hot.
I reached down and stopped him. "I'm not ready for sex," I said. "I may never be ready for sex."
"Who said I wanted to have sex with you?" he said, winking at me.
"Then what are you doing?"
"Just seeing how dead that part of you really is." He ran his warm palm up the inside of my thigh, over my jeans.
"I think you should stop."
"You think?" he said quietly, perhaps even huskily.
His hand continued up my inner thigh and I heard myself gasp. The moment I gasped Kingsley smiled again. The light particles around him were zigzagging like crazy. Like moths on crack.
"Please," I said.
"Please what?"
And then his hand lightly touched me between my legs and I reached down and grabbed his hand. I made a half-hearted effort to push it away, but his hand wouldn't move. Still, I didn't release his hand even as his thick middle finger gently stroked the fabric of my jeans. I wasn't sure if he knew what he was stroking, but the big son-of-a-bitch had found the right spot.
Lucky guess.
I gasped again and made another effort to push his hand away, but this seemed to only inspire him to work his middle finger faster.
"You deserve happiness, Samantha Moon. You are not a monster. You are a sexy woman who has been dealt a very strange hand. But I have a surprise for you."
"What?" I heard myself ask. My hands were still on his hands. It had been so long since anyone had touched me down there. So long. Hell, I had forgotten what to do with my own hands.
"That part of you didn't die. In fact..." And now his one hand was expertly undoing my jeans, button by button, as if he had done this hundreds of times before, which he might very well have had.
Now he slipped his hands inside my jeans, and his strong, curious fingers found their way under my panties, and now they were moving down with a mind of their own, gently parting me open.
His middle finger touched me almost hesitantly, perhaps testing my readiness. Jesus, I was ready.
And then two things happened simultaneously.
Kingsley lowered his mouth to mine, kissing me harder than I have ever been kissed in my life, and his thick middle finger slipped deep inside me.
Chapter Thirty-one
I had an orgasm last night, I wrote.
Good for you, Moon Dance.
My first in six years.
Must have been a hell of an orgasm.
I cried, I wrote. I didn't think I would ever have another one.
I am happy for you, Moon Dance. But why would you think you couldn't have one?
Because I hadn't had one in six years.
Did you try to have one?
No, not really. Danny wouldn't touch me any more, and I lost all desire to touch myself. It's hard to feel sexy or sexual when your husband finds you repulsive.
And so you touched yourself last night?
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I knew what I was about to write next would hurt Fang. No, I wrote. I was with the werewolf.
There was a long pause. My IM box remained static, with no indication that Fang was even typing. Finally, an icon appeared in the box showing that he was busy typing. A second later his response appeared on screen.
I am happy for you, Moon Dance. He's a lucky man.
A few months ago, after years of corresponding via chatrooms, Fang had expressed his love for me...even though we had yet to meet in person or even talk on the phone, for that matter. I wasn't sure what to think about that. I had never met anyone off the internet, let alone dated from the internet. Besides, Fang was my friend, wasn't he? He knew all the gory - and I do mean gory - details about me.
I'm sorry if that hurt your feelings, Fang.
I'm okay. Really, I am.
Well, you're a big man.
You have no idea.
Are you flirting with me, Fang?
Me? Never!
I'm not so sure about that.
There was a short pause. I would never flirt with another man's woman.
I snorted, although he couldn't see me snort. And who says I'm another man's woman?
I assumed....
You assumed incorrectly. I am still not there yet. Still not ready. I paused in my typing, thought about my words, then added: I'm not even sure I'm close.
Do you still think of yourself as your ex-husband's wife?