the silent heart

The first time Nancy and Ned ever shared a bed, all he did was hold her. All night, her heart beat with his. For her, there was nothing sexual about it. She just felt loved. She felt him breathe and she nestled against him, drawing in the scent of him, soap and shampoo and the trace of sweat, and he was vulnerable and sweet, and she loved him in return.

In the years that followed that first night, she remembered every night she spent in his arms. She remembered nights when one or both of them were spent with exhaustion after a long day, nights when they barely slept for sneezing or coughing but couldn’t bear to part. She remembered nights they spent hours just holding each other and talking, about everything and nothing, and feeling as though their shared understanding, the way they knew each other, was perfect. With every night, she fell in love with him a little more, but she knew that her heart had always belonged to him and always would.

And slowly, they learned each other’s bodies as they had learned each other’s hearts and minds. He caressed her, nuzzled against her, drawing her ever closer to consummation, although they never reached it. He kissed her when she tentatively stroked him in return, because he was showing her love when he touched her, and she wanted him to feel loved too. Even so, those nights she spent with her head cradled on his shoulder, her palm resting over his heart, were the most precious to her. She never wanted to leave him.

Ned asked her to marry him, and she didn't think twice. She accepted his proposal immediately. The joy she saw in his face as he slid the ring onto her finger, just before he took her in his arms, was enough to break her heart. To share the rest of her life with her best friend, the man she loved more than anyone else in the world... it felt like a dream.

On their wedding night, when he whispered her name, when he asked if she wanted him, she nodded, speechless and overwhelmed. Ned was her husband; he was the man she loved above all else. This was what it was, to be man and wife. And when he moved within her, she closed her eyes and accepted it, feeling his love for her, loving him in return, her heart aching with it. She didn’t tell him, she couldn’t, that what she loved more than anything was the feel of his arms around her, bare skin against bare skin, his lips against her forehead. She loved him, the warmth of his muscular body, his tenderness, his loving heart. She could never break him that way.

This is what it is.

He had fallen in love with her soon after they met, all at once, and more each day; she fell in love with him over years, knowing with all her heart that he was the only man for her, but she was so afraid that he would never understand. For her, it wasn’t the same. For her, sleeping in his arms meant so much more than joining to him, feeling him moving inside her.

She had always thought that being in love would mean enjoying sex. She had no doubt, absolutely no doubt, that she loved him. So she hoped it would somehow happen for her, that she would experience the physical release that her husband seemed to enjoy so much. Maybe she just needed time to catch up, to learn how to do it... but as the weeks passed, nothing changed. Sex still felt the same for her; she loved being close to him, but feeling him inside her... she didn't mind it, but she didn't relish it either. She had prayed that it would change.

She was a bad wife, and she didn’t want to be a bad wife. She wanted to show him the same love he showed her. So she gave him all she could. She cooked for him, washed dishes with him, laughed and exchanged stories with him. She cradled him to her, stroking his hair as he rested his cheek against her breast, and closed her eyes, trying to will it in herself. Trying to feel the same way he did. If only for a moment, a day.

She knew she loved him. But she wanted her love to match his.

Nancy had been Ned’s wife for six months when he was called out of town for a business trip. Her friends teased her: she and Ned were still newlyweds, and she would miss him terribly, would give him a homecoming he wouldn’t soon forget. None of them seemed to feel the same way she did. All of them took it for granted: her husband was handsome and strong and kind. Of course they made love every night and held each other until morning.

At first, she realized, they had. Then, slowly, it had changed: every other night, then a couple of times a week. Now it had been over two weeks since they had last made love. Two weeks since he had touched her that way, asking silently for what he wanted, what she couldn’t bear to let herself dread. It made her feel vulnerable, awkward in her own skin, but she trusted him. She knew he would never hurt her... but she hadn't even realized that he had stopped wanting her that way. It had been a relief, to sleep in his arms and love him that way, without his wanting more.

But he was her husband, and it had been important to him, and maybe he had realized that something was wrong with her. Maybe she was so bad at it that he had just given up on her.

And he was away. Surrounded by beautiful women who wouldn’t care about the band circling his finger. Women who could be tender and passionate, who were experienced. Women who could give him everything Nancy couldn’t.

She managed to keep herself composed until she was shut inside a bathroom stall. Then she stifled her sobs, silent tears running down her cheeks, her heart breaking.

—

It had been a long day. When two of his coworkers had invited Ned to join them for a few beers, he had only paused for a second before accepting. It was good to unwind; it was good to talk about the meetings they had attended, compare notes on everything. He'd split when they had decided to head to a club. On the way up to his hotel room, Ned reached up and tugged the knot of his tie down an inch or two, reaching for his cell phone. No call or message from Nancy. After a glass of water, he’d call her.

Marriage wasn’t what Ned had expected. Of course, he’d heard it described as a partnership with his best friend… but he had expected more than that. He had imagined, foolishly, that after the ice-breaking of their wedding night, Nancy would be eager for sex, or at least interested in it. Once he had realized that Nancy never initiated, he had decided to test it. Every night for more than two weeks, once they were in bed together he had drawn his wife into his arms and held her, and she had seemed happy. She hadn’t teased him or hinted that she would be interested in more. He had even sensed what he thought might have been relief in her.

So he wasn’t good in bed.

That was the only explanation he had for it. He had hoped that those tentative steps they had taken together before their wedding night would help him learn how to make love to her. He had tried to read books about it, books that weren’t just thinly veiled excuses for pornography; clearly they hadn't done any good, and Ned had been reluctant to do anything that might offend or upset his sweet, shy wife. But she was the only woman he had ever slept with, the only woman he had ever wanted. It broke his heart that she wasn’t able to enjoy it. That she didn’t want him the way he wanted her.

He swiped his keycard, then stepped into his hotel room, his shoulders slumping a little as he began to relax. He’d watch the game recaps, try to take his mind off things…

As soon as he came around the corner of the bathroom wall and saw the bed, he knew she was there. She was wrapped in a thick robe, and the television remote was beside her; he could feel the warmth still radiating from the television, though the screen was blank.

“Nan,” he murmured, and despite how the sight of her made his heart ache with need and something too close to misery for him to name, he smiled at her. “This is such a nice surprise… is everything okay?”

She nodded immediately, sliding out of bed—her long legs were bare, gleaming-smooth—and coming to stand in front of him. “Everything’s fine,” she said, gazing up into his eyes. “I just missed you, sweetheart.”

He leaned down and gently brushed his lips against hers. “I’ve missed you too, baby. Have you had dinner?”

She nodded. “Have you?”

It was easy to fall back into the rhythms of their life together. He couldn’t help wondering what had made her come to the city to surprise him, though. Maybe a suspect had unsettled her and she had wanted to be with him, for comfort. That felt like the most likely explanation, and it warmed him a little. He liked to feel like she needed him. She always seemed so self-sufficient.

He did sense some nervousness, almost anxiety, in her, but she didn’t say anything to give herself away. He asked about her day, but she said it had been unremarkable. She wanted to hear about his day, though. He stripped down to his undershirt and boxers and joined her in bed as he talked to her, and she nestled against him immediately. She still wore the thick robe. Over the months of their marriage, she had never worn anything meant to incite his arousal, save on their wedding night.

A silence fell between them once he had finished telling her about his day. This… this felt natural. The warmth of her, the way she nestled against him, seeking his closeness and this intimacy. And it was. He knew she wasn’t like this with anyone else. At least that was some small comfort.

Then she drew in a quiet, shivering breath, and Ned’s heart skipped a beat. With every day of their marriage, he felt like he learned more about her, and this… he hated to think that she was unhappy, that she wasn't willing to share whatever had made her upset.

“Hey,” he whispered, when she didn’t say anything. “I missed you too, honey. I’m so glad you’re here.”

She reached for his hand and held it gently. “I’ve missed you too,” she whispered, and then she swallowed. “I’ve missed you making love with me.”

Ned’s eyes widened. “You have?”

“Yeah.” Her next breath shivered again. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been a good wife.”

“Nan…” He moved to look into her face. Her blue eyes shone, and a flush bloomed in her cheeks. She met his eyes reluctantly when he tipped her chin up. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been a good husband… that I don’t know how to make it good for you…”

She shook her head hard, her gaze pleading. “Please,” she whispered. “It’s not you… It isn’t. There’s just—something wrong with me. You’ve been so good, and… and I want you to be happy with me.”

“I am.” He cupped her cheeks. “I love you. I always have. I love being married to you. I just… feel like I’ve failed. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Her eyes were miserable. “Yes there is,” she whispered. “You’re my husband and I… I love you so much and it’s important to you and…”

“And you don’t… like it.”

Her flush deepened and her gaze dropped. “I love everything else,” she said, so quietly that her voice was barely audible. “I love being close to you. I love sharing my life with you. Being married to my best friend.”

“What would make it better for you? I’ll do anything…”

She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I love the way you look at me. Knowing that what we’re doing feels good to you. I’m so sorry. I’m just so sorry…”

He brushed the tears from her cheeks, and she sighed before she moved to pull a tissue out of the box and blow her nose. Ned had thought that he felt upset… but now he felt even worse. Not only did she not enjoy it, she was upset that she didn’t, and he had no idea what to say or how to fix it. He felt helpless and frustrated.

She moved back toward him with a quiet sniffle. Then she reached for the belt of her robe and untied it. Given their conversation, it shouldn’t have been a surprise, but his eyes widened when he saw it. She wore the cream-colored satin gown she had worn only once, on their wedding night.

“It’s important to you,” she murmured. “So… please…”

Her voice failed her, and Ned cupped her bare shoulder, his thumb stroking the strap of her gown. “Does it—hurt you?” he whispered, barely able to force himself to speak the words.

She shook her head.

“Does it upset you?”

She shook her head again. “It hurt a little the first time,” she admitted. “But it doesn’t hurt anymore. It doesn’t upset me. I…” She took a deep breath. “I feel so close to you when you just hold me, after,” she whispered. “When I’m in your arms. I feel so safe and loved. I think, to me… maybe that’s how it feels to you when you’re… inside me.”

“It doesn’t…” He could tell he was flushing. He had never spoken to her this way. He had never even conceived of it. “You don’t feel anything when we have sex?”

She gave him a small, almost sad smile. “Of course I do,” she said, and touched his cheek. “I see the love in your eyes and how much it means to you. And I want so much… to show you that I love you too. I just…” She choked slightly. “I just don’t know how.”

“Oh, Nan,” he whispered, and drew her into his arms, holding her tight. She wrapped her arms around him too, and he realized it then. He felt her love for him, her unwavering trust and devotion. It was something deeper than the momentary joining of sex.

“I want to be good for you,” she whispered, and sniffled. “I wish I could make myself good for you. You deserve that…”

He rubbed his palm against her back. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved,” he told her. “The only woman I ever will. No one else could be as perfect for me as you are. I wish… I wish you… that you wanted it like I do. But it’s not everything, not nearly. I love being with you. I love being married to my best friend in the world, who supports me and loves me and cooks for me and takes care of me, and even lets me take care of her every now and then. So please, don’t ever, ever feel like you’re a bad wife. I wish you’d told me…”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t,” she whispered. “I thought it would get better… that it would just click for me. I still wish that it would.”

“It’s me, babe. It has to be. I just… I’m sorry I don’t know enough. Please let me try. We can find a way…”

She moved back to look into his eyes. “And if we never do?” she whispered. “You… I won’t be enough…”

“How could you not be enough?” he asked, stroking her cheeks. “You’re the other half of me. You’re everything to me.”

“And you’re everything to me,” she said, searching his gaze again. “I love you so much.”

He looked down at her gown. "I loved seeing you in that on our wedding night," he told her softly. "You look so beautiful."

Then his breath caught, and she smiled. "And you're so handsome," she said. "You always have been. I love being with you, Ned. I do. And I never wanted to tell you this. I never wanted to hurt you this way."

He couldn't help it. He looked down, upset at himself, frustrated that he didn't know what to do and that she was so clearly in pain over telling him. She sighed, then moved onto his lap, her slender arms and muscular legs bare as she wrapped herself around him. She held him tight, and he felt conflicted when he became aroused in response.

"It's okay," she whispered, nuzzling against his neck. "I want this with you, honey. It's all right."

"But you don't—like it," he whispered, his eyes closed.

"But you do." She ran her fingers through his thick hair. "You go shopping with me because you love me, right?"

Ned chuckled humorlessly, then moved to look into her eyes again. He was clearly hard under his boxers, and she wasn't moving away from him. Her blue-eyed gaze was direct, although he could see her anxiety. "This couldn't be less like shopping."

"But it's part of why we work together. We compromise."

He shook his head. "I don't want this to be a compromise," he said, working hard to keep his voice mild and even. "I..."

Her smile wavered, and he saw her eyes begin to gleam with tears again. "You do things for me all the time," she said, her voice trembling a little. "To show me you love me. And I want to show you I love you."

He rubbed his palm up and down her back, trying to comfort her, even though his heart ached. He couldn't say anything he was thinking. "I know you love me," he whispered. "You don't need to do this to prove it."

She glanced down, between them, to where his body betrayed his words. When she looked back up at him, her gaze was troubled. "Will you lay down with me, then?" she whispered.

"To show you I love you?" He saw her brow begin to crease, saw the hurt in her eyes, and shook his head. "I'm not making fun of you. I just... I wish I knew what to do. Come here, baby."

He turned off all but the bedside lamp before they moved under the covers together. He had stripped off his undershirt, obeying some masochistic impulse to feel her warm skin in contact with his.

It had been bad enough, to feel like he couldn't perform well or please her in bed. To have her confirm it felt infinitely worse. It had to be some failing with him. It had to be.

She was facing him, his leg nestled between hers, her body pressed to his. Despite how insanely inappropriate it was—and he hated that he only understood that now—his erection hadn't gone away. If she was interested, at least a part of him was willing.

But she wasn't interested, he reminded himself fiercely. Just willing. Out of pity. Out of some misguided desire—

She made a soft noise. "What does it feel like for you?" she whispered. "When you're inside me."

She didn't even call it making love this time. Because, for her, it wasn't.

He pushed down the bitterness and hurt and took a deep breath. As much as he had sometimes hated it, Nancy had always been a part of him, so close to him that he had thought they could almost read each other's thoughts. Now he just felt ashamed of how naive he had been, to think he would ever please her.

They had been vulnerable with each other, and a part of him was still bleeding from it, sore and tender. He'd drive the knife in a little deeper, for her. "It feels perfect," he told her, closing his eyes. He could feel her breathing against him, the rise and fall of her chest, her breasts. "Like I'm not alone anymore. Like we're a part of each other, and you're so sweet and warm and... you feel so good around me. I just wish it felt that way for you."

"But that's how I feel right now," she whispered, and when he opened his eyes again, it was to see her own pleading gaze. "If I knew what to do, I swear to you, I'd do it..."

"Does any part of it feel good?" He could hear the faint note of desperation in his voice, but he couldn't stop himself. "Anything beyond this? When we used to... to be together, I thought you enjoyed it..."

"I did," she murmured. "M—Most of the time."

Ned groaned. "Oh my God..."

She made a quiet distressed noise and touched his face. "For me it's not just—an act. Not just something that we do together. Everything you do for me is an act of love. It's just the time I can feel it most clearly is when we're like this. No—no one else holds me this way. No one else cares for me the way you do."

"How can it feel perfect to me when it doesn't to you," he whispered.

"I don't know." She sniffled. "I guess because some part of me is broken."

"Did someone hurt you?"

It would have been easier, somehow, if she had said yes. As much as it would have broken his heart, as much as he would have wanted to rip the asshole apart, if she had told him that a man had hurt her and this was the result, he would have understood. But he was the only man she had ever been with.

The thought that making love with him had been such a traumatic experience that she would never find pleasure in it—that would have dealt his ego a death blow he would never have recovered from. It crossed his mind, though.

"But you said I hurt you," he whispered.

"Not—intentionally," she said immediately. "Not like that. And it wasn't hurt, not really... just soreness. Learning."

"Did you... when you thought about it, before, did you... did it seem like you'd enjoy it?"

"Of course," she murmured. "It was something I'd share with you. Ned, please... I know this is hard. I'm so happy with you. What we have is incredible. It's just broken my heart to think that you'll never be happy with me. That you'll find someone... who can love you that way..."

"When every part of our lives is worth so much more than that? And it is, Nan. I just never questioned it. I always thought that... you wanted me that way."

"I did," she whispered, then made a soft distressed noise. "I do."

"Out of pity."

His voice was bitter; he couldn't help it.

"Out of greed," she retorted, and he searched her face. "Out of selfishness. How could it not please me, to see how much pleasure it gives you, and knowing I'm the only woman in your bed, the only one who knows you that way? It doesn't hurt me, and it's not bad. It isn't."

"'Not bad.'" He released a quiet, self-deprecating chuckle.

She made a frustrated sound. "You wanted me to lie to you," she replied. "Is that what you mean?"

"Of course not," he said immediately. "No. No lies. As—much as it hurt, I'm glad you told me. I am."

"So you can find someone else," she whispered, almost so low he couldn't hear it.

"No. Never, honey."

"Then tell me we can get past this," she told him. "Or at least that we can try. I—I just don't want to feel it hanging over my head... because you aren't a bad lover, or a bad husband. You're a great husband. You give me so much. And it would break my heart to know that you're doubting yourself over this."

"I thought..." He shook his head. "I never thought it would be this hard. I'm so sorry, baby. I'll try."

She gave him a sad half-smile. "I'm so sorry, too."

Despite everything, he was intoxicated by the warmth of her skin radiating through the satin. "You liked what we did, before?" he murmured, resting his hand against her hip. "When we were engaged?"

She took a breath and nodded. "Yeah."

He didn't think she was telling the truth, but he hoped that she wasn't outright lying. He tried to tell himself that it was enough, for her to want to be with him. She could have told him that she didn't enjoy any of it. She could have told him that it hurt, that she hated it...

They had been honest with each other, or at least he hoped they had. He had to believe her, or he would be lost.

He stroked his palm over her hip a few times, and felt her take a breath. "You don't come, when we're together," he murmured, and it wasn't really a question. She allowed him inside her; she relaxed and let him do what he wanted. But he had seen her face when she had reached orgasm, a handful of times. He had seen her brow knit, her mouth fall open. It had always been when he was only touching her, not joined to her, and it had been rare and beautiful.

She shook her head. "Is that what you want?" she whispered, searching his eyes. Her own had widened a little.

He felt anxious at the thought of not pleasing her, but she looked just as anxious too. He knew that pressure might make things harder for both of them. Maybe that was part of what the trouble was.

"We're working on it, right?" He gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek, and she nodded. "So let's work on that. And if it happens, let's try to remember it so we can do it again."

Her lips curled up slightly, but there was no humor in her smile. "So that is what you want."

He let his hand drift down to her hip again. "I want you to feel what I feel," he murmured. "I want it to be as good for you as it is for me."

She searched his eyes again, then slowly moved toward him and brushed her lips against his. "I love you," she whispered. "With all my heart. I need you to be okay... if it... if it takes a while."

He nodded. "I just wish I knew what to do," he murmured.

She kissed him again. Then her eyes popped open, and she moved to look into his face. "When you bring me flowers," she said, "why do you do it?"

"To show you I'm thinking about you. To make you happy."

"And what do you get out of it?"

"The pleasure of seeing you happy."

She smiled and made a little gesture. See? "That's what this is for me. That doesn't make it bad or wrong. You don't buy the flowers because they're for us to share; they're for me. And this... seeing you so happy makes me happy."

"But this isn't... it isn't a gift..."

"Isn't it?" She raised her eyebrows. "Because to me, it is. It's another way to show you I love you."

He wanted to protest. It couldn't be a gift. It was supposed to be something the two of them shared...

That was what he had always believed. That was what he had been taught. But so much about their life together was a strange mix between what marriage was "supposed" to be, and the reality of their passions. She was a determined, fearless detective, and he was the man who loved her. When they were home, he could tell that she was filling the role of his wife the best way she knew how.

And that was how they had ended up this way.

He couldn't resist asking, though. "So for the past few weeks... you haven't wanted to?"

She flushed slightly. "We've been together," she said. "You've been beside me in bed at night. I felt loved and safe. And I... I just thought that if you wanted to make love, you'd... let me know. Like you had before."

"You didn't notice," he realized. Oh, he had wanted her to notice. He had wanted her to come to him, to instigate. And she had, but not the way he had wanted. "What made you notice?"

His heart sank when her eyes began to gleam faintly with tears. "When you left for this trip," she whispered. "And someone made a comment on how I'd welcome you home, about us still being newlyweds... and I thought about you being here, meeting someone else who could give you what you want... and I realized that it had been so long, that you... that you hadn't wanted to make love with me. After you'd wanted it so much. That you weren't... interested in me... anymore."

He stroked her cheek. "Of course I am," he said. "I just thought that I was so bad at it that you... that you were probably relieved when I didn't even try anymore. And I guess I was right."

She sniffled and shook her head. "I thought you'd realized that I'm broken," she whispered.

She looked so sad that he couldn't help it. He leaned down and very gently brushed his lips against hers, in the kind of soft, chaste kiss that he had come to know so well when they were dating. "Stop," he murmured. "You're not. You're sweet and beautiful and tough and perfect."

"And you are too." She stroked her fingers through his hair. "Please make love with me. Please be with me. Don't push me away."

"Never," he whispered. "Oh, Nan..."

He kissed her deeply, slowly, the way they had kissed each other when their relationship was growing closer. The way she melted under him... it had always been true. He had never been more sure of anything. She did love him, and she always had.

And he wanted to make her come. He wanted to give her the release that he felt when they were together.

He felt her belly tense when he slipped his fingers under the hem of her slip and traced them over her bare skin. When he broke the kiss she released a quiet breath, and he felt her trying to calm herself down. Now that both of them knew... he didn't want this to be hard, but he had no idea how to make it better.

Had it been any better, when he hadn't known? When he had just doubted himself, and hoped he was wrong?

She arched a little to help him slide her gown off, and her breasts were bare, her nipples already hard-peaked, beneath it. He felt the same awe and desire he always did when he saw her this way. They had waited so long to share this intimacy, and she looked so beautiful. When he looked into her eyes, she seemed a little anxious, but she gave him an encouraging nod.

"I want this with you," she whispered. "Please."

"And I always want this with you." He laid down beside her, and she reached for him. His lips quirked up in a brief smile when her fingertips brushed against his side. Then she gently tugged at the band of his boxers, and he took the hint and started to move them down.

"Do you want me to touch you?" She tentatively stroked her fingertips up the underside of his erection, searching his eyes.

"Mmm." He'd wanted to get her off, or at least to try, but as soon as he felt her stroking his skin, he shuddered in pleasure. It had been close to a month since he'd been with her this way, and it had been so long since she had participated. Since he'd felt like she really wanted this. "Come here... yeah, keep doing that," he murmured, and drew her to him for a long, intense kiss. She kept stroking him, finally wrapping her fingers around his shaft and applying more pressure, and he cupped his hand over hers, helping guide her. Once she had the right rhythm, Ned wrapped his arm around her, kissing her again.

"I love you," she whispered, gasping as they broke the kiss. "Does it feel good? I love you so much..."

"It feels so good," he told her. "I love you too, babe. This is so good."

He was incredibly distracted, but he couldn't help watching her, trying to see if she actually was enjoying what she was doing with him. She looked so sweetly anxious, like she wanted so desperately to please him, and he knew all too well what that was like.

"I love you," he whispered, and when she looked into his eyes, they smiled tentatively at each other. Feeling her hand on him was so good, and he tangled his fingers in her hair, his muscles tensing as he responded to her touch.

Once he had come, with a shudder and a long groan, Nancy released a pleased, tired sigh and nestled against him. The feel of her bare breast pressed against his chest... it wasn't unfamiliar, but it had been too long. He needed to clean up, but it was so good to be with her like this.

He recovered himself and brushed a kiss against her forehead, and she made a soft sound and nuzzled against his shoulder. "Was that okay?" he murmured.

"Of course," she murmured. "As long as it made you feel good."

His lips quirked up again. "That's what I want with you," he told her quietly. "I want you to feel that too. Even if it's not while I'm inside you. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispered, but she didn't look at him, and she didn't move. She stayed cuddled against him.

This was how she felt safe and loved.

He stroked his palm up and down her back. She made a soft sound of contentment and Ned closed his eyes. Okay. Okay. This was what she wanted.

"I missed this," she whispered. "I'm glad I made you feel good."

"You did." He slowly stroked her hair a few times, then let his hand rest against her. "Why don't we just stay like this... can I touch you?"

She sighed. "Yes," she murmured, and he could hear that note of forced cheerfulness in her voice. He was pretty sure she had only wanted him to have sex with her, and then to fall asleep like this. Her knowing that he wanted her to reach orgasm... well, that had to be a little intimidating.

"I love it too, being like this," he told her. "I've never felt this way with anyone else. I feel like I'm home."

"Me too," she whispered.

He rubbed his palm against her back again. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I wish I could... I wish I knew."

She took a breath and pushed herself up a little, and her eyes were gleaming faintly when her gaze met his. "Me too," she whispered.

--

When they had been learning each other, before and after their engagement, Nancy had enjoyed feeling Ned's touch. She had felt vulnerable to him, and a little afraid, and they had started out tentative and shy with each other. But it had been intimacy. His bare warm skin against hers, his lips and exploring fingertips... she had relished his curiosity, his eagerness to please her. The tension of growing arousal had been an almost unpleasant shock at first. She had always hated being out of control, and when it came to arousal, to orgasm, to climax, all of it had felt like another language. Like something the two of them would learn together, with and through their relationship.

Reaching that point with him had happened so few times, and it left her exhilarated and exhausted, ashamed of her reaction to him and eager to experience it again, to figure out how it worked. But she never had discovered the trick to it. She only knew that his being inside her, joining to her, hadn't caused it.

She had thought it would. Thanks to a thousand hints, snatches of scenes in movies and books, she had thought just his being inside her might do it. But apparently she wasn't like most women, in many ways.

Her gaze shied away from him when she glanced down. He definitely seemed to enjoy looking at her naked body. She was flattered by his desire for her, but she still wasn't used to looking at him naked. She hadn't even enjoyed being naked before he had wanted to be intimate with her. The part of him she had just stroked with her hand... oh, sometimes she was jealous of him, that it was so easy for him. She could tell at a glance if he was turned on. She could tell when he had come, and for him it didn't seem to be nearly so difficult.

"I love you," he murmured, and reached for her. "Can you take your underwear off?"

She shivered. "Yeah," she whispered. He stroked his hand down her side as she moved to obey him, and she tried to make herself calm down. She was just so anxious, and she had only wanted him to have sex with her, but then she had stupidly started stroking him. Now he had time to focus on her.

It had just been a while. She would be okay. She would.

Other women wouldn't dread this. Other women would be eager to have this with her husband...

Nancy swallowed the bitterness and frustration she felt, and laid down slowly again. She nestled herself against her husband, closing her eyes, her fingertips tracing meaningless patterns against his bare chest as he stroked her back. She never wanted to leave this embrace. It just felt right.

"I love the way you feel," he told her softly. "So warm and smooth. I've never been like this with anyone else. And you like this?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I love being with you this way."

When his hand strayed down and he gently cupped her ass, she shifted the angle of her hips, tensing and then relaxing.

"Are you afraid?"

She thought about lying. "Yeah," she admitted. "I don't want to disappoint you."

"And I don't want to disappoint you either." He rested his hand against the small of her back and used the other to brush a few loose strands of hair from her cheek. "Is that all you're afraid of?"

She snickered quietly. "You say that like it isn't enough," she murmured. "I've never wanted to disappoint you."

"And I was sure that was all I was doing, with you. It broke my heart." His voice was quiet. "Maybe if it were easy, it wouldn't mean as much."

It wasn't fair. She almost said it, but she held herself back, moving so she could look into his face and search his sweet dark eyes. He looked sad and tired, and she felt the same way.

She leaned down and kissed him, sweetly, and his lips parted under hers. She had no idea how many kisses they had shared; it had to be thousands. Thousands of moments they had stolen to be together, rushed and laughing, slow and lingering, desperate from some near calamity. He ran his fingers through her hair and the stillness and silence around them was deafening, punctuated by the distant echo of her own heartbeat. A part of her was waiting, for him to roll her onto her back, to start this, but he didn't. He just returned her kiss, sweetly, holding her as he would have when they were still dating, when everything between them had been tentative and new.

Save that they were naked, and she was his wife.

She hated that she still felt anxious about this. She had been afraid to look up anything about it, to admit that something was wrong. She had hoped and prayed that it would just take time and patience, but she would become the person she had always imagined she would. A loving, tender woman who was confident and able to respond to her husband the way he wanted. Just the thought made her nose prick slightly with the first hint of tears, and she swallowed hard.

His fingertips strayed down again, and she forced herself to relax instead of tensing. She focused on him, covering his face with soft kisses, closing her eyes and drawing in the scent of him. She had been in agony, the night she had finally let herself consider why she wasn't eager for this. She had wondered if it was because she didn't truly love him—but oh, oh God, she loved him so much. She loved everything about him, but her love was deep and quiet and infinite. It filled her, all of her.

She nuzzled against his neck, savoring the feel of his skin against hers. If it were up to her, they would have stopped there. But he was rubbing his palm over her ass in slow circles, and she slumped against him with a sigh, closing her eyes.

"Nan," he whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too," she whispered against his skin.

"Just relax," he murmured. "Can you?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "I'll try."

He rolled her onto her back and she blinked lazily up at him, trying to slow her speeding heart. She had just been accepting this for the past six months, and now that he knew... oh, it was hard not to be anxious. She wanted so badly to make him happy.

He moved to her, brushing his lips against hers, cupping her breast and gently rubbing his thumb back and forth against the hardened tip. She thought back to how it had been when they had first began to touch each other this way, before it filled her with anxiety, and just focused on the pleasure of it. It did feel good, and not just because she wanted it to. He wanted this to be good for her. She was just frustrated that he didn't understand. When they were together this way, when he moved inside her and found his release, that was enough for her. She didn't expect anything else from it, not anymore. Not when she could hold him and feel his heart beating with hers.

He gave her a long, deep kiss, shifting his weight and fondling both her breasts, and she shivered a little in pleasure. That place inside her where he joined with her tingled slightly, but she knew better than to be fooled. It just meant she was enjoying what he was doing with her, nothing more. She had thought the first time that it meant she was ready... and maybe she had been. Maybe her body just treated their joining like a task to be completed.

She ran her fingers through his hair. Imagining him as the boy she had met years before, whose heart had been on his sleeve and glowing in his eyes, who would have given her the world if she asked for it... it made her heart ache a little. She just hadn't known. Neither of them had.

There had been a time when they had been innocent, when his kisses had left her head spinning, when she had never thought of anything beyond them. She let herself remember that. She let herself pretend that he wasn't going to go any farther with her. Her fingertips drifted over his back, and she traced the hard muscle beneath his skin. His tongue slid against hers and she made a soft noise as she slowly opened her legs. That slight tenderness she felt between, her awareness, twinged in sympathy with every brush of his fingers against her breasts. Let it happen now, she found herself wishing. Just let it happen now.

But he didn't want it to happen. That was the only way she had ever imagined it, though. She still felt so lost when he moved inside her. It was an act for him; why wouldn't she just let him do as he wished, so she could hold him once he had what he wanted?

But I'm supposed to want it too.

Her frustration and sadness made the prick of tears return in her throat, and she broke his kiss just to kiss him again. Just be good for him. Please just be good for him. She didn't even know who she was directing the thought toward, only that she felt it with every beat of her heart.

He shifted and his fingertips traced a slow, almost teasing line down to the join of her thighs. She shivered as he cupped her there, as he gently stroked her. That he would want to touch her there, that he would want to join with her there... it was still incredible to her.

"I love you," he whispered, and she could feel him trying to catch his breath. "Is this good?"

She tried to put her fear and anxiety aside, and just feel. "Yeah," she whispered, drawing her heel toward her by a few inches. Then she flushed hotly as she thought of something.

"What?" he murmured, moving back to look into her face. "What is it?"

She still hesitated. "I... nothing."

"Nan..." When she averted her gaze from his, he sighed quietly. "Can you show me? Show me what you'd like?"

That was an easier thought. She took a deep breath and reached down, cupping her hand over his, and trembled as his fingertip brushed the sensitive nub at the top of her sex. When he had brought her to orgasm, months before, it had been by touching her there.

"Right there?"

"Y—yes," she sighed, tensing a little underneath him, and the awareness and tenderness inside her became more intense for a moment, ebbing and flowing with his strokes against it. She felt his gaze on her face and flushed again. His anxiety was making her anxious in sympathy.

"I love you," he whispered again, and nuzzled against her. She relaxed a little when she knew he wasn't looking at her anymore. His fingertips traced down between her legs and she blushed more hotly. When he moved inside her, when his sex slid deep inside hers, she knew that he enjoyed it. There was a purpose to it. This... she flinched and hoped he hadn't noticed, when he gently teased the slick lips of her sex with his fingertip, then slowly began to penetrate her with it.

"Ned," she whispered, turning her face away from him as he kept fondling her clit and working his finger inside her.

This must be what other women like. This must be what I'm supposed to want.

It felt nice, for him to stroke her but not be inside her. She tried to focus on that instead. He kissed her earlobe and she shivered slightly. "Good?"

She kept wanting to lie to him, and she hated that. She and Ned had built a strong relationship, one that involved sharing almost everything, but she didn't want to hurt him. "It's okay," she murmured.

"Relax," he replied. She didn't want to, but when he slipped his finger out of her, she did relax. She hadn't realized her spine was arched, or how tense her muscles were. Then he moved the finger that he had slipped inside her up over her slick lips, up to the nub he was still fondling.

She shivered as he rubbed his wet finger against her sensitive flesh. She could feel it, a throb of what she thought might be arousal... but it was almost gentle. He nuzzled against her again and she rested her hand against his back, willing herself to feel it, that strange, prickly need that swept over her. She hadn't felt it in so long that she wondered if it would just take a while, and waited, brushing her lips against his cheek as he nuzzled against her, but his fondling and stroking against that part of her just felt nice.

Then it didn't anymore. She would have given anything to change it; for a few seconds she considered trying to pretend it had happened, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. It didn't hurt, but it had stopped feeling good.

"Ned," she whispered, and she felt tears prick in her eyes when he pulled back to look at her. "Stop, please."

"Am I doing it wrong?" His breath caught like he was going to say something else, but then he let it out in a little sigh, and she could feel his anxiety. His disappointment. His fingertip was motionless, but still in contact with her.

"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know. I'm so sorry."

"Was it when I..."

It was almost impossible for her to speak, but she forced herself to. "I only like it when you touch me like you are right now," she whispered.

"I can keep doing it..."

She shook her head. "I... I can't," she whispered, past the ache of tears in her throat. Her voice was almost hoarse. "I don't know why it doesn't feel good anymore. I'm so sorry."

He took a breath. "Was it—Did it feel good at all?"

She nodded, relieved. "At first."

"Then next time I won't put my finger inside you." He was a little flushed, too. "I just... it seems like that should feel good? I'm sorry."

"I know," she whispered. "I told you. It's me. There's something wrong with me."

He cupped her cheek with his other hand and gazed into her eyes. "No," he whispered. "Please stop saying that. Please. I... I told you. I don't want to make you upset, and it would break my heart—shit." He cleared his throat. "If you don't enjoy being with me that way, the last thing in the world I want to do is upset you. I mean that. Okay?"

"And it doesn't upset me, because it has a purpose. I want to make you happy." She gave him a very small smile. "Can you—just hold me for a little while, first?"

"Of course," he murmured.

When she was wrapped secure and safe in his arms, she almost cried. She had missed this more than anything, even though she was heartbroken that she hadn't been able to give him what he wanted, that she had no idea where to even start. It would be different when he was inside her, and she knew that. It always had been. He was giving himself and taking pleasure from being with her.

"I wouldn't give up any of it," she whispered. "I wouldn't give up any part of being with you. I love you so much and I want you to be happy. I just can't help that I want you to be happy with me."

"I feel the same way," he told her, and stroked her hair. "And this is what you want. Being like this."

"Yes. And the rest of it too."

Slowly they relaxed together, and it was hard to remember why she couldn't just slip into a blissful sleep like this. He was stroking her hair and she was cuddled against him, and it was all right. Somehow, she had to believe, somehow it would be all right. Maybe it would take him a while to understand. God knew it had taken her a while to come to terms with it, herself. So often, she still felt lost and broken.

She shifted, still in contact with him, and he made a soft sound. She realized he was becoming aroused again; she could feel him stiffening against her leg. It was what she had wanted. It was how she could prove her love to him.

And the ache in her was so deep. She needed to give him all of her. The thought of losing him, of not being everything he needed, made her cold, pale and desperate.

He was her heart. He was the only man she would ever love. She could never bear to lose him.

She began to move so she could look into his eyes as Ned released a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a quiet groan. "Baby, it's okay," he whispered, his fingertips drifting against her back. "It's all right. We can sleep..."

She met his gaze, and though she knew she was blushing again, she leaned down and kissed his cheek, his jaw, his earlobe. "I love you," she whispered. "And I need you so much. Please do this with me. Please make love with me."

He turned his head and kissed her hard. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Nan, I'm sorry, I've missed you so much... Are you sure?"

She nodded and kissed him in return. "Do you need me?"

"Always," he murmured. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"It doesn't hurt," she told him. "I promise. Love me, Ned."

He stroked his fingertips down her side, kissing her again, and she gave herself up to it. When he rolled her onto her back again, she slowly opened her legs, and her heart skipped a beat as he moved between. She saw the desire in his eyes and relaxed as he moved over her.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he told her. "I love you so much. I'm the luckiest guy in the world, to be with a woman who loves me enough to give me this."

She reached up and cupped his cheek, giving him a small smile. "Thank you for being with me," she whispered. "Thank you for giving me this. For loving me this much. I love you too."

He rested against her, and she felt his arousal again and swallowed as she embraced him. She ran her fingers through his hair. She could feel all of him against her, the weight and warmth of him, his skin against her sensitive nipples and the inner curve of her thighs. When he moved so that his erection was pressing against the slit between her legs, she closed her eyes, and everything felt so painfully intense, so immediate.

Then he rained kisses on her, just as she had done to him. He nuzzled and kissed her cheek, her temples, her chin, her jaw. He was still pressed tight against her as his lips grazed her earlobe and the ticklish-sensitive skin beneath.

He made a soft humming sound, and then he kissed her neck, her collarbone, the hollow at the base of her throat. Her lashes fluttered down when he moved so that his erection wasn't pressed against her anymore; then he was nuzzling against her breasts, brushing his lips in the softest kiss against a hardened nipple. She kept her hand buried in his hair and just focused on the sensation of it, hoping somehow that this time might be different. Maybe.

Before, when he had been focused on trying to make her come, he had seemed to be almost impatient. The way he took his time, she knew he was trying it again, but from the way he was touching her, it was as though he had all night. His suckling provoked a low moan, one she hadn't intended to voice. The hollow between her legs, where his finger had barely penetrated, felt more tender.

"I love you," she whispered.

He kissed her breast. "I love you too," he murmured. "So much."

She loosely clenched her fingers into a fist, her lips parting as Ned trailed kisses over her belly. The feel of his lips against her belly button made her think of how it might be to carry his child there. To feel their child grow inside her. When she and Ned were ready, it might mean doing this more often, making love with him more often. She could imagine anticipating it, if it meant a child.

Ned kissed her hip, her inner thigh, her knee. His other hand stroked against her, tracing the smooth lines of her. She wanted him to stop delaying, but she liked the way this felt. She blushed when his kisses strayed too close to the join of her thighs, but he kissed his way back up, and she embraced him again when he nuzzled against her.

It reminded her of their wedding night, all of it. The feel of that same white satin against her skin, seeing her reflection after she put it on and feeling anxious, worried that he might reject her, that the shift between them would be more than she could bear. Both of them had been trembling when they had been in bed together, in anticipation, anxiety, fear. They had been innocent, and in so many ways she felt like they still were. He had tried to take his time with her that night, but he had been so eager.

Now she was eager, to give him that same release, that same joy. She didn't care about the rest of it. She just wanted him to be happy.

That hard, aroused part of him came in contact with her as he brushed his lips against her neck, his fingertips tracing down to stroke and caress her breast, so gently, so tenderly. She drew her fingers through his hair, feeling the press of him against her thigh, trying to think of what might make this better for him.

"Do you want me to do anything?" she whispered, and he moved to look into her eyes, his own low-lidded with desire. The sight of it sent a shiver down her spine. "What makes it feel good for you?"

"You," he told her, and brushed a kiss against her lips, shifting over her so that she was completely pinned beneath him. Her heart skipped a beat. "Um..."

"Mmm?" she encouraged him, tracing her fingertips down his neck, over his shoulder blades.

"When I... when I'm inside you. When I start moving toward you, if you move to meet me...? If it won't hurt you."

When she understood what he meant, she nodded. "I don't think that would hurt. I'll try to do that."

He searched her face, and she swallowed. His expression was one of such love, and such pain. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered again.

She gave him a small smile. "It hurts me not to be with you," she told him. "Okay?"

He nodded. "Okay. I... I'm sorry, I didn't bring any lube or anything with me. I didn't expect to need it..."

"I think we'll be okay," she told him. "If you could..."

She made a little gesture, and he smiled at her, then moved back down to nuzzle and suckle against her breasts again. Nancy closed her eyes and kept her hand in his hair, imagining the anxiety inside her like a fist, and prizing each finger away. She just wanted to let herself feel. She would do whatever she wanted, but the one thing he wanted most, she seemed to have no power to give him.

God, she wished with all her heart that she could.

He trailed his hand down to her hip, then drew it back up quickly, as though he had realized she might not want that. He still didn't seem to understand. His fascination with her, his curiosity, the feel of his fingertips tracing almost worshipful against her skin—she found it all thrilling. For him it was the prelude to the act; for her, it was itself an act, one of intimacy and love, and she craved it. It was just that her completion, her satisfaction, came after his and didn't depend on this, especially not on his being inside her.

How could she not love the feeling that she was the center of his world, and he of hers? When she was defenseless, safe in his arms, her heart beating with his as they slept...

She felt such a visceral, almost tangible longing for it that a shiver went down her spine. Ned took that as a sign of encouragement and pulled back, moving over her again.

It could be worse, she thought. If it hurt for me, or if I hated it...

But it was cold comfort. She looked up into his eyes and saw the question there, and nodded, her hand at the back of his neck.

He cupped the join of her thighs. At least she had recovered from what they had been doing, and the sensation wasn't unpleasant, the feel of him gently caressing her there. His fingertip brushed against the place where he joined with her, and she closed her eyes. Relax. Relax.

"Shh," he murmured. "You don't have to move if you don't want to. I'll try to make it fast."

She shook her head, opening her eyes again. "Make it as long as you want," she told him. "It won't hurt me. I just want you to be happy."

She saw what he wanted to say, and she wished she could respond to him, to give him what he wanted. She had been trying that for months now. All she knew to do was to just let it go, to stop worrying about it. Maybe it would come; maybe it wouldn't.

He gently touched her between her legs again, breathing out in a sigh. "I love you," he murmured. "I love feeling you so sweet and tight and wet against me. I dream about you. I dream about giving you the same happiness you give me."

Tears pricked in her eyes and throat, but she smiled at him. "You already do," she whispered, knowing that it wasn't what he meant, knowing that it was so hard for him to understand.

He slowly let out his breath, then reached down and parted her legs wide. She swallowed against the lump of her tears. "Wrap your legs around me," he whispered, his voice low and husky.

She did as he asked, moving her legs one at a time, her heart skipping a beat again. She locked her ankles at the small of his back, and then brought her gaze up to look into his eyes. He was already looking into her face, and she shivered again at the look in his eyes. Lately he had seemed to want this to be quick—to limit his embarrassment and anxiety, she guessed. The fact that he was taking his time now... 

Relax. Relax.

He was looking into her eyes and she felt him gently touch her between her legs again, then rub his fingertip over the sensitive nub of flesh at the top of her sex, where he had been touching her before. Her body stiffened, and she made a soft noise.

"Now? Is this okay?"

She was too afraid to do anything. If she focused on it too hard, she knew she would lose it. "It's okay," she murmured. "Please..."

He moved and she felt him, just barely, just inside her. Her lashes fluttered down and he slid deep inside her, until all of his length was between her thighs. Then she remembered what he had said and opened her eyes again, needing to see his expression, to see what he wanted.

"It doesn't hurt?"

She shook her head. "It doesn't hurt," she murmured. "Did you want me to move with you?"

He gave her a small smile. "At the same time," he told her. "When I move toward you, move toward me. Okay?"

She nodded.

He didn't move his sex in hers, though. He just gazed down at her, and she searched his eyes. He gave her a slow, sweet kiss, and in the middle of it, he gently stroked that sensitive nub again.

Nancy gasped against his kiss, unsure of what to do. She knew what he was doing; of course he wanted to bring her to climax. It was what he had wanted for so long. It was what she had wanted for so long, too. She just didn't think it would ever happen for her.

Early on, when they had first been learning, she had considered... pretending, but not so obviously, not to fool him. If she mimicked what she had seen, if she gasped and moaned and writhed against him, maybe it would come to her. But she hadn't been able to bring herself to do it. Just the thought of it made her feel embarrassed and self-conscious.

The thought came to her again, but she and Ned had been so honest with each other tonight, and she didn't want to hurt him with what he would probably see as a lie... and it would be a lie. He would know, somehow. He would find out and he would be heartbroken.

So she decided to focus on him. She was usually passive when they were together this way; she stroked her tongue against his, rubbing her hand against his back. She couldn't remember the last time he had lingered inside her this way for this long, and she could feel that she had immediately tensed a little against him. He kept kissing her, and she flushed. She was so exposed to him, more than she ever had been before.

Then he broke the kiss, bracing himself, and she had to remind herself not to relax her legs and let them slip from around his waist. He moved back and she looked into his eyes. His own face was a little flushed, his lips wet and a little reddened from their kisses. He gave her a little nod and she nodded back at him, relieved that he wasn't rubbing his fingertips over her slick flesh anymore. Maybe he had just been hoping that it would stimulate her and make her slick and ready for him. She was pretty sure that it had.

The first time she tried, when she tried to move with him, she realized that it had to be complicated for him. All she had to do was just wait, relaxed and accepting him. He had to find that opening low between her legs and move the right way inside her, moving his hips and his body so he could work against her slick flesh. She tightened her legs' grip around his waist to help bring her hips up, and her inner flesh tightened too, without her meaning to.

Ned groaned quietly. "Yes," he murmured. "Mmm, like that..."

Encouraged, she did the same thing on his next stroke. His body was so warm, and she was flushing. Then he shifted, moving his hand between them again, and she tightened in a quick, anxious flinch. She could feel his breath against her cheek as his fingertip grazed her clit again.

She whimpered.

"Baby, do you want to be on top?" he gasped.

"No, please, stay like this..." She released a soft moan as he drew out of her, then thrust back inside her, and she moved with him as he did. His fingertip rubbed against her clit and she turned her head, her parted lips seeking his. It was so much. It was too much. She couldn't help it; she wanted to be falling asleep in his arms.

But this was for him, and it wasn't hurting her. She kept moving toward him as he moved toward her, clenching herself around his sex when he was fully inside her, relaxing as he moved back. They kissed and her hips jerked the next time he stroked her clit.

Please, oh, please...

"I love you," she whispered, and she was panting a little. His strokes were faster now, and she was concentrating on keeping up with his rhythm. "I love you..."

"I love you too," he gasped. "You feel so good... is it good?"

"Yeah," she told him, and though his grin warmed her, it also made her heart sink. It was good. It was good because he was enjoying it so much. Oh, she could feel a tension building low in her belly, but it was still mild, intangible as mist. "I'm sorry—did you—want me to be on top?"

"It's okay. Not—it's okay," he gasped, and she found that she was able to just move with him, that it wasn't taking as much concentration. She was just so anxious. She didn't want to screw up or disappoint him.

He brushed against her clit again and she moaned softly. "Ned," she whispered.

"Yeah," he replied. "It feels so good, honey. So, so fucking good..."

"Good." Her inner flesh pulsed once against his sex, and she felt that tension begin to dissipate. She wasn't surprised; she wasn't disappointed. It had been better for her than it usually was. She was proud of him for trying. "Baby... you can stop," she whispered. "It was good. You can come."

He took the hint and shifted, propping up his weight with both hands and gazing into her eyes as he moved inside her. She kept moving with him, although her arousal had faded to a soft, subtle hum. She felt the same way she usually did, when they were having sex: the sight of his obvious desire and pleasure warmed her, and she couldn't help anticipating what would come after, his tenderness and love.

He moved deep inside her and released a hoarse cry, and she knew he was spending himself, that he had never done this with anyone else. That he loved her and desired her so much that he left a part of himself inside her when they made love. When he relaxed against her, his weight pinning her down, her body still wrapped around his, she embraced him and sniffled as the lump of tears in her throat rose again. He was in her arms, where he belonged.

"I love you," she whispered. "Oh my God. I love you so much."

"I love you too," he murmured. His voice was muffled and soft. "I love you so much, Nan."

--

He wanted to feel disappointed. A part of him did feel bitterly disappointed. But she was so happy; it was undeniable. She glowed with it now.

Nancy looked beautiful. He was stroking her reddish gold hair, and though her eyes were closed and her breathing was even, she hadn't yet relaxed into sleep—but she had relaxed against him. A faint smile curved her lips. She was completely naked, and her cheeks were still a little pink. Her skin was warm against his.

He had tried, but she hadn't come.

He closed his eyes and kissed the crown of her head, let his lips linger there. There had to be a way, and he would find it. Some trick in a book or a magazine that he had overlooked or not had the courage to try. Something he could do.

Her fingertips brushed against his shoulder blades, and she kissed the base of his throat. It was just a soft touch of her lips against his skin. She didn't arch against him, rub herself against him, or do anything else to make him aroused, not now.

But he did love her, and he did want her, so much. He had failed to give her what she had given him, what she gave him every time they were together.

When I’m in your arms, I feel so safe and loved. I think maybe that’s how it feels to you when you’re inside me.

He opened his eyes. She wasn't clinging to him, but she was definitely embracing him. She seemed relaxed, content, sated. Like everything was right, for her.

A small part of him envied her that. He could hold her like this all night; he could hold her like this every night for the rest of their lives. She savored being so close to him. She couldn't be happier. And he could give her this almost effortlessly.

So could any man.

Not that he thought she would ever be like this with anyone else. For all her investigating and finding out about other people, Nancy usually kept quiet, kept things to herself until circumstances or necessity brought them out. He remembered when she had been awkward about holding hands, early in their relationship—and he remembered just as vividly the brightness in her eyes, the faint blush of pleasure, after the first warm embrace they shared.

Because he was showing her love.

For so long, to him, the ultimate act of love had meant one thing and one thing only: sex. Couples who were in love with each other had sex, passionate pleasurable sex ending in loud obvious orgasms. Couples who weren't in love had brief, unsatisfying sex that was endured like a chore, if they had it at all.

A man who loves his wife holds her and strokes her hair and tells her that he loves her while she holds him too.

And that was true too; he couldn't deny it. She did so much for him, and he for her, just because they loved each other.

Of course he brought flowers home to her just for the joy of seeing her smile in gratitude. Of course he did things that were only for her pleasure. He knew that she didn't enjoy watching sports recaps, but she didn't protest when he wanted to watch them. He generally didn't enjoy shopping, but if she asked, he would go with her.

He just hated thinking of this the same way. To him, it meant he was a failure. To be unable to please his own wife in bed, especially after months of trying to learn how...

As much as she protested, Ned was sure the fault had to lie with him. He wasn't experienced enough or skillful enough. First, though, he needed to learn how to pleasure her when he wasn't inside her. With his fingers, with his kisses...

Stop, please.

The memory of that made him wince, too. He felt ashamed of himself, and angry. It should be easier than this, somehow. He believed with every beat of his heart that he and Nancy were meant to be together, but that apparently hadn't meant they would be compatible in bed. It was colossally unfair.

It was sex. Why didn't he just instinctually understand what to do? Why was this so damn hard?

"Shh," Nancy whispered, and Ned realized that she had moved back a little, still embracing him, and was looking into his face. "Please stop beating yourself up about this, okay? Please?"

He searched her eyes for a beat before relaxing and giving her a small smile. "Do you feel okay right now?"

"Of course I do. I love being with you like this."

Ned had to work up the courage for the next question. "You asked me to stop, earlier," he said quietly. "Was I—did it hurt?"

He saw the shift in her gaze, and his heart sank when she shook her head. "It didn't, not like what you're thinking," she told him, searching his eyes. "I mean it. I don't know how to explain it." She made a quiet frustrated sound. "If I could make it... if I knew how to make it happen, I would. For you."

He wanted to protest, but the anxiety he saw in her expression made him bite his tongue. Instead he cupped her cheek, gently stroking it with his thumb, before he urged her back against him. "I'd do the same thing for you," he murmured. "I will. I'll do my best to."

She draped her arm over him again, her fingertips idly stroking against his back. "I love you," she whispered. "Because it matters so much to you that I'm happy. Just don't let this... don't let it swallow everything, okay?"

"I won't."

"Good." She kissed his chest again. "Ned, I have everything I want. I'm not lying or just trying to make you feel better. I'm so happy to share my life with you."

"I feel the same way," he murmured. "And I'm glad I can give you something you want."

"You give me everything." Her voice was soft. "Everything."

The first time Ned shared his bed with Nancy, he just held her all night, his heart light with joy and his awareness of her proximity. She was innocent, even more than he was, and he knew that. He didn't want to scare her or hurt her, and he was anxious too. He wanted every second they spent together, especially like this, to be perfect for her. He wanted everything to be just right.

They spent so many nights together, and he loved being close to her. He loved the scent of her shampoo, the texture of her skin under his lips, the gentle weight of her as she relaxed or cuddled against him. He wanted to experience everything with her, every possible intimacy, everything he had ever known or wanted to know as love. They shared secrets and wishes and dreams; they stroked and caressed and nuzzled against each other, stealing kisses, and every day, though his love for her felt infinite, he somehow fell more and more in love with her.

He never imagined being with anyone else. He never wanted to be with anyone else. It was like they had clicked, they fit together so perfectly, and he had never known loneliness before her—because he hadn't known, then, that his life was incomplete. He had been lucky enough to meet the other half of himself, and he never wanted to let her go. When he realized that he couldn't wait anymore, that he needed to share his life with her, he spent the next days in agony, terrified she would turn him down, sick with joy at the thought of her agreeing to marry him.

He had no words for how much he loved her, or how much he wanted her. He dreamed of her every night and imagined it every day. He dreamed of her body wrapped around his, of finding the sweet slick warmth between her thighs, and feeling her shudder against him in response. It would be the perfect expression of their desire for each other. When they grew close, when she whimpered and moved restlessly against him as he stroked against her, it felt like it was more than possible. It felt inevitable, like giving in to an inexorable pull, like letting go.

Their wedding day was the happiest day of Ned's life. He felt such joy, such pure love for her that he had no words for it. When he saw her in her long white gown, a long lace and tulle veil pinned to her hair, his heart almost broke with love for her, especially when she gave him that small, special smile and the rose and lily bouquet moved with the nervous shift of her hands. She was the most beautiful woman in the entire world, and he would be able to wake up beside her every morning and sleep beside her every night. He would be sharing his life with his best friend, and he couldn't imagine anything better.

That night, Ned was as nervous as he had ever been. He kept touching the new, unfamiliar band circling his left ring finger, but the thought of his new wife waiting for him, that they would finally be having sex... He ran his fingers through his hair, scrutinizing his reflection for anything amiss, doing his best to relax. He had been so incredibly turned on ever since they had been alone in the car together to come here, since the kiss they had shared in the front seat, begun in laughter and ending with breathless, speechless longing.

Did she feel the same way he did? Ned felt like he was about to come out of his skin. He was so afraid that he wouldn't do this right. He didn't want her to be disappointed. He wanted her to be happier than she had ever been.

When he walked out of the bathroom, she was seated on the side of the bed wearing a silky cream-colored nightgown, and she was blushing. Her blush deepened when she glanced up at him, and she gave him a tentative smile. She was nervous too.

Of course she was. And he had lost his mind. Of course tonight they would only be learning about what it was like to have sex; it might be awkward or painful for her, and he needed to take his time, make sure she was okay with what they were doing. He probably wouldn't be able to bring her to climax. He had only been able to do it a few times before, and he just wasn't sure how to guarantee it. Else he always would have. Seeing her come, seeing her overwhelmed with pleasure, made him feel sexy and powerful and proud of himself, and almost protective of her, seeing her so vulnerable. The fact that he had ever been able to manage it made him hope he might be able to figure it out soon.

When he approached her, she stood and smiled at him. He reached for her, sliding his arms around her waist, and she draped hers over his shoulders, her fingertips brushing against the nape of his neck.

"Mrs. Nickerson," he murmured, gazing into her eyes.

Her smile became a grin. "It still feels like it's your mom's name," she admitted, and then giggled. "I know I'll get used to it. My husband."

He grinned at her too. "And I'll get used to that, too... wife."

"Say it again," she whispered, searching his eyes.

"My wife," he murmured, and leaned down to brush his lips against hers. "My sweet, beautiful wife. I love you so much."

"I love you too," she told him, her deep blue eyes wide with sincerity. "Today has been the best day..."

He nodded. "I almost can't believe it," he told her. "I feel like I'm dreaming."

She kissed his cheek, then sat down on the bed again. He saw her throat constrict as she swallowed, gazing up at him. "Me too," she whispered. "Can you hold me?"

He nodded, his heart beating faster. He turned off the lights and joined her in bed, reaching for her, and she moved into his arms just the way she always had. She was shaking, and Ned was too, faintly. He wished he knew the best way to do this.

He held her until his curiosity and his desperate hunger for her won out, and then he reached for her. She was pliant and submissive as he caressed her, obedient when he began to slide her nightgown up, allowing him to take it off her. Her panties soon followed, and once she was naked, she looked up at him, desire and anxiety in her eyes. He parted her legs and moved between them, feeling just as anxious as she looked. He had to do this right, or as close to right as he could. He just had to.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, searching his eyes. "Yeah," she whispered. Slowly, almost tentatively, she reached up and traced the backs of her fingers along the line of his smooth jaw. "I'm okay."

He did his best to keep his voice steady as he murmured, "Do you want this, Nan? Do you want me?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too, baby. I... I'll try..."

She gave him a small smile when he trailed off. "It's okay," she whispered. "It's going to be okay. Can you...?"

For the first time, he rested his naked body against hers, responding to the small gesture she had made. Her skin was so warm and smooth, and the smell of her, the sophisticated perfume she had put on for their wedding, her shampoo... oh God. He could put his hands on her, stroke her and caress her, without feeling guilty, without needing to pull back unless she asked him to. She made a quiet noise when Ned shifted against her, and he nuzzled against her neck, feeling even more aroused when his erection came into contact with her bare thigh.

He had been dreaming about this, consumed by the thought of this, for so long that he didn't know what to do. He had to keep it slow. Had to.

He slid his hand down and stroked his fingertips between her thighs, caressed her, searching for the place where they would join. When he found it, he groaned, and his heart was beating so hard. He parted her legs wider and she didn't protest. He could feel her hand against his back, but she wasn't doing anything else, just following his lead. Her breath ruffled against his hair.

Did she feel the same way he did? He was burning up, shaking with desire for her. He was desperate to be inside her. As long as it didn't hurt her...

She wrapped her other arm around him as he fitted the tip of his cock just inside her, feeling how tight and slick she was. He had brought lube, but it didn't even cross his mind, especially not once he was in contact with her. She felt so, so incredibly good around him. "Nan," he gasped. "Baby..."

She moaned softly, then gasped in a sharp breath as he began to work inside her. He had to concentrate so hard to stop moving in her, but he managed it, moving to look into her face as he held still. "Honey?"

Her eyes were closed, but when he spoke to her, her lashes fluttered up. A pair of tears slipped out of her eyes and traced down to the pillow under her head. "Hey," she whispered. "It's okay..."

"Are you sure?" If she wanted him to stop, he would, immediately. "I can slow down, or we can stop if you need to..."

She shook her head. "It's okay," she whispered again. "Please..."

He searched her face, but he couldn't help himself. He moved slightly and felt her slick inner flesh, and kept pushing inside her, until his full length was between her legs. This was how they had been made, to join this way, and it felt incredible, unbelievably good. He had wanted this for so long, and to finally experience this with her was almost overwhelming. 

She gasped again, more quietly. He could feel the tension in her, and he didn't know what to do, how to make this easier for her. He had wanted to take it slow, but he hadn't. He had been so focused on how good it felt for him.

Oh, oh God, if he had hurt her...

He whispered her name, looking down at her. His heart was beating so hard. She brought her gaze up and looked into his eyes, and her own were shining. "I love you," she whispered.

He relaxed slightly. She wasn't sobbing or telling him to stop. "I love you too," he told her. "This feels so good, baby. You feel so good. Are you okay?"

She took a breath. "Yeah," she whispered. Then she gave him a small smile. "You like it?"

He nodded hard. "Can I move? Would that be okay?"

"Okay," she murmured.

She didn't move, not to meet him or to push him away, when he moved out of her, then back inside her. Feeling the pressure, the texture, the slick warmth against his cock... oh, oh God. He found an angle that felt really, really good for him, allowing him to move easily; she let him part her legs more widely, to bring her knees up, and she was studying his face. Her own was flushed, and it made her blue eyes even brighter.

Ned could feel that he was flushed, too. A part of him couldn't even really comprehend that this was finally happening. He just hoped it felt good for her. He understood, vaguely, that men who were good lovers would do this for a long time, but she wasn't reacting the way he had expected her to, and he hated the idea that it might be uncomfortable or painful for her. Maybe she just wasn't used to it yet. Maybe it would just take a while for him to figure it out.

He looked down at her, trying to figure out what she was feeling without embarrassing either of them by asking. He saw the momentary tightening in her face, the way she gasped in a breath, every time he moved inside her, and slowed down. Maybe he was being too rough, or too fast. "Are you okay?" he asked her again, when he couldn't hold back anymore.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Is it okay?"

He nodded. "I'm sorry," he told her. "Nan..."

He moved deep inside her, trying to be gentle, and shuddered, releasing a hoarse cry as he reached his climax. He heard her make a quiet sound under him, something like a whimper, and he relaxed his weight onto her. She wrapped her arms around him and he sighed in relief. She wasn't pushing him away or telling him to get off her. Instead she stroked his back, and he felt her breathe under him, felt her warm damp skin, felt her fingers toy with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He had finally had sex for the first time, and it had been amazing. Nancy was his wife and they had just had sex, after waiting for so long.

The guys he knew who understood what tonight meant to him, had told Ned it was just the beginning, that things would get better for both of them. Of course when they had all been together, it had all been teasing and jokes about how he'd be breaking her in, showing her a good time... but when they had been alone, more than a little drunk, that was when most of the posturing had stopped. 

Ned was almost embarrassed by how glad he was that Nancy hadn't been upset when he made love to her. From the hesitations, the pauses, the bragging, some of the cautious research he had done, he had thought that would be a distinct possibility. Maybe she had just been too overwhelmed, too surprised by it all, to respond much.

He moved to look into her face, although most of him was still in contact with her, and he was—somehow, incredibly—still inside her. She slowly opened her eyes, her lashes dark, and gave him a small smile.

"Oh, let me..." He moved out of her, but he noticed the wince of something a little less than pain as it crossed her face. "Sorry. I'm sorry. You okay?"

She nodded, reaching for him again, drawing him down so he was resting against her. "Yes," she whispered. "Hold me, please?"

He rolled onto his side and wrapped her securely in his arms, relishing the novelty of her bare skin against his. She nestled against him easily, and her knee slid between his.

She wasn't pushing him away. She still wanted to be near him. His heart glowed with love for her.

He kissed the crown of her head. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," she whispered, and pressed a soft kiss against his skin.

--

It was strange. When he and Nancy had talked, when she had told him that she didn't enjoy sex but she still wanted to be with him... it was as though they were starting over, somehow. It felt a little exciting and a little frightening. He had come to know her body, the softness of her skin and her curves, the beat of her heart. Sometimes they could finish each other's sentences, and that had always given him a frisson of delight. He would have sworn that they couldn't have been closer, especially since their wedding day.

Now it felt almost as though he hadn't known or understood at all, and that was a little heartbreaking. He had berated himself for not recognizing it earlier. Despite her explanations and her assurances that this wasn't Ned's fault, that this was some problem or fault in her, he still didn't really believe it. He just had to figure it out, if she was willing to let him try. He wasn't sure if she would be.

But when he walked in with his suitcase, she was in the kitchen, wearing an apron, finishing up on their dinner. It was like the night in the hotel hadn't happened, like he had dreamed it. For a second, he wondered if he had dreamed it.

"I'm home."

She came to the kitchen doorway. Her apron was a plain utilitarian blue, and she gave him a wide, genuine smile. The expression in her eyes shifted slightly when she saw the bouquet in his other hand, and her smile became more intimate. They had created a new memory together, a new symbol in the shorthand of their lives, and for a second he felt a strong echo of the same nervousness and joy he had when they had first started dating. He had wanted to learn, to know, everything about her. He felt that again.

"Dinner's almost done," she told him, coming toward him. She was barefoot; her toenails were painted silver. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed the side of his neck. He bent down and pressed his lips against hers in return.

"You're so sweet. Thank you, honey," she murmured, accepting the flowers when he handed them to her. "I'll put them on the table. Take your shoes off and get settled."

He patted her hip and she smiled at him again before she moved away, and he was struck by a sudden thought that made his face pale slightly, his smile fading. He needed to ask her if she was okay with him touching her that way...

God, he had always thought, he had always assumed. She had always seemed to like it. But she also had never admitted to him before that she didn't enjoy sex, and that had been happening for six months now.

He took his suitcase to their bedroom, already absently unbuttoning his shirt, deep in thought. The room was a little claustrophobic with their queen-sized bed in it, but they spent most of their time together in the living room anyway. Their bed was spread with an old comforter from his parents' house, the pattern an abstract geometric in shades of blue and navy. The small closet was full of their clothes; they had swapped their summer wardrobes for winter.

They were building a life together, learning how it was to live with each other. Sitting beside her on the couch while they folded clothes together—he was still a little amazed to see her underwear and his, so casually tossed together. He still stopped, his breath catching, when she came out of the bathroom after a shower in just her bra and panties. She had to know what he was thinking, when he saw her that way. She was his wife. He desired her, and he had never desired any other woman. He knew that she was the love of his life.

He didn't want to feel hurt that she didn't share his feelings. The shock of it had become a faint ache, but it was still there. It was just one aspect of their life together, and what they had worked, it did. It made him both warmly proud and fiercely protective. He could never imagine living without her now.

He came back to the main room of their apartment in a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt, sniffing the air appreciatively. Tomato sauce, ground beef, something else. Nancy was just taking off her quilted oven mitts. Steam rose from a dish full of oversized stuffed pasta shells, topped with sauce and melted cheese. Then he saw his favorite, thick slabs of crusty bread topped with butter and garlic-dusted cheese.

"Mmm. That looks perfect, babe. Exactly what I didn't know I wanted."

Before, he would have come up to her, wrapped his arms around her from behind so that her back was against his chest. Instead he stepped beside her and she looked up at him, beaming a little.

"I hope it tastes good."

"I know it will," he assured her. Nancy was good at practically everything she tried, and though she teased him that he must not be that discriminating, he loved almost everything she cooked or baked for him.

She liked it when he held her. He still felt that odd hesitance, though. Sometimes when he held her from behind, he'd start to feel turned on, and he didn't want to make her uncomfortable.

"I was..."

She glanced up at him, reaching for a pair of plates in the upper cabinet. 

"Here, let me do that," he told her, and took the plates. "You made dinner. The least I can do is set the table."

"And help clean up the dishes after," she told him, but she was smiling.

"That too."

He hated that he felt nervous about touching her now, but it was reassuring when she asked for it. They needed to talk about it. They needed to pick up the threads of that conversation again.

Over dinner, though, their conversation turned to a discussion of the recent political scandal that had been all over the news. A state representative had been accused of taking bribes, and had been outspoken in his cries of innocence; that morning, a witness had come forward. The evidence looked damning, but Nancy had learned law at her father's knee. She had even discussed the case with him over lunch a few days earlier. She told him her father's ideas, and some of her own, a definite gleam of interest and intelligence in her eyes.

This was familiar, the quick rhythm of their conversation, the way they connected ideas and played off each other. It gave him an undeniable rush, and when he took advantage of a lull in the conversation to tell her that the meal was fantastic, she blushed a little and ducked her head, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Thanks, babe."

When he felt the impulse to reach over and touch her hand, he didn't question it. Her skin was warm and smooth under his fingertips. Unbidden, he imagined her in that sweet white nightgown again, asking him to make love to her, and wondered if she might do that again tonight, to make up for the time. Just the thought of it filled him with an almost intoxicating desire for her.

"You should be proud of it," he told her. "I wish I could cook half as well as you do."

She shook her head. "I can't wait until it's warm so we can grill out again," she told him. "Hot dogs and those baked beans your mom makes, potato salad... I loved what we did on Labor Day."

"That was the beer talking."

She shook her head again, her blue eyes glowing and sincere. "You're a great guy," she told him.

"And you're an incredible woman," he told her.

She gave him a cheeky grin. "You're just saying that because you saw the pan of brownies," she teased him.

Ned turned his thousand-watt grin on her. "You know what I like, babe."

Her grin stayed in place, but he saw the almost imperceptible shift before she looked back down at her plate. He hadn't meant it that way, and she had to know that.

He slid his hand under hers and clasped it gently. "You do," he said, more quietly. "I love you, sweetheart. To the moon and back. No matter what."

She nodded slightly. "I love you too," she murmured. "With all my heart."

They eased back into their conversation, lingering at the table even after they had finished eating. "Oh my God, I saw that thing you were talking about," Ned said suddenly. "The solo cups painted to look like little traffic cones?"

Nancy clapped her hands, grinning. "Did you get a picture?"

Ned shook his head. "I will next time. It's crazy." Then he glanced over at the counter. "I'll help you load the dishwasher, and then maybe brownies on the couch?"

She smiled. "Okay, although I think you'll regret that offer. I think I used every pan in the kitchen when I was making dinner."

She sanitized the sink and Ned scrubbed out the pans that wouldn't fit or couldn't go in the dishwasher, while Nancy repackaged the leftovers and loaded everything else to be washed. She glanced over at him, a few locks of hair pulled free from her ponytail, her blue eyes clear and bright as she smiled, and Ned wrapped his arm around her, his hands still damp and soft from doing the washing, and dropped a kiss on her head.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be than here tonight with you," he told her.

She took a breath and then she was pressed against him, her arms around him, and he embraced her too. "I love you," she whispered. "I missed you so much when you were gone. I missed this."

Just before their wedding, after he and Nancy had been talking about their hopes and fears, she had told him that she was worried she wouldn't make a good wife. So he had told her, he had shown her, what his parents had taught him. So many times, he had come into the kitchen to find them together: his father sampling something his mother was making; the two of them dancing to an old song on the radio; their hands joined as they lingered over coffee at the breakfast bar. So much of it involved comfort, touch, reassurance and love. Ned had known they were passionate about each other, that they loved each other wholeheartedly.

He knew about love and support and tenderness and friendship from watching his parents. Oh, he had seen them share kisses, generally platonic ones, and they had been willing to answer his questions about sex, but most of his understanding of sex had come from other sources. What he knew of marriage and love was from his parents, and that... that, he and Nancy did well. Working together on the dishes, those tender gestures, bringing her coffee in the morning and packing her lunch when he knew she had a busy day planned—he had learned all that from his parents. Before they had been engaged, he had been treating her that way, loving her that way, happy that she had loved him too.

And she thought she was a bad wife. Her only fault was letting her fear of disappointing him keep her from telling him her own feelings.

"I missed this too," he told her. "This is my home. Being in your arms is my home. Come on, time for brownies and cuddling."

She kissed his neck. "In that order, huh," she murmured, and he could hear the faint smile in her voice.

He turned his head and kissed her, then kissed her again, backing her up against the counter. She went willingly; she stroked her fingers through his hair, returning his kiss. That soft hum of awareness and attraction between them was growing more intense, and Ned broke the kiss with a soft pop, his heart pounding, before things went too far. He needed her to say she was okay with it, that she wanted it, before he'd take it any further.

"I'm okay with an adjustment in the itinerary," he murmured, searching her eyes. Her lips were beestung from their kiss, her eyes glowing. He could feel her breath against his skin.

She brushed her fingertips against his jaw, then glanced down. "I made them with peanut butter chips. I hope you like them."

As they finished cleaning up the kitchen and took their brownies to the couch to eat, Ned considered. Maybe she just wasn't used to flirting with that kind of stakes. Maybe she wasn't in the mood. Maybe she just needed time.

The brownies were great, just as Ned had known they would be, and they relaxed on the couch with his arm draped over her shoulders. He made a show of finishing off even the crumbs, telling her that she was an incredible baker and cook and everything else, and kissed her cheek when she giggled and protested. They ended up lying down on the couch, their bodies spooned together, his arm draped over her and his knees tucked up behind hers as they watched TV. It was close, too close, especially when that tension was still humming just under his skin. But her hand was resting over his and there was no way, no way at all, that he would move away from her.

She shifted slightly when a commercial came on, and Ned focused on keeping himself calm. "I'm getting tired," she admitted, and patted his hand. "Cuddling in bed?"

He kissed the top of her head in answer, and she sat up slowly, then turned to give him a smile. "I'm so glad you're home," she murmured.

"I'll be right there."

He took the opportunity to splash some cold water on his face, reminding himself of everything she had told him and everything he had decided he would—or wouldn't—do. If she just wanted to cuddle with him, he would give her that. If she allowed him, he would try... 

He turned off the lights and the television, and went into their bedroom. The bedside lamp was on, the covers turned down, but Nancy wasn't there. He could hear water running in the bathroom, though.

She came out of the bathroom when Ned was stripped down to his boxers, despite the cold, and Ned looked up to see her standing in the doorway. Her gaze was down.

Ned couldn't take his eyes off her, though. She was wearing another short nightgown, a different one. It was a pale blue, modestly cut, falling to mid-thigh.

"Bess threw me a lingerie shower." Her voice was quiet. She was peering at him through her lashes, her head still mostly down "They gave me... all sorts of things. I only kept a few. I... I don't know why," she said, but Ned had a feeling he knew. "Do you... like this one?"

He nodded slowly. "You look so beautiful, Nan. I love it. I love the other one too, but this... it makes me think of that blue dress you wear that I love." She smiled at him as she crossed to him, and he realized he was babbling. "Can I tell you something?"

She nodded, looking into his eyes.

"I'm nervous," he admitted, and brought his hand up, catching the hem of her dress between his fingers and rubbing against the silky fabric.

Her smile was just the faint curve of her lips now, but it reached her eyes. "Me too," she murmured. "Because this says that I want to have sex. Doesn't it?"

He nodded.

She released a long breath. "Do you?"

He nodded again, even more firmly. "Definitely. I just... I want you to enjoy it too."

Her smile faded a little, and she cupped his face in her hands, gently stroking her thumbs against his cheeks. "I will," she murmured. "Because my husband, the man I love more than anyone else in this world, will be loving me. Okay?"

Once he nodded, she moved into the bed and Ned went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. He needed to find a way to help her relax. But when he came back to her, when he saw the expression on her face, he only wanted to comfort her.

She moved into his arms easily, willingly. He closed his eyes and held her, feeling the warmth of her skin under the gown, the way her breasts pressed against him. He had made love to her countless times, but he felt the same nervousness he had on their wedding night, the same nervousness he had felt when she had come to him during his trip. It was easier to be like this. To just hold her and feel how much she loved him.

She loved him so much that she would give him this, just because it pleased her to give him pleasure. The enormity of it was enough to make Ned's eyes prick with tears. He didn't understand why she didn't enjoy it the way he did, and he was having trouble separating the idea from the thought of it hurting her somehow, but... his sweet, shy wife had put on a silky nightgown for him, even though it made her nervous. She was making an effort for him. He wanted to do the same for her.

It felt impossible to move his arm, to do anything other than continue to gently stroke her back. Then he managed to guide his hand up, to brush his fingertips against her spine, against bare skin. She shivered once, gently. "Is it that you need to relax?" he said softly, almost to himself.

She shivered again. "I don't know," she whispered. She seemed to burrow her head against him, and he felt suddenly ashamed of himself. It was as though he had hurt her, scared her, made the thought of sex upsetting to her, and he didn't know what to do to fix it. She had assured him over and over that it was nothing he had done, but he wasn't sure how to make himself believe that.

Her lips brushed against his neck, and she planted a soft kiss there. "What do you want me to do?" she whispered, and his erection throbbed with need at the soft promise in her voice. "I can touch you again..."

He growled quietly, deep in his throat. There was no way for him to make her feel good while she was giving him a hand job; he didn't have the focus, and the sensation was so overwhelmingly intense and new for him that he couldn't pay attention to her in other ways. "No," he murmured. "It was incredible, babe, but I want you to feel good too."

She made a quiet frustrated sound, and moved to look into his eyes. "It's not like that for me," she said. "I wish... I'm sorry. I don't know how to make you see."

He cupped her cheek in his palm. "I have to try," he told her apologetically. "I'm sorry, Nan. We've managed to do it a few times...?"

She nodded, her gaze dropping, the color rising faintly in her cheeks.

"And I won't put my finger inside you. Okay?"

Her chin dropped a little more. Her cheeks were glowing red. "Will you make love to me? Even if it... doesn't happen?" she whispered.

"If that's what you want." She sighed, relaxing a little. "So, other than—that, no penetrating... what else makes it feel good or bad?"

She was quiet for a moment, considering, her face against his chest again. "If your finger's dry it doesn't feel good," she murmured.

"So we—I can use lube," he suggested.

"Yeah." She shifted. "Um... when you... when you touch my breasts too. At the same time you're... doing that."

"That's good?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Honey?" He waited until she looked into his eyes again. She was still flushing some, but it was fading. "Can I watch you touch yourself?"

When she realized what he meant, she flushed scarlet again and sat up, moving away from him. She opened her mouth and closed it again without speaking, and Ned scrambled up too, horrified that he had upset her, his pleading gaze locked to her face. "Baby—"

"I..." She choked and sniffled, her arms crossed protectively over her. "How could you..."

He shook his head hard. "I just... I thought it would help. So I could see what to do. I swear to God, I didn't mean to make you upset," he said rapidly. "I'm sorry. It's okay. I'm sorry."

She looked down and took a deep breath, sniffling a few times. "I don't do that," she said, and he could hear the soft waver in her voice, from the ache of tears caught in her throat. "I... you want me to do that?"

Her eyes were gleaming and she looked so upset when she brought her head back up that he immediately shook his head. "No, baby. Not if it upsets you. I'm sorry," he said, moving toward her. "I just thought it would help me know what to do. That's all."

She swallowed. "I don't like it," she whispered, so quietly he had to strain to hear her, over the roar of the silence and his own heartbeat. "I didn't like it... it made me feel embarrassed and... strange. When you... touched me and it... happened. I thought it would be better if it was while we were... having sex. But I don't know how it works, and I... it's something for you." She made a quiet frustrated sound and looked into his eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I thought... you said you liked it? So you don't?" Ned's heart was sinking.

And then she paused, thinking, and his heart sank even further. "At first I didn't like it," she said. "I don't know how to explain it. I don't know how it feels for you. For me it... I feel like I'm out of control, and I don't know what to do. I start feeling self-conscious and worried that I'm doing something wrong, and sometimes that makes me... that makes it stop feeling good. And sometimes I can just focus on it and let everything else go..."

"And that's when you come," he filled in, when she trailed off. She nodded. "And those times, it's good?"

"Yeah," she whispered. "It's good and it's strange and I feel embarrassed and excited and..." She shrugged, her face still flushed.

"So you need to relax," he said slowly. "I mean... I feel self-conscious too, and I'm anxious that I won't make you happy or that you won't enjoy it, but, I mean, I touch myself. I know what I like and that makes it easier when we're having sex."

She looked down again, and he touched her hand. "Does that upset you? That I do that?"

She looked up at him again and shook her head. "I've always been jealous that it's easy for you," she admitted. "You—you get hard and touch... something and then you come. It's not like that for me." A tear streaked down her flushed cheek, and she sniffled.

"Well, if the thought of touching yourself upsets you... is there any other way I can make you less self-conscious about it? Because I think it's beautiful when you come. I love to see it. I'm not... I won't do anything you don't want, when we're together that way. I'm just hoping that if I can figure out how to do it with my fingers, I might be able to do it while we're making love."

She looked down. "Yeah," she whispered.

He took her hand in his and stroked his thumb against the back of it. She took another deep breath and brought her chin up again, straightened her spine. He hated that it upset her so much to talk about this. He hoped it would be worth it, later.

"Do you have any ideas?" she said, keeping her voice even and looking into his face.

He reversed his hand and laced his fingers between hers. "That we stop thinking about it," he suggested. "We can take our clothes off and get under the covers and just talk. About anything or nothing."

She gave him a short nod, then reached for the hem of her nightgown and began to pull it up. He watched her strip her panties off too and slide under the covers. She had never really seemed to have a problem with this part. He generally didn't either.

"So," he said, moving into the bed beside her, naked too. "Do you know what I love about you?"

"The fact that I'm naked and in bed with you?"

"I do love that," he confirmed, and reached for her. She rested her head against his shoulder, on her side so the front of her body was pressed against the side of his. "I love everything about you, though."

She smiled. "That's sweet. A lie, but sweet."

He gave her a mock affronted look. "It's not a lie."

"There are things about me that annoy you," she said.

Ned laughed. "I thought we were trying to do the opposite of starting a fight," he said.

"I guess," she said. "Sorry. What do you want to talk about?"

Now that she had introduced the idea, even though Ned knew he shouldn't, he couldn't resist the urge to ask. "What do I do that annoys you?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Definitely, now."

She let out her breath in a little sigh. "You leave just a sip in the milk carton," she said. "So I don't know it's almost finished and then I don't have any for my cereal. You leave trash on the counter beside the trash can, instead of in it. And I have no idea how your toenail clippings end up all over the bathroom like they do."

"Because they kind of fly off and I don't know where they go," he said. "Anything else?"

"I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you mad."

"You didn't?"

She moved and looked into his eyes. "I love living with you. I love being with you. I'm just not used to living with anyone other than Dad and Hannah. And sometimes I feel like I'm doing everything wrong. Like... this."

He searched her gaze. "Do you want to know what I love about you?" he repeated, more quietly.

She nodded, relaxing against him again but still holding his gaze.

"I love how beautiful you are. And you are incredibly beautiful. I love the way you bite your lip when you're trying to pick a pair of shoes or decide what book to read next. I love that little sigh you make when you've just washed your face and you smile at yourself in the mirror.

"I mean, there are days you drive me crazy. Yeah, sometimes I do those things you said, but you leave paper towels all over the counter in the kitchen, and you never put the lid back on your multivitamins right, and you leave toothpaste smears in the sink."

Nancy opened her mouth to protest, and Ned touched his fingertip to her lip. "But none of that means I don't love you. I do, with all my heart. I get to sleep beside my best friend in the entire world. The woman who loves me is strong and so brave, and so gorgeous. You're all I want, all I've ever wanted. Okay?"

She nodded. "And the man I love is my best friend in the world," she murmured. "You're so handsome and so funny and so sweet, and when I'm in your arms I feel like nothing could hurt us. Except me."

He touched her lower lip. "For as long as I know you love me, we'll find a way through this," he said. "I'm sorry. I just... I always had this image in my head of how it was supposed to be..."

"Me too," she admitted. Then she gave him a sad smile. "It's supposed to be better, isn't it? To not get what you were expecting, but more? And I have so much with you. So much more than I ever dreamed. It's just this... and..."

He moved and drew her to him, and they kissed slowly, and he stroked her hair. "And nothing," he whispered against her lips. "And even this, we'll figure out."

She gave him that same small smile. "I just don't know how," she whispered.

"I think maybe that picture we have in our heads, it'll change," he told her. "You aren't your father and I'm not my parents. I think we're just as happy as they are, but we'll find that happiness a different way."

She searched his eyes, and he could sense that she wanted to say something, but she remained silent.

"What is it?" he murmured.

She closed her eyes in a long blink, then opened them again, clearly hoping he would move on to something else before she answered. "When you... when we were together at the hotel. When you kissed my belly... I thought about how it would be, to have our baby. How I'd look forward to... making love, if it meant that."

He stroked his fingertips down her cheek. "And I'd look forward to it, too," he murmured. "I thought we..."

"Oh! I don't mean now. I know. We're going to wait a while. I'm not asking you to change your mind..."

He shrugged a little. "But if you change your mind we can talk about it," he reassured her. "If that would make you enjoy it more..."

She reached up and stroked his cheek. "I don't think that would have anything to do with making... that thing you want, happen," she murmured, and that flush rose in her cheeks again.

His lips quirked up in a quick smile. "Did you like it when I kissed your belly?"

She nodded. "It was nice," she whispered. "Do you want me to kiss your belly?"

He was already aroused; her words fanned the smoldering embers to flame. "Maybe later," he managed. "I've never... do you want me to do that again? Maybe more than that?"

"More?"

"I could... help you relax," he murmured, his lips brushing her earlobe. His hand slid down until he was cupping her ass. "I'll be really gentle. I can kiss and nuzzle against you, between your legs. Maybe even use my tongue, if you want that."

She shivered. "I don't know," she whispered. "Do you really want that? To do that?"

"If it'll help you, if it feels good to you. I love every single gorgeous inch of you. I'd love to taste you."

She made a soft sound that sounded almost like a whimper. "Am I... is that something I'm supposed to want?" she whispered. "Is that something you want? For me to do with you?"

Ned shivered. God, just the briefest thought of it... "I know that you and I haven't had a lot of experience," he murmured. "Some other women enjoy it. If you do something like that with me, if you're the one kissing me... baby, I'll probably lose my mind. I'd love for us to try it sometime, but tonight, can I try with you? If you don't like it, I'll stop."

His lips brushed against her neck and he felt her shift against him. He was so intensely aware that she was naked, and if she said yes... He rolled onto his side to face her and his knee slid between her legs, and she made a soft sound just before they kissed again, her fingers combing through his hair. He kept his hand cupped over her ass without stroking her, hoping she would just relax, that it wouldn't make her nervous anymore.

She made that soft whimpering sound again when he broke the kiss. "I love you," she whispered, and traced her fingertips down the nape of his neck, down his spine. When she pressed her lips against his neck, Ned shivered at the sensation. "I love you..."

She trailed kisses down his neck, to the base of his throat, and Ned gripped her ass more firmly. "Just tell me," he said, his breath coming quicker. God, he had exactly one thought when she was like this, naked and willing, her lips against his skin. The insistence of it pounded through his head along with his heartbeat. If he didn't join with her, slide into the warm, sweet press of her slick inner flesh, he'd come out of his skin with need. "Do you not want to try, Nan?"

She shrank a little. "I don't want to disappoint you," she whispered. "We can just make love..."

What was wrong with him? A beautiful willing woman was offering herself to him, with no expectation or desire for her own pleasure. He knew guys who would probably kill for that. Oh, she apparently believed he had little chance at succeeding if he tried, she had no faith in his skill as a lover...

Because, to him, it really was a matter of learning how to be her lover. That picture in his head, of what their marriage was supposed to be, meant it was incredibly hard to just have sex with her, knowing the entire time that she was just enduring it. He wanted to either learn how to bring her to climax, or stop having sex with her.

And, God, he didn't want to stop having sex with her. He loved having sex with her. Imagining her enjoying it as much as he did was incredible.

"Please let me try," he begged her. "Please. I want to learn, honey. If you tell me to stop I won't bring it up again..."

She hesitated. "A... a little," she whispered. "If you want to... try kissing me a little. Like... like you said. A little."

When Ned had read about it, he'd seen comments from guys that their jaws had practically locked or their mouths had gone close to numb, it took so long for them to bring their partners to climax during oral sex—and it didn't always happen. Given everything else, he'd had little doubt it would be that way with her. A few brief kisses probably wouldn't do anything for her.

But this is for her. What she wants.

It was so hard for him to remember that. What good would it do, to give her something she didn't want and wouldn't enjoy? It would only feed his own ego, until she gave him that smile that didn't quite reach her eyes and told him he could come. They were starting over, learning it all over again; it would take time.

I love it when I see the desire in your eyes.

He looked into her eyes again and let himself imagine making love to her, imagined her responding to him with breathless joy. She searched his face, and her lips parted slightly; he bent to her and kissed her thoroughly, deeply, trailing his hand down to cup her breast and stroke the hardened tip. She draped her arm over him, her palm against his back. He found himself shifting onto his knees, one knee still between her legs, keeping them parted to him.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, both of them gasping after he broke the kiss. "I love you so much. I just want to make you happy."

She made a soft sound. "You do," she assured him. "No matter what, Ned, you do. Okay?"

He nodded. Then he nuzzled against her neck, shifting so he could fondle both her breasts at the same time. She moaned softly, and he felt it vibrate against his lips.

He trailed kisses down her body, just as he had at the hotel, but this time he spent more time nuzzling and kissing and gently suckling against her breasts. As he did, he stroked her hips and thighs, and she allowed him to bend her legs and spread her knees. Ned's heart gave a hard beat when he felt her draw her heels back toward her.

"Is it good?" he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin.

"Yes," she whispered. She gently stroked her fingers through his hair, and then her hand rested against his shoulder blade again.

He had hoped that she would at least be panting by now, or making some kind of pleased noise. I'm learning, he reminded himself. It's all right.

As he kissed his way down her body, over her taut stomach, he thought of what she had said. "One day," he murmured, and kissed her belly button, "we'll make a baby. Or at least I hope we will. I want that with you, when we're ready. I—I want to give you something that will make you happy."

She stroked her fingertips over the back of his neck. "Then make love to me," she whispered. "Give me your love. Let me see it in your eyes while you move inside me. I love you so much, Ned."

"I love you too," he murmured.

She let her breath out in an audible sigh when he nuzzled against her inner thighs, touching her where they had only joined in the dark, breathing her in. He kissed her and felt her flinch, tensing for a second before she relaxed. When he pulled back a little to look at her, the dark-pink folds between her thighs were gleaming, and he saw what he thought he was looking for. He had felt the slick button of flesh when she had been showing him how to touch her, and he had read about it.

He kissed it gently, then tentatively stroked his tongue against it, tasting her.

She breathed out, and her fingers combed through his hair again.

He thought about asking her if she liked it, but he knew that would make her self-conscious, would make her step back and consider instead of enjoying it. He had told her he would stop if she asked him to. He just hoped she would... and she had, when they had been together before.

How strange it had to be for her. She had never stopped him before, never protested. She had just believed that it would be all right, if her husband enjoyed it. That was all that mattered. It seemed so old-fashioned to him, but that was how she was.

He licked her again and heard her whimper quietly. He listened in case she was about to tell him to stop, that she wasn't enjoying it, but she didn't protest. She didn't react either, though. The few times he had been able to bring her to climax, her hips had been moving, even if it was slightly. He remembered that, because she had never done it while he was inside her. The last time they had had sex, she had been moving her hips because he had asked her to, not because she was close to orgasm.

"Mmm. My beautiful wife." He licked her again and again, stroking her with his thumb when he needed a break. Some of what he had read said that he could lick and fondle where they joined while he did this, but she had been very clear that it didn't arouse her, so he thought it best not to try it this time. She made a soft sound that was almost a whimper, and he felt her tense a little, then relax.

"Mmm. I love being this close to you," he told her, moving to look into her eyes while he kept rubbing his thumb against her clit. Her lips were parted, her cheeks flushed. He didn't want to make her focus on what she was feeling; he only wanted her to feel it and enjoy it. "You taste good. Here..."

He remembered what she had said, and lowered himself to her again, nuzzling against and then suckling her breast as he used his hands to fondle her other nipple and her clit at the same time. She sucked in a sharp breath and released an almost wounded cry, her hips jolting once.

Ned's heart sped up, and a throb of need surged down his spine, to his already aching groin. He couldn't rush this, not if he wanted her to experience it fully. He kept suckling and fondling in a steady rhythm that he gradually quickened, moving to her other breast and then kissing his way back down, over her belly, back to the join of her thighs.

She was panting, her fingers in his hair, and he could feel that gentle buck of her hips. As he swiped his tongue against her clit again, fondling her breasts at the same time, she made a desperate sound that was almost a whine. It broke off in a quiet sob, but she sucked in another breath, still whimpering. "Oh my God, oh my God," she panted.

"Yes," he groaned, then licked her clit again, circling it with his tongue. She released a choked cry, her hips rocking again. He wondered if it was her body's way to show him that she was ready for sex, the way she seemed to be arching herself for him. If he had enough hands, he would have just kept stimulating her this way as he moved inside her. God, just the thought of being inside her right now made him ache with need.

She kept chanting "Oh my God, oh my God" as her panting grew louder. When he couldn't lick her anymore, when he felt like his tongue was going numb, he brought his hand down and rapidly stroked her clit, bringing himself up to gaze into her face. She was sobbing, and her hips were moving against his touch.

She was aroused. He was giving her pleasure.

And God help him, he understood. She begged him to make love to her because she knew he would be aroused and reach his climax that way. The joy of seeing and feeling her this way, though... it was an entirely different kind of satisfaction. He slowed his strokes, then began to rapidly flick the tip of his thumb back and forth over her clit, and she sucked in a startled breath, then sobbed it out in a breathless quiet scream. "Oh my God, Ned," she cried, her hips practically bucking as she tipped her head back. "Ned!"

"Mmm," he murmured in agreement, smiling as he slowly lowered himself and nuzzled against her breast. The taste of her arousal was still on his tongue; her soft flesh glowed with exertion, and her legs couldn't be more open. "Come, beautiful. Please, baby. Here."

He rubbed his entire hand between her legs, continually stimulating her clit as he rubbed the slick folds of flesh, careful not to come close to penetrating her. His fingertip brushed once, low between her legs, where he would slowly push his stiff cock inside her, and he felt an incredible slippery wetness there. He gently plucked at her nipple with his other hand, and she was sobbing, her hips jerking in what felt like shallow thrusts.

When he could, he switched again, kissing her clit and then taking a deep breath before he suckled against it, the way he had with her nipples.

She tightened her grip in his hair, sobbing in desperation and arousal. "Yes yes don't—don't stop," she cried, and he could hear something like tears in her voice. "Oh my God! Ohhhhhh..."

It was like a shock against him, the feel of her as she finally reached her climax. He kept licking and gently sucking her clit and she shuddered against him, her hips jolting in a rapid rhythm, as though to echo her speeding heart. The mewling cries she made left Ned almost panting too, and he didn't have the confidence to push himself up over her and fit his sex into hers, mounting her in one smooth thrust, but God, he wanted to.

"Ned," she moaned. He nuzzled against her, kissing her inner thighs, kissing the folds of slick flesh, all the way down to her opening. He kissed her there too, but he kept his word; he didn't penetrate her. When he licked her clit again, she cried out.

He felt it pass; her body, her hips trembled with aftershocks, and she became otherwise limp. He pressed gentle kisses all the way back up her body, and she took him into her arms when his face was on level with hers. "Mmmm," she moaned.

"Good?" he finally asked, managing to focus despite the roaring need he felt.

"Yes," she half-sighed, half-moaned. "Yessss..."

"Good." He nuzzled against her neck. "I need you," he whispered into her ear.

"I need you," she replied, and Ned groaned quietly as she wrapped her legs around him. It took her a few tries, she was so limp and spent from her orgasm—her orgasm, the one he had given her!—but feeling her open and exposed beneath him, imagining that he might be able to manage it again...

He didn't know how, yet. He wished he knew. Eventually, he hoped, he would be able to help her orgasm while he was inside her.

As soon as the tip of his cock came into contact with her, feeling the slippery warmth of her arousal, he took a breath and had to force himself not to just plunge deep inside her. He moved so he could look down at her. The flush was still high in her cheeks, and her blue eyes were shining. She searched his face.

This was familiar. What they had just done was new, but this wasn't. She had sunk back into herself, into the quiet and peace, into accepting him. Before, he had begun to think of this serene expression on her face as a judgement. He had failed to provoke passion or joy in her, and her serenity was almost mocking. She had found him wanting.

Of course he hadn't been able to talk to her about it. Feeling like his wife was beyond disappointed in him as a lover—that was enough to plunge him into despair.

How had he looked, when he had been making love to her with his lips and his fingers? Probably pleased and loving, and calm. He wanted to experience her climax along with her, but it was the next best thing. And that was what she had been doing, focusing on his pleasure, feeling her own in response.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he focused on her again, on this moment. "For caring so much about it..."

She ran her fingers through his hair again, tracing against the nape of his neck, searching his eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded. Then she took a breath and smiled. "Come inside me," she whispered.

He definitely didn't need to be told twice, and he watched her lashes flutter slightly as he began to move inside her. "Mmm," he murmured. "Oh my God..."

Her eyes popped open. "Do you want me to move?" she asked. "Like last time?"

He nodded, speechless at how incredibly wet and slick she was against him. "Nan," he whispered, shuddering when she moved to meet him. He groaned, and he could hear her breathing, and she was so warm and tender against his erection.

He was fully inside her when he opened his eyes again, making himself focus on her. She was searching his face, and he could tell from her expression that she was trying to determine if she was doing the right thing. He had so often felt that way, too.

"You feel—so—fucking good," he panted, as she moved with him. "So good..."

She gave him a quick smile. "I'm glad," she murmured.

He was going to have to make it last. He had become accustomed to letting himself climax quickly when they were having sex, because he'd sensed that she wasn't feeling any pleasure from it, and he didn't want to make her uncomfortable for longer than he needed to. But maybe penetration would never let her come...

He grunted quietly. As long as she was willing to try, he hoped they would find a way. "Tell me—if you want me to stop," he told her, between harsh panted breaths.

Those luminous blue eyes were still warm, her gaze still on his face. She was moving to meet him, and he almost laughed when he saw the determined expression on her face. Nancy Drew was many things, but she was unaccustomed to defeat or failure. This was another challenge for her, just as it was for him. "Not until you do," she panted.

"I wish—we'd talked. Before now."

She nodded. "I'm trying," she whispered.

"Me too," he told her. "I love you."

"I love you too," she gasped. "I love you so much."

When he could focus long enough to try, he slid his hand between them and managed to find that small nub of flesh again, and he felt her inner flesh constrict around his erection. It was quick, and she seemed to flinch. "Good?"

She just whimpered in reply, her lips parting. "I—don't know," she moaned. "Please..."

He touched her gently, keeping his strokes light as he moved in and out of her. He had tried this before, and she had—endured it, he had thought. Mostly it had been early in their marriage, when he had still been hopeful. She kept moving to meet him, and he could see that same determination in the set of her face.

"Is it good at all?" he panted.

Her gaze had shifted to his chin; she moved it back up to look into his eyes. Both of them were moving with their thrusts, glowing with exertion. "Yes," she whispered, but he didn't see the same response in her face that he had before.

"Do you want me to stop?" He gave her one last stroke with his fingertip, so she would know what he meant.

She nodded, and her eyes were apologetic. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

He shook his head, moving deep inside her, propping his weight up on both hands and lingering there for a moment, savoring it. He leaned down and kissed her before he realized that she might not like it, that she might not want to taste herself on his tongue.

But she returned his kiss with a quiet whimper. He stroked his tongue against hers, shuddering at the feel of it, that they were sharing the taste of her arousal between them, that his wife's legs were wrapped around him. It was what he had wanted, and when he broke the kiss and nuzzled against her, wondering if any of it felt good for her, she made a quiet sound.

"Do you want me to finish?" he whispered against her ear. "Is it uncomfortable?"

She stroked the back of his neck. "Look at me," she whispered. "Kiss me."

He moved so he could look in her eyes again, and at the same time, as though by some signal, they began to move again, in perfect counterpoint, in a slow, deep rhythm that made Ned shudder. He wanted to know she was all right—but she searched his eyes, and he was speechless. It felt more than incredible.

"Yes," she whispered, and stroked her fingers through his hair as they moved together. "I love you. Kiss me..."

He wanted to speak, but he couldn't. His control was starting to slip through his fingers. Her lips parted and he leaned down, kissing her again, slowing the rhythm of his hips. He wanted to make it last, but he couldn't.

Her tongue slid against his and she made a soft sound as his hips jolted against hers. Her legs were wrapped around him and she was arched, so sweet and slick against him, as he reached his climax. As the rest of his body relaxed against hers, he kissed her and kissed her, and her palm rubbed against his back.

After one last lingering kiss, he shifted to rest his flushed face against the cool pillow. "I love you," he murmured. "Oh my God, Nan."

"I love you," she whispered.

--

Nancy was trembling faintly. She didn't know if Ned could tell; his body was heavy and relaxed against hers, and she could feel his heart pounding. The warmth of him still inside her...

She still felt completely overwhelmed by all of it. She couldn't believe Ned had done—that—with her. To her. She couldn't believe it had been good, or that she had felt that strange, wonderful tension again. That her husband had licked her between her legs and then she had tasted it on his tongue.

She had no idea if she would ever be able to do that, to come, while he was inside her. A part of her just felt so focused on the sensation that she had no room to think about anything else. She just wanted to make him feel good. She wanted to see love and desire in his eyes because it was making him feel good.

"Mmmmm."

She felt the rumble in his chest, and it made her giggle quietly. She was still smiling when he pulled back, his lashes low, to look down into her face. "Okay?"

She nodded, slowly stroking his cheek. "You must feel proud of yourself," she murmured.

He smiled slowly, then brushed the tip of his nose against hers. "Yeah," he admitted, and laughed. "I do. I'm so glad that worked."

She could feel his stubble against the heel of her hand. "Were you disappointed—I know you were. I'm sorry..."

"When you wanted me to stop touching you?" She nodded, meeting his eyes and then glancing down. "Babe, the whole point is making you feel good. I don't ever want you uncomfortable if I can stop it."

"Mmm." She closed her eyes when he nuzzled against her cheek. "Thank you for doing that with me."

He smiled. She could feel his lips turn up against her skin, and he was in her arms, and she was so happy. "I was afraid you wouldn't let me," he said.

"Did you really want to do that?"

He moved to look into her eyes, and he just looked sated and happy. "Yeah," he told her. "You find that hard to believe?"

She glanced down at his full lips, still a little more red than usual, then up into his sweet dark eyes. "I always just had in my head that it would be—this. What we just did. I... I don't know why."

He dropped a kiss against her lips, then reached for the box of tissues on the bedside table. He gently slid out of her, then moved onto his side and cuddled her to him. She tucked the tissue he offered her between her legs and kissed his chest, her arm over him too.

"But you know about—other stuff, right? Like what we just did, and..."

She shrugged, feeling heat rise in her face. "That kind of thing always made me uncomfortable," she whispered. "Makes, I guess."

"Oh." He rubbed her back, and his face was so close to hers. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset when I was asking about—you touching yourself. Or anything else. You can just tell me to shut up, Nan..."

She flushed even more hotly. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"No. Shhh." He brushed his lips against her cheek. "It's all right. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable."

She closed her eyes. "I... but what I thought didn't work, so... I guess we need to talk about those things."

"Like last time, when you put your hand on me? Which was really hot, by the way. I love it when you do that."

Her lips curved up in a small smile. "I wanted to make you feel good," she murmured.

"And you did."

She took a breath and burrowed against him. "I think I could kiss you," she said, her eyes tight shut. She didn't want to see his face while she said this. "Like you... were kissing me. Down—there. But it makes me anxious when I think about... taking it in my mouth."

"That's all right, babe. I understand."

"But you just did that for me. So it's unfair..."

"There are plenty of things you do that would make me uncomfortable. And vice versa. I love the idea of you kissing me like that, even if you don't want to suck me off."

Another flood of heat washed her cheeks, and her stomach tightened. He could talk about it so casually. Talking like this, listening to this kind of thing, had always made her feel uncomfortable, even a little sick. Watching two people go to bed together in movies had always made her feel uncomfortable. She had been curious; it was what she would share with her husband, after all. But watching two actors touch each other so intimately had made her uncomfortable, because they likely weren't in love. The thought of watching two people who were in love having actual sex was even more mortifying. It was private. It wasn't for her to watch.

Sex by itself was mortifying. Love, making love... seeing the desire in her husband's eyes... she was tuned only to him, she wanted only him. Kissing him and touching him while they were naked made her a little nervous, but she had no doubt that he loved her and would never hurt her.

It wasn't normal to feel this way. She was supposed to be confident and sophisticated. She had been married for half a year already. She shouldn't be embarrassed by the sight of her husband's naked body. She shouldn't have been anxious or felt so incredibly self-conscious when he had started nuzzling and licking her between her legs.

Ned's palm rubbed against her back again, and she realized she had been quiet too long. "Is there anything you want to try that we haven't yet?" he murmured.

"No," she whispered. Then she remembered. "You wanted me to be on top. On top of you?"

"Mmm-hmm. Controlling it. Riding me." He kissed the tip of her nose. His voice was hushed and intimate. "If you did that, I could touch your nipples and your clit at the same time. Maybe it would help you come."

She heard a soft, whining moan, and realized it was coming from her. "I don't know how," she said, her voice becoming high and thin in her anxiety. "Ned..."

"It's okay. It's okay, babe. I don't expect you to just know how. We can figure it out. And we don't have to try it if you don't want to."

He had begged her to let him try kissing her between her legs. If he had asked her when they had been on the couch watching television, she would have been mortified. She was sure she would have refused. It was just... she still had that image in her head. She would be on her back with Ned perched over her, kissing her gently, and then slowly joining to her before he took her in his arms and held her all night.

She had enjoyed what he had done with her, though, even though it was the last thing in the world she would have expected to like. She had trusted him, trusted that he would stop if she asked him to. She just hated the idea of... riding him. 

Maybe it would be good, though. Maybe. She wouldn't know if they never tried.

"I'm sorry."

She sniffled. "Is there anything else?"

He hesitated, so she knew there was something else he had been thinking about. And he hadn't been shy to ask her to be on top of him. So this had to be something he was nervous about too. Her heart skipped a beat.

"I liked what we just did," she told him, when he didn't respond. "It felt really good. I know I must seem like... a prude, or something. I wish it didn't make me feel weird to... to talk about all this stuff. There are other things, aren't there, that you've thought about."

He took a breath. "You know about... toys, right?"

She blushed again. "Not... really," she murmured, practically whispering. 

The lingerie shower had been uncomfortable for her; she had heard so many jokes and references to her and Ned being together that she had spent nearly the entire event glowing red. During her bachelorette party—oh God, she hadn't wanted it to be an overly sexualized, intensely mortifying event, but it had. The more uncomfortable she had felt, the more the other girls had noticed it, and made it worse. Bess and George knew her best, and they had been sympathetic, trying to shield her from some of it instead of joining in. If she had just pretended that it was all so boring, that none of it embarrassed her... but she hadn't been able to. There had been glow-in-the-dark condoms and flavored condoms, given to her with ribald comments about how she and Ned would use them; she had flinched away, her skin almost crawling with revulsion. One girl had shown her a cell phone photo of an enormous—thing; Nancy had blushed hotly and glanced away as soon as she had realized it was obscene. The other girl had howled with laughter and joked that she had almost bought it for Nancy as a present, but was afraid her new husband would be too jealous of it to let her use it.

Nancy had never felt more painfully embarrassed or ashamed. Several times tears had come into her eyes and she had had to pull herself together and keep herself from crying.

"Did something happen?"

She sniffled, and before she could come up with some vague lie, it all poured out of her: her bachelorette party, the picture, the jokes, the knowing winks and elbow prods. Most of it, they had expected her to already know. She and Ned were supposed to already be lovers, apparently. No one other than Bess and George had seemed to think she might still be a virgin in most ways. Nancy burned with embarrassment when she haltingly told him about the penis-shaped straw toppers, the scavenger hunt that had been full of sexual innuendos, all of it.

"I'm sorry," he told her, once she trailed off. A few tears had streaked down her cheeks, and he brushed them away. "I'm sorry, baby. That sounds like it would be so embarrassing for you."

"Yeah." She sniffled. "It's not for them. It's for us to have together. It's not a joke or..." She sighed.

"I understand. I feel the same way. I mean, I was curious about it, but I wanted to know the truth, not all the stupid jokes and bragging. Now I know that it's not all serious, that we can laugh and have fun together." He paused. "So was there a stripper...?"

"No." She pulled another tissue out of the box and swiped at her nose, sniffling again. "I told Bess and George that if a guy started stripping in front of me, I would get in a cab and go home. I really think the other girls had planned on there being one, though." She growled quietly.

"And you weren't curious...?"

She shook her head. "We'd been together, even if we hadn't... gone all the way. I didn't want to see anyone else, not even as—a joke, I guess. It would have felt like I was being unfaithful to you. And it would have been so embarrassing." She glanced up at his face. "They got you one," she said slowly as she realized.

It was Ned's turn to blush, and he looked very uncomfortable. "It was like you said... but if I'd acted embarrassed all the guys would have jumped on it and made it even worse. I acted like I was into it, but I was so miserable."

"Oh."

"I should have left, like you said. I'm sorry. It was a mistake."

She met his gaze again, and gave him a small smile. "Just don't let it happen again," she said.

"I won't," he said firmly. "Never. If it had been you... well, I would have been insanely jealous of all the other guys around me watching you. When you say that this is for us... it is. I don't want any other man seeing you this way or being this close to you. Never."

"Never," she agreed, her heart warming. "I feel the same way."

He cleared his throat. "So you'd be against toys."

She blushed again. "I..."

"Because they aren't all big dildos. If you don't like being penetrated, there are toys that would just do something like I was doing when I was licking and stroking your clit earlier. And maybe we could figure out how to use something like that while we're actually having sex? It might help...?"

A big, exaggerated version of a male member was exactly the only way she had imagined sex toys might be, and she had no desire to experience what those would do. She hadn't even considered there might be other kinds. "Oh," she murmured.

"If you ever feel like you might be okay with trying that, I'd love to."

She settled against him again, suddenly more conscious that she was naked. "Anything else?" she murmured, hoping he would say no.

"Mmm. I think that's plenty to start," he said, his voice light as he stroked his palm down her hair. "Nan... I love that you're nervous about this too, okay? I... it drives me crazy to know that I'm not good at it yet, but I want to be good at it."

"You're nervous?" she asked incredulously. "You just were talking about—those things, so easily."

"Talking about them," he repeated. "I can read about things and see things and be curious about things, but I've never practiced this or tried it. And..." He chuckled. "I don't think either one of us is used to needing this much work to be good at something."

She felt a surge of anger, her lips set in a firm line, but slowly she realized he was right. "I guess you're right," she admitted. "No wonder I'm so frustrated."

"Yeah." He kissed her forehead, and then she felt him tense as he yawned.

She chuckled. "You've had a big day," she told him. "Thank you for the flowers, and for what you did for me. Go to sleep, honey."

"Mmmmm." He wrapped her in his arms and held her to him, their legs tangled together, and happy tears pricked in her eyes. "Love you, babe."

"Love you too." She closed her eyes, feeling his heart beat against hers as she relaxed. He was home, and now she was too.

Nancy opened the door to the apartment and walked in slowly, flipping on the lights. Their place was still and quiet. Ned had already left on his trip. He had been beside her that morning when she had opened her eyes, and she wouldn't see him again until Saturday.

She took a long, deep breath and then let it out slowly, her shoulders slumping as she exhaled. She took heavy steps toward the couch and sank onto it, closing her eyes.

Ned. Oh, Ned.

Tonight she would sleep alone in their bed, and tomorrow night too. She would be able to stretch and sprawl, and there would be no one to wake her up...

And she knew that should fill her with happiness, especially given everything else, but it didn't. She was used to sleeping beside her husband, and she didn't want to sleep alone.

Even though every bit of her wished she could go back to before, somehow.

She reached for her cell phone and smiled when she saw a message there waiting. Just checked in. We're going out tonight, so I'll let you know when we're back. Love you, baby.

Love you too, she replied. Have fun. I miss you.

Miss you too. Can't wait to see you Sat.

Their anniversary was next month. One year. An entire year together, of learning how to live with each other, how to love each other...

Nancy ran her fingers through her hair. She didn't know what to say to him. Whenever she tried to find the words, she couldn't speak, almost couldn't breathe. She didn't want to hurt him, and she wanted him to be happy with her, but it felt like they were trying to reach an impossible goal. They would never get there. There was no way. She wanted there to be, but she just didn't know what to do.

She swallowed the lump of tears in her throat. Nothing sounded good for dinner, and the weather was finally warm. She went to the freezer and pulled out a gallon of peach ice cream, leaving it out to thaw slightly as she went to the bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. As she took her watch off, she glanced at the table on Ned's side of the bed, then averted her eyes, a glowing flush rising in her cheeks even though no one else was there to see it.

She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't. She just wasn't.

She scooped the ice cream into a coffee mug and curled up on the couch, watching a series of mind-numbing crime shows that irritated her with their lack of detail and streamlined narratives, and exchanged texts with Bess and George about their Friday-night plans. She let herself drift off, trying to relax.

It didn't help. She couldn't find a way around it.

Something was going to have to change. Some part of her was going to have to change.

--

Ned knew the words by heart; there was so little imagination, so little variation. Behind the garish neon signs, the frilly awning, the barely-there outfits in the window, it was a world he had come to know furtively while a teenager, through paper-wrapped magazines, through videos he found both shameful and alluring—and then it had been everywhere, in every movie, in every conversation. Everything in the store was designed to cater to fantasies Ned had been given. Fantasies that, for him, starred his wife.

Guaranteed to give her a screaming "O"!

Provides the ultimate stimulation!

Keeps going for hours!

They had tried so much of it, but there was always more, something new, something different. He didn't know how much money he had spent at stores like this one, or online, buying toys guaranteed to give his wife an orgasm or three. G-spot stimulators, toys meant to penetrate her and tease her clit simultaneously, all kinds of vibrators and teasers and ticklers. Creams and lubricants meant to increase her pleasure.

He wanted to find it. He wanted to find whatever it was that would fix it, that would make him enough for her. And he kept going back, kept hoping for it, for whatever it was going to take.

He thought about it again, as they passed one of those stores on the way to the club. This part of town was a little seedy anyway, dotted with half-vacant strip malls featuring tobacco shops and vapor lounges, weeds poking up through cracked asphalt in front of pawn shops, rundown restaurants with partially burned-out neon signs. He'd spent hours, probably, in one of the cleaner stores, looking at different toys and lotions. He had given in and bought a few toys meant to penetrate and stimulate her, but he always gave Nancy a choice, and she never chose those. There was one that she seemed to like, that she went back to, even when he asked if she didn't want to try something new. It was a small bullet-style vibrator meant to tease and stimulate her, and she liked the feel of it against her nipples and sometimes against her clit, but it wasn't meant to penetrate her.

He still hadn't found a way that would let her reach her climax while he was inside her.

No matter what, at the end of the night, after feeling so frustrated that he physically hurt, so disappointed in himself at not figuring it out—she didn't want anything new. She didn't want to try anything else. She wanted to hold him in her arms and cuddle against him. On the nights that she cried, when he was afraid to touch her again, afraid that he had gone too far, she held him even tighter. As though his embrace was enough to undo the pain and embarrassment and anxiety he had caused her.

He could feel it. If he didn't figure it out soon, he never would. She would be so frustrated and upset that she would refuse to try anymore, and it would be his fault, and that made him even more desperate.

Everything else in their life was so good. That made him feel all the worse about his failure.

Ned hadn't been able to get out of the visit to the strip club. The whole ritual of it was just as tired as the adult store they had seen on the way. Ned and the rest of the male attendants walked in with the groom, into the smoky aromatic dim. It smelled like sweat and salt and effluvia, alcohol and musty carpets and smoke, the sour tang of bleach. The faux leather banquets around the tables were cracked and worn, but the majority of the clientele was grouped around the stage, the lights gleaming in their eyes, against the ice as it melted in their glasses. The interior of the club was the same temperature as his skin, and Ned reached up and tugged his collar away from his neck, keeping his gaze from the stage. He knew he would have to feign appreciation for the dancers, but no one really cared how Ned was feeling, just the presumptive groom. David, the man of the hour, was already mostly drunk from their previous stop, and his eyes lit up when he saw the dancers.

"That's right, soak it in, buddy," David's cousin Mark said, elbowing him in the side. "This is what you're giving up."

"Mara's a great girl," David's other cousin Andrew said.

Stephen made a loud, dismissive sound as he waved his hand. "I bet we can find a bunch of 'great girls' tonight."

They grabbed a table, and the waitress sauntered over in pasties and a skirt so tiny it could have been a headband. "Do I see some lucky bachelors here tonight?" she said with a wide grin. Her dyed blonde hair fell in loose curls halfway down her back, and the curvy, supple flesh on display was a warm tan. She touched the pen tucked above her ear as Mark playfully swiped at the tassel hanging from the girl's pasty.

Ned's stomach clenched. The only woman he had spent any time around naked was Nancy, and he couldn't help thinking of how uncomfortable she would have been in that outfit, in front of a group of people like this. He wasn't even sure if she would wear something like this for him; he was almost certain that she wouldn't.

And he didn't mind. His fantasies about her involved her pleasure, her willingness. Her nakedness.

The waitress batted at Mark's hand with a knowing grin. "You big boys need a refresher on the rules? Lookin's for free. Can I get you some drinks?"

They ordered two pitchers of beer for backs, and Ned asked for a bourbon rocks. He didn't want to get drunk—he had been hungover as hell while serving as an attendant before, and it was miserable—but he missed his wife, and he wondered what she was doing tonight. He was sure she was out with Bess and George; they had planned on going to dinner and a movie. He hoped she was having a good time.

"Oh my God," Paul groaned beside Ned. "It's so fucking good to get out. And even better that Ronnie can't say a fucking word about me being out all night."

"'Cause we had to come, after all," Andy chimed in. "It's our duty and all."

Rich groaned on Ned's other side. All three of them had been in the Omega house while Ned had been at Emerson, and all three of them had gotten married in the past year, just like Ned. It was like a checklist: graduate college, settle down with a hot girl, start looking for a nice house in the suburbs.

"You wanna know our real duty?" Rich asked, pouring himself a beer as soon as the waitress placed the pitcher on the table. He had started early, too; the bourbon would be Ned's first drink of the night. "To warn this poor sap about what he's getting into. The constant nagging? All the fucking time. 'Take out the trash. Go get the dry cleaning.' I mean, after a day at work all I want to fucking do is unwind and have a beer and watch ESPN for a little while. Is that so much to ask?"

"Oh-ho-ho," Andy interjected. "You think that's bad? Nothing I give Di is good enough. The list never fucking ends. I buy a new dishwasher and the next day it's all about how our perfectly fine microwave really needs an upgrade. Stainless-steel everything. It still works, what we have. Jesus Christ."

"Do they get jealous when you leave their sight? Because this is the first time I've been out of the house in like six months. She grills me when I come home from work. And I'm gonna get a raft of shit just for this." Paul shrugged and raised his own glass of beer. "But who fucking cares. She'll be jealous whether I fuck up or not. And once I get her in bed..."

Ned started to listen more closely, even though he tried to keep the expression on his face just blandly interested. Maybe they would let it slip, whatever it was that he needed to do or try.

"Especially if she's on the rag," Rich was saying. "God, so fucking unbelievably wet."

"Isn't that messy?" David asked.

A few of the other guys laughed at him. "So is sex," Rich pointed out. "I mean, yeah, use a towel. But you should definitely try it."

But how did it feel for her? Ned felt uncomfortable asking, and Rich was just interested in how incredible it felt for him. Nancy very definitely didn't want Ned being with her that way when she was bleeding, and he had never tried to encourage her to change her mind. She was already uncomfortable with sex, and putting that additional layer of anxiety on it just sounded like a terrible idea.

Over the rest of the night, Ned heard a litany of warning David about what a nightmare his life was about to become, according to the other guys. No more sleeping around—although Ned knew that Paul had had a brief affair at the end of last year, so his wife's jealousy and suspicion was justified. Weekends were a tiring, exhausting list of chores that never ended; compromising was a sign of weakness. Husbands and wives didn't do anything fun together once they were married; they were too broke, too angry or frustrated at each other, too busy to have fun like dating couples did. One guy said that his wife spent virtually every weekend with her parents, even when they hadn't had any fights, so they didn't even have a chance to organize anything fun. The fights were intense, could go on for days, made them doubt that they ever should have been married at all, but the makeup sex was fantastic. Usually, anyway.

Paul even admitted that he and his new wife had split up for a little while. They were back together, and they were committed to making it work, but Paul felt like all he was doing was making up for mistakes he had apologized for a long time ago, like he was never going to earn her trust back.

Ned just listened and nursed his bourbon and didn't say anything, although sometimes he touched his wedding band, and sometimes he wanted to reach for his phone, just for the reassurance of being able to contact his wife. For him and Nancy, it wasn't like this. At first, he had nodded along with the guys; of course Nancy came up with chores, and of course they didn't go out on as many dates as they had.

But he had learned about marriage from his parents, and that was what he had taught Nancy, so they didn't have that friction. During the weekend, they went for a run together, then came back to the apartment and worked on that perpetual list of chores and fixes and annoying tasks together. That was what Saturday morning and afternoon were for. Every two weeks or so, they did something separate with their own friends: dinner and a movie, go-karts and laser tag, bowling, beer and chicken wings at the sports bar. It was good to unwind, to see people he cared about and have fun with them, and then to come home and tell Nancy about it, and listen to her story too. Of course, sometimes they were invited to parties as a couple, and they were happy to go. He didn't keep a death-grip on her hand the whole time or immediately leave her to see his friends and ignore her for the rest of the night. They mingled with their friends and caught up on the news, and then some time during the parties they always found each other again, holding hands until it was time to go.

They needed time apart. Ned needed to go play golf with their fathers, or to help his mom every now and then. Nancy had her cases and assignments. They needed time together just as urgently.

His happiest memories from the past year were memories of her, either alone with him or with their friends. He didn't like to think about his failure in bed—it made him frustrated and embarrassed—but the parties they had been to together, the way her eyes had been so bright and beautiful when they had been caught in the rain together, the tears that came to her eyes when he did something unexpectedly sweet or considerate for her. The day he had been promoted at work, she had actually brought him flowers, and he had been surprised by how much that meant to him. They didn't fight; the closest they had ever come had been over sex.

There was no makeup sex for them. During lazy afternoons and evenings, they cuddled on the couch together, watching television or movies, or she tried out a new recipe while he served as her sous chef and they danced to whatever was playing on the radio in the corner of the kitchen, laughing together and discovering more about each other.

Jealousy? Oh, he had felt it far more often while they had been dating, but knowing how mortified she was about sex—a part of him was waiting for her to decide that if sex wasn't good with him, that she could find another man who could please her. But he'd never seen any sign or hint of that in her. If anything, she had been terrified that he would be so frustrated that he would find someone else.

Between lap dances, joking slaps on the shoulder and ribald comments to David, the other members of their party became more drunk, louder, more profane. When he had been younger, Ned would have listened avidly to all their comments and complaints, filing them away for his own knowledge. That's what he had done when the guys had talked about sex.

Not tonight. He was just beginning to realize that it didn't matter anymore, because he didn't want this. He didn't want to spend hours complaining about Nancy's personality quirks and making his friends wonder why they stayed married at all. And as embarrassed and ashamed as it made him, his failure to please his wife in bed wasn't anything he wanted to share with these guys, either. When they winkingly asked about Ned and Nancy's sex life, Ned said it was great.

And when he thought about holding her, the glowing peace he saw in her face when he did, it wasn't a lie. He loved her so much. He just wished he knew what to do, to show her.

Ned was quieter than usual that night, but no one else in the group seemed to notice. The more ridiculous their behavior and comments became, the easier it was to just observe. Their pessimism and cynicism was stifling. Their marriages sounded miserable, if the only positive was occasional makeup sex. Not waking up on lazy weekend mornings beside their best friends in the world, the way Ned did. Not joking and laughing together until they could hardly breathe, or when Ned could tell at a glance that Nancy needed comfort and the offer of his arms and his love.

He would be alone with Nancy on Saturday night, after she came to the wedding. It sounded like the perfect time for him to make one last try...

But when he thought about it, he cringed at the memory of how upset she had seemed last time. She hadn't said anything, but she hadn't needed to. And the time before that, and the time before that.

For a while, they had been having sex two or three times a week again. Now, once a week, Nancy came to bed in a nightgown, with the understanding that they would be having sex. That was all she did to tell him she was ready. The rest was up to him.

Once he was back in his room, after he sent Nancy a message to let her know he was back and he was thinking about her, he sighed and pulled out his tablet. He didn't know how many searches he had run, how many toys he had looked at, how many completely outlandish claims about orgasms he had read and wanted to believe. He had exhausted everything. He had failed.

He took a deep breath and typed in the one search he hadn't been able to bring himself to do yet. It was desperation, but more—it was an admission of failure, of defeat.

my wife doesn't enjoy sex with me

He closed his eyes for a moment before he hit enter.

--

Nancy hadn't been able to talk to her two best female friends about the tension that was mounting between her and Ned, even though it was weighing heavily on her. She knew she would have to figure something out soon, but whenever she imagined talking to Ned about it, she still didn't know how to do it, what she could possibly say. He was her husband. She understood how frustrated he was by her failure to respond to him the way he wanted.

If it had been anyone else, she would have delayed; she would have arrived just before the beginning of the wedding. But she had spent over two days away from her husband, and no matter how conflicted she was over their sex life, he was her best friend and the love of her life. She wanted to be with him again.

For the wedding, she dressed in a gown she had bought the year before, when her father had still been helping her pay for her clothes. It was a floor-length navy halter covered in large, partially transparent white polka dots. The bodice was fitted, but the skirt flared from her hips, and she was most happy about the pockets. She accessorized with a pair of diamond drop earrings and a beautiful slender bracelet, both pieces Ned had given her. She had let her hair dry in loose waves and had pinned most of it up, leaving a few tendrils hanging to tickle her temples and jaw.

Ned was already at the church when she arrived, so she headed there. Her heart was beating harder, her stomach fluttering with butterflies, as she swept a stray lock of hair from her eyes and scanned the group in formal attire at the doors of the sanctuary, posed for a photo. The sweet anxiety reminded her so much of when they had been dating and saw each other after a case, or while they had been engaged.

The group, all as one, seemed to slump in relief as the photographer dismissed them. A tall, dark, handsome man, the most handsome man in the group, spotted her and waved, and she waved back, unable to stop herself from grinning.

"Nan," Ned said, as they approached each other, the other attendants and members of the wedding party heading back inside to escape the heat. The tuxedo he wore, stark black against his white shirtfront, with a dark blue rose in his buttonhole, was perfectly tailored and showed off his broad shoulders and muscular build to perfection. Just seeing him in it made her knees weak. "We still have a few hours. Have you had lunch?"

She nodded, gazing into his dark eyes. "Have you? I can go get you something..."

"No, no. There's plenty inside." He reached for her hand, and she saw a flicker in his expression. "Baby, I love you. I've missed you so much. And I'm so sorry for what I've been putting you through. You tried to tell me and I just wouldn't listen. Please forgive me for being such an asshole."

For a moment, Nancy couldn't breathe. She had tried to find the words, the way to tell him that she didn't know if she could ever give him what he wanted, but he had beaten her to it. She blushed, searching his eyes. "I love you too," she said softly. "And I'm sorry I—I couldn't be what you want."

The words hung between them, and in them were all the pain and fear she had felt over the past few months. Her heart clenched painfully when she saw his eyes begin to gleam.

"No, sweetheart—don't say that, don't say that. It's all right. I love you. And we'll talk tonight. Let's get inside before you melt."

She let him guide her inside, feeling a little bewildered. She could so clearly remember the last time they had been in bed together, the way frustration had just radiated off him, leaving her anxious and depressed, hating herself for what she couldn't give him. She had held him after, and her heart hadn't beat again until he had embraced her too.

It was important to him. He wasn't being an asshole. He was just determined... and she didn't even know how to meet him halfway.

She squeezed his hand once they were in the cool, dim interior of the church, and he turned to her. She stood on her tiptoes in her heels and pressed a kiss against his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered, although she didn't know what she was thanking him for, not exactly. She was looking forward to their conversation later, although she was also nervous about it. What was there to talk about? He seemed even more loving than usual, but was it because he had given up, because he had realized they could never be compatible that way? He had called her the night before, once they had been back at the hotel after the bachelor party, and he had sounded a little preoccupied. He had been to a strip club with the other young male members of the wedding party, but he had told her that he hadn't even feigned interest, that he'd spent the entire time there just talking to the other guys and nursing his one drink.

She wanted to believe that, but she knew some of the other guys in the wedding party were relatively newlyweds, like they were. They had probably been teasing him and making comments about his sex life. She was sure that being surrounded with willing half-naked women hadn't helped either. It had taken her a long time to get to sleep the night before. From a tightness near Ned's eyes, she wondered if he hadn't been able to sleep much either.

God, she wished that she had been able to come down to be with him Friday night.

The church was beautifully decorated, and Ned sat with her as long as he could, holding her hand and listening to her account of what she had done Friday night, before he had to go rejoin the rest of the wedding party. Being here like this reminded her of their own wedding day. She supposed it was only natural.

Now a new couple would be declaring their love for all the gathered witnesses, promising to love and cherish each other, not understanding at all what they were getting into. Nancy hadn't. She had thought that she knew, but nothing in her experience had prepared her for being Ned's wife.

He was a good man, and she loved him wholeheartedly. She hated that some weakness, some failing, in her had come between them this way.

The ceremony itself was brief. Nancy watched it while sitting with some of the other guests she knew, girlfriends and wives of guys from Omega Chi. Nancy thought the bride's long wedding gown was a little too fussy and overembellished for her tastes, but it was her wedding day. All this was for her and to celebrate the joy of her union with the man beside her.

From the whispered comments around her, Nancy gathered that none of them thought she was a virgin. He'd made an honest woman out of his girlfriend. Tonight wouldn't be the first time they had made love.

To Nancy, making love was like nothing else. Oh, she needed the warmth and safety and comfort of her husband's arms around her, the steady beat of his heart to lull her to sleep, that expression of his love so tangible that it shook her to the core. There were times, when Ned made love to her, that she felt like nothing else existed except the two of them, just like the couple up at the altar preparing to speak their vows to each other. She basked in his desire and his adoration. She never wanted it to stop. Once he reached his climax and sank to her in satisfaction and exhaustion, she held him, warm in his glow, happy that she could give him some happiness.

She hated when he made their lovemaking all about her climax and her satisfaction, and that was all it had been lately. That couldn't have been further from the point. She needed him. She had never wanted him to need her the way he did in return. She knew he was frustrated, but she was too. She had never had so much difficulty at succeeding at anything.

When the bride and groom turned to face each other, to speak their vows, every eye on the place was riveted to them. This is what they had come for, to bear witness to that moment when a man and a woman pledged their lives to each other, in fidelity and love. To witness the sweetness and joy of pure devotion.

But as David and Mara spoke their vows, Nancy's gaze strayed over, to Ned. He was turned toward her, gazing at her too. As soon as their eyes met, she felt an incredibly deep awareness of him. Her heart was warm with love.

I love you, Ned mouthed.

Nancy tilted her chin up. I love you too, she mouthed to him. They smiled at each other, and Nancy put her hand over her heart.

We need to talk never meant anything good. In all the bustle and chaos after the ceremony, when everyone was heading toward the reception venue, Nancy had the opportunity to think about it again. Whatever Ned wanted to talk to her about... she couldn't shake the feeling that it was something bad.

They usually made love on the weekends. That night, she would be staying with him in his hotel room before they headed back in the morning. She thought wistfully of the way it had been before, when he would kiss her and stroke her and gaze at her with such love in his eyes while he moved inside her. She would just lie there, letting the sensations wash over her, accepting him and holding him and feeling such love for him in return. And then, to cuddle against him, knowing that he was perfectly happy and sated...

She sniffled as she moved through the crowd. It had been a long time since they had made love that way.

The reception venue was sumptuous and artfully decorated with fresh flowers and drapings in David and Mara's wedding colors. A lavish buffet was laid with servers standing behind, ready to load plates for the guests: roast beef carved at one station, lobster bisque, stuffed mushrooms, grilled cheese soldiers, shrimp cocktail, lettuce wraps... it just kept going, and Nancy knew she wouldn't be able to even taste it all, much less have a bite of everything. The wedding cake was five layers, decorated in sophisticated white on white. The groom's cake was a baseball diamond; a fondant ribbon made with Emerson's colors was wrapped around the base.

The photographer had claimed the wedding party for a few more photos outside the reception hall, and though she was expecting it, she still jumped slightly when she heard someone say her name. She turned and saw Ned standing beside her, gazing at her like he hadn't seen her in weeks. "Hey," he said, and smiled.

"Hey," Nancy said, reaching for him. She wrapped her arms around him and breathed him in, closing her eyes as he wrapped his arms around her too.

"Baby, you look so beautiful."

"And you look so handsome," she told him, smiling as they gazed into each other's faces again.

The room around them was loud with conversation and laughter, friends and family of the happy couple congratulating them and greeting each other. Couples and kids were making their way through the line; Nancy saw a boy with bright blue eyes carrying a plate with fruit and grilled cheese soldiers so carefully, clearly terrified he was going to drop something, moving slowly on supernaturally shiny dress shoes.

"Sooo..." Ned slid his arm around her waist and she smiled up at him. "I'm famished..."

"I'm so surprised," she teased him. "Come on—maybe between us we can try a bite of everything."

"As long as that's chicken parmesan and not eggplant, you're on." Ned dropped a kiss against her temple as they began to move toward the buffet line.

Nancy still felt anxious about whatever he was going to talk to her about, but she loved how casually sweet he was being. He had been like this when they had been dating, when they had been first married. She put her hand over his, just above her hip, encouraging him to keep it there.

Nearly every bite they tried was fantastic. Ned completely cleaned his plate, and then told Nancy that he had made sure to save some room for wedding cake. The happy couple laughed as they fed each other the first piece, and the DJ, clearly hoping to encourage the guests, began playing some popular music while people were lining up for their own slices of cake.

"Are we going to dance, beautiful?"

"Until my feet are aching and I beg you to carry me back to the hotel? Of course," she told him with a grin. "The best part of any wedding."

She saw a brief flicker on his face, but it was gone immediately. "Holding my gorgeous wife in my arms for most of the night? You bet it is."

The cake was lovely, although as with almost every wedding cake Nancy had tasted, the taste seemed far less important than how it looked. She remembered the first wedding she had ever attended, and how Hannah had told her that if she slept with some crumbs from the wedding cake under her pillow, she would dream about the man she was going to marry. In a month, she and Ned would be sharing the frozen top tier of their own wedding cake. Hannah had made it, and it was a masterpiece. It was the only truly delicious wedding cake Nancy had ever tasted.

After the bride and groom's first dance, Nancy and Ned were among the first couples to join the newly married couple out on the dance floor. They danced together to two up-tempo songs, laughing when they tried more outrageous moves. But the third song was slow and romantic, and it was what Nancy had been waiting for. She moved into his arms and he embraced her, and she felt like she was home.

"Not too long until our anniversary," Ned murmured, and as his warm breath touched her skin, she couldn't help shivering. "Nan, I'm so glad you agreed to marry me. I know things haven't always been easy, and that's mostly my fault. Thanks for sticking with me."

She was gently stroking the back of his neck. "You're the love of my life," she told him softly. "And I know things haven't been easy for you. Thanks for staying with me."

Ned made a soft sound. "I'd do anything for you," he said. "Especially now. I'd get on my knees right here..."

She blushed a little. "I want to do everything for you too," she murmured, and when he moved to look into her eyes, she knew hers were shining. "I love you so much, and I wish I could show you..."

He kept one arm wrapped around her and brought his other hand up to cup her cheek, to stroke against her skin. "You have," he whispered. "Oh my God, you have, Nan."

She didn't understand. She didn't understand why his eyes were shining as she searched them. She didn't understand what had changed... and she was terrified that something had happened last night. If he had slept with someone else and this was his way of apologizing to her, or something...

But she just couldn't believe that about him. He was Ned, her Ned. If he had met someone else and felt attracted to her, Nancy had to believe that guilt and shame would keep him from acting on it. Knowing that he would be irrevocably breaking his vows to her would stop him.

For the past five months, ever since she and Ned had discussed her feelings about sex, she had been afraid that his frustration in bed would make him dissatisfied, would make him consider leaving her. That he would feel cheated, betrayed, believing he had married a woman who would be a willing, eager participant when it came to sex and finding that his wife didn't enjoy it. It was so important to him. She wanted to do it right for him, with him. Seeing him so moved made her promise to herself again that she would work harder, that she would find a way. Somehow.

"I love you so much."

She turned her head and pressed a soft kiss against his palm. "Hold me," she whispered.

For the rest of the night, he didn't let her go. A few times, guys asked if they could cut in; Ned shook his head in polite, good-natured refusal. Nancy didn't want to dance with anyone else. She didn't want to be with anyone else.

The DJ alternated groups of popular up-tempo songs with slow romantic songs the couple had picked out, and during the slower ones, they swayed with each other, wrapped around each other, and she just felt content. For a little while, she was able to forget her anxiety and just relax into the dance and how happy she was to be having fun with her husband.

Just as she had known they would, her feet began to ache and she took a seat. Ned went back to the buffet to fill a plate with some of the leftovers for them to snack on, and when a waiter asked if she would like some champagne, Nancy nodded and smiled.

Mara and David came close to the table just as Ned was walking back, and Mara leaned down, touching Nancy's hand. She looked so effervescent and happy; her dark hair had been taken down from its elaborate updo for the ceremony, and tumbled in soft curls down to her shoulders.

"I was just telling David that you and Ned look like you were just married too," Mara said, her dark eyes earnest and sincere as she gazed into Nancy's eyes. "But he says it's been almost a year..."

"Next month," Ned confirmed with a smile, as he placed the plate in front of Nancy. "Congratulations, you two."

Mara nodded. "I hope that in a year we're just as happy as you two are."

"I'm sure you will be," Nancy told Mara immediately. "Thank you so much for—for inviting me, for everything. It was such a beautiful ceremony."

David slid his arm around Mara's waist. "Thank you for coming, and all the help you've been, too, Ned. I really appreciate it."

When they were alone again and just observing the other dancers and guests, Nancy plucked a jumbo shrimp off the plate and peeled the shell off thoughtfully. She was happy tonight, to be close to her husband, to hold him. She loved so much of their life together that her failure when they were in bed together was all the more glaring. She just didn't know what to do. She had thought about forcing herself to do some of what Ned had asked her to do, those things she hadn't been able to even think about—but no matter how hard she resolved to try, when it was time, she couldn't. She would cry or freeze, or both.

Ned touched her hand. "Did you want to stay until the end?"

She nodded. The longer they were at the wedding, the longer the delay until their talk. Besides, she was enjoying dancing too much to leave just yet, and if she rested a while she thought she would be okay.

Ned popped a stuffed mushroom in his mouth. "What they put together here is great," he said, glancing around, once he had swallowed the bite. "Really nice."

"Yeah," Nancy agreed. "But I liked our wedding and reception more."

Ned leaned his elbow on the table and propped his head up, gazing at her. "Even though it wasn't as fancy," he murmured.

She shrugged. "It was us," she said, looking into his eyes. "It was our friends and family, the people we loved, the people who are important to us. And maybe some of the preparations freaked me out a little—but on our wedding day I was marrying the guy who is more important to me than anyone or anything else in my life. Everyone kept telling me that marriage is hard, it's work, it's a partnership... but with you, it feels so easy. Most of the time."

By the end of it, she had mirrored his posture, had propped her chin up too as she gazed at him. Ned smiled and reached over, gently touching her chin.

"I wouldn't trade you or the life I have with you for anything," he told her softly. "I hope you know that. I never want you to doubt it. And I need you to know that I—I'll do better, Nan. I will."

Her stomach tightened. He meant more. More of the nights that left her feeling so depressed and frustrated with herself. More chances for her to prove herself to him... and maybe she would somehow be able to find a way.

"I love you," she told him.

"I love you too, sweetheart. You mean everything to me."

She smiled at him. That, she didn't doubt at all.

After they finished the plate together and had slices of the groom's cake, they went out on the dance floor to take advantage of the additional burst of energy. They joined in on the complicated group dances and laughed at each other; they held each other for the slow songs, and during one that had been particularly special to them while they had been dating, Ned gave her such a sweet kiss that she felt tears spring to her eyes.

Nancy hated that she felt so anxious about being alone with him later, but it would be all right. Somehow, it would be all right.

--

In the elevator, Ned stood beside his wife, their fingers interlaced.

They had stayed through the end. They had stood aside and watched Mara toss a smaller version of her bouquet, had watched David toss her garter into the crowd. They had stood outside the reception hall waving sparklers and wishing the happy couple well as they laughed and walked out to the limousine waiting for them.

Ned was exhausted, but he was excited too. He needed to talk to Nancy. He needed to take it back, all of it. If she would let him.

That scared him most, that he had already done so much damage that he would never be able to undo it. He couldn't believe he had been such a fool, such an asshole to her. It made him feel miserable, and he stifled any impulse to be defensive over it. There was no excuse, and he needed to remember that.

"It'll be so good to sleep in our bed again," Ned sighed as they walked into his room together. "It's a great room, but I miss being home."

"And I missed you too." She squeezed his hand before reaching for the bracelet circling her wrist. "I'll... be right back, okay?"

Ned nodded, reaching for his tie. "I'll be right here."

He stripped down to his boxers, hanging up the pieces of his rented tuxedo, then sat down at the edge of the bed, looking down at his wedding ring. He gently twisted it on his finger as he waited for her to return.

And then she stood in the doorway of the bathroom, her face scrubbed clear of makeup, her hair in loose waves that tumbled down her back. She wore the cream slip, and her long legs were smooth and sleek, her feet bare, her toenails blue.

At the sight of her, his heart ached. He could see it in her face, what he hadn't been able to make himself recognize before: the fear, the anxiety. But it made sense. As much as he hated to admit it, it made sense, and it confirmed so much.

He stood and walked to her, meeting her halfway. He reached up and cupped her face in his hands. "We're never going to do anything you don't want to do again," he told her, gazing deeply into her eyes. "Starting tonight. We can go to sleep, if that's what you want. I can hold you and keep you safe."

She swallowed, and after she blinked, her eyes were shining. "I want to make love," she whispered.

He stroked her hair. "Then we will," he said. "You're so beautiful, Nan. And being there today reminded me of our wedding day, and how much I love you."

She tilted her face up and Ned obliged her with a long, sweet kiss, sliding his arms around her. She brought her hand up and stroked her fingers through his hair, and he could feel the warmth of her skin even beneath her gown. The sight of her in one of her nightgowns almost always meant sex, and his body was responding in kind to hers. He wanted to be with her.

And he needed to talk to her. But she seemed to be anxious whenever he mentioned it. Maybe it would be easier after.

Maybe his erection was trying to convince him of that.

He deepened the kiss and felt her respond to him in kind. This was familiar and sweet; this was genuine. They were already near the bed, so he guided her down onto it, bringing his hand up to stroke against the hard tip of her nipple through the silk.

She released a soft moan as he fondled her breast, and he nuzzled against her cheek, her neck. He was trying hard to remember what she had told him, and he pulled back, panting softly, and smiled.

"You brushed your teeth... mmm. Let me do that. Stay right here, honey."

She nodded, her lips parted. "Okay," she whispered.

He made his preparations for bed as quick as he could, and when he returned to her, she had pulled back the covers and pulled them partially over herself. He grinned at her. "All right, I think we were..."

She patted the bed beside her. "Come here," she whispered. "I'll show you."

He had brought a small bottle of lube with him, and he pulled it out and put it on the bedside table before he slid under the covers with her. When she saw it, her brows knit slightly.

Ned shook his head. "No, honey. It's all right. I promise. Here..."

He sat up against the headboard and reached for her hand, gesturing for her to sit on his lap. She swallowed as she sat up, and he saw the flicker of anxiety on her face. She tried so hard to hide it, and he had been willing to ignore it for so long, to make himself believe that if she was truly uncomfortable, she would tell him to stop. Sometimes she did.

"We don't have to do this," he told her softly.

She set her jaw and moved on top of him, deliberately, straddling him, her hips pressed against his, in defiance of her own nervousness. "I want to," she said.

He looked into her eyes, but didn't make a move toward her. He just put his hands on her waist and gently stroked his thumbs against the silky fabric, watching her expression slowly relax. He understood her reluctance, now, how she didn't want to instigate, to do anything overtly sexual. It was all right. It would be all right.

He leaned forward and kissed her sweetly, and she relaxed into his kiss. When he stroked her smooth upper thigh, she shifted against him; then he cupped her breasts through her gown and rubbed his thumbs back and forth over her nipples.

"Mmm..." She was swaying gently when he broke the kiss. "What do you... want me to do..."

He shook his head. "Just relax," he told her. "Just feel."

Then he kissed her neck, her shoulder. "I love how soft your skin is," he told her. "And of course I love that perfume. It smells so good. Do you like this?"

"Yes," she whispered, almost reluctantly.

He took the hem of her slip in his fingers and began to slide it up, and once it was off, he hooked his thumbs in the band of her panties. She bowed her head as she pushed herself up so he could slide them off and leave her naked.

"Do you want me to go down on you?" he murmured.

She sniffled once and shook her head. "Do you—I... I can try..."

He shook his head, pushing off his boxers, then drawing her back to him, to feel the join of her thighs pressed against him. He let her see how much he enjoyed it, the warmth and sweetness of her, being so close. Her bare breasts were warm, her nipples hard as he drew her against him, her front pressed to his. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and he stroked her hair, then trailed his fingertips down her spine.

Ned had thought that it would take something new, exotic, different. He stroked both his palms down her back and then cupped her bare bottom briefly. She sighed, shifting a little against him.

Then he kissed her bare shoulder, nuzzled against her neck, still stroking her back, her sides, her waist and hips. He gently guided her to stand on her knees so he could nuzzle against her breasts, kiss them, flick his tongue gently against her nipples. She took a deep breath when he pulled away briefly to reach for the lube.

She liked it when he warmed the slippery liquid against his skin first, so he returned to his slow, thorough exploration of her breasts as he slowly rubbed his lubed fingertips together. Once the liquid felt warm, he moved his hand between her thighs and rubbed his slicked fingertips over her clit, then circled it.

Nancy panted softly in reply, and on his third stroke, she moaned quietly. He glanced at her and saw how flushed she was. Her lashes were low, her lips parted.

She was too ashamed to look at him. She had never become comfortable with this. And he had thought it would somehow magically happen.

He had been such a fool.

"Lie down," he whispered. "Can I—are you ready?"

"Yes," she whispered, moving to obey him. She flinched slightly when he stroked her clit again.

"Baby, I know—it's okay. Just a little more. All right?"

"Okay," she whispered.

She let him part her legs wide, and he stroked her clit until she was arched, her fists clenched. He picked up the lube again and stroked it over his erection, almost trembling at how good it felt to have his fist around his cock. Then he moved so that he was perched between her legs, and she looked up at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes so bright.

"I love you," he told her. "Baby, I love you so much. Do you want this?"

She nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "Please make love with me. Tell me... tell me what you want."

"To be with my sweet, beautiful wife. To look into your eyes and show you how much I love you, how much I need you. I always have, and I always will."

She gave him a small, sad smile. "Tell me what you need."

"You, Nan. Only you."

She took a deep breath when he moved inside her, slowly, until his hips were pressed to hers. When she started to wrap her legs around him, he shook his head and gently pushed them apart, and she didn't try again. He leaned down, feeling her breath, feeling her heart beat, and pressed his lips against hers with the faintest kiss.

"You feel so good," he told her. "Being inside you feels so good. I love you so much. If you want to put your arms around me, that's okay, but I just want you to relax, okay?"

She nodded, sliding her arms around him, her fingertips against the nape of his neck. "Okay," she whispered. "I love you too."

He took a deep breath, then began to move inside her, stroking in and out of her, slow and smooth. She didn't have her legs wrapped around him, but her knees were bent, and he could feel her gently pushing herself up to meet his thrusts. It didn't seem to be making her upset, so he didn't ask her to stop.

He kissed her, still moving in and out of her, but together they found a rhythm that made his spine tingle. He began to breathe faster, to nuzzle against her, to kiss her neck, and she stroked his hair. "Oh my God, Nan," he murmured. "Oh, you feel so good."

"Good," she murmured. "I want you to feel good. I want to feel you come inside me. Please come."

He looked down at her, feeling his groin tighten. "Yes," he told her. "It's perfect, baby, it's so perfect. I love you."

"I love you too," she murmured, gazing into his eyes. He saw serenity there, and love.

He hadn't understood. In a way, Ned still felt like it was incomprehensible. But he was beginning to understand, and that was a staggering relief.

He allowed himself a few more thrusts before he came, holding himself still, trembling with the force of it. Then he slowly sank down onto her, and she stroked his hair, his back, his shoulder blades. He felt her breathing under him, slow and even, her heart beating slow and even as the pounding in his own chest began to slow.

"Nan," he whispered. "Oh, sweetheart. I love you so much."

Slowly he moved off her, and she released a quiet sigh.

The bedside lamp was still on. After he had cleaned both of them up and slid back into the bed beside her, she moved into his arms and rested her head against his shoulder.

"Can we talk?" he said softly.

She sighed and didn't say anything for a long moment. "What did you want to talk about?" she said, and she sounded so weary.

He had been able to tell she was nervous about it. He supposed he should have expected this. He moved so he could face her from the other pillow, so he could look into her anxious blue eyes.

"I was doing some research last night, and... Nan, I think you're asexual."

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Maybe a tearful nod; maybe a tight relieved hug; maybe a blank, curious look. Instead, her face immediately froze in a way that told him he had hurt her. His brow furrowed.

"No," she said, her voice low and firm.

"Baby, it makes so much sense..."

"No." Her eyes were so bright, and he realized they were brimming with tears just before one streaked across her cheek. "I'm not. I..."

"You don't like sex," he said. "You don't like being penetrated. At all. You put up with it because it feels like the thing you're supposed to do, to like, but you don't. The only reason you instigate is because you perceive it as being so important to me."

Her lips were trembling, and she began sobbing. She curled into the fetal position and covered her face, still crying.

Ned stroked her back. "I didn't mean to make you upset," he said. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Was anything I just said—not true for you?"

She whimpered, then rolled onto her back, groping for the box of tissues on the bedside table. She sat up and wiped her eyes, blew her running nose, but she couldn't seem to stop crying.

Ned sat up too, putting his arm around her shoulders, trying to comfort her and feeling like he was utterly failing. He had thought she would at least be relieved, if not happy.

"When I was reading about it... I figured out I kinda am, too. If that makes you feel any better." He brushed a tear-dampened lock of hair from her temple.

"How could you be," she said, her voice clogged from her tears. She reached for another tissue, then glanced at him with bloodshot eyes. "You like having sex."

"With you. Only you." He smiled at her as he stroked her wet cheek. "I've never been attracted to anyone else. I've never wanted to be with anyone else. What I read, said that's one way people are asexual. And I thought that you didn't come during sex because I wasn't good at it, and I've been..." He swallowed, and the smile vanished. "I read that sometimes people who are asexual, their partners—rape them. Trying to show them what they're supposed to feel." He glanced down and crossed his arms over his chest. "I feel like I've been doing that to you," he whispered.

"No," she told him, vehement. "You've never raped me."

"But I've made you do things you didn't feel comfortable with," he said. "I know I have. And I thought I just needed to—I don't know, get you out of your shell a little? Nan, I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry. I just didn't understand. I'd do anything to take it back, to make it up to you. I know I can never... never really fix it."

She sniffled again and wiped her nose. Then she reached for him, cupping his cheek, and turning his face toward hers. He was slow to look into her eyes, afraid of what he would see there.

"Yeah, sometimes you would ask me to do things that made me nervous," she told him. "But I liked when you taught me about—going down on me. I like that, even though I never thought I would. And when something made me really upset, I told you no." She sniffled again. "Ned, you never raped me. I understood what you were trying to do, and I hated that I wasn't able to do what you wanted."

"Can you forgive me? I know... especially in the past few months, I've just made you upset. It was like I was punishing you because I didn't know what else to do."

"There's nothing to forgive," she told him, and gave him a small smile. "Okay? You wanted to make me feel the same pleasure you did, that's all. I just... I don't know how."

"But you don't think you're... the a-word?"

Her eyes filled with tears again. "I can't be that," she said. "I'm not."

"Baby, I love you no matter what, all right? We've been trying for months now and nothing has worked. You wanted to make love because it made you feel close to me, so you could see how much I loved you. And it's turned into something that makes you anxious and upset, and it makes me feel frustrated, and I... I don't want that anymore.

"I was relieved, when I did that search—when I saw other people who felt the same way I did, who had realized their partners were asexual. It doesn't mean we can't be together, and I never want to be with anyone else. You're the love of my life. So, just... tell me what's making you so upset."

She sniffled again and wiped the fresh tracks of tears from her cheeks. "I'm just not," she said. "I'm not asexual. I'm normal." She gave him a look that was almost a glare. "I'm just not good at sex."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, considering. "Okay," he said, finally. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Would I be in bed with you like this if I were asexual?"

"Yeah," Ned told her. He gave her a faint smile when she raised an eyebrow at him. "Because you're very romantic, Nan. You like to kiss and cuddle and feel intimacy. You like foreplay. That has nothing to do with asexuality. When we danced tonight, that was romantic."

"I thought the way people danced was supposed to show how they would be in bed."

"Maybe some people. But for you... I think it shows me how you want to be in bed. Gentle and sweet."

She looked away from him, and pressed her lips together. "Does this mean you don't—want to try anymore?"

"I don't," he confirmed. "All it does is hurt you. You told me a long time ago what you wanted. I'll give you that. When we make love, that's what it'll be. Slow and sweet and loving. And if you ever want me to go down on you, all you have to do is ask."

Her lips quirked up in a humorless smile. "So you've given up, just like that," she murmured.

He crooked his finger under her chin and turned her to face him again. "At the bachelor party last night I realized how selfish I've been," he said. "They were complaining about their wives, their marriages, and I thought of how good I had it. Other than in bed, it's like you said—marriage to you is easy. We agree; we talk and we compromise when we need to. I don't spend every conversation with any other human being complaining about you. I love being with you."

"And I love being with you. Sometimes when I hear other women talk about their husbands, I wonder why they stay married, why they bothered getting married in the first place... but with you, I don't feel any of that." Her face crumpled slightly, and another pair of tears slid down her cheeks. "I'll figure it out. I don't know how, but I will."

He shook his head. "I'm done with that. It's not important to me anymore."

She gasped out a sob. "Then you'll find someone else," she whispered.

"Never," he said, just as vehemently as she had spoken earlier. He took her face in his hands and searched her eyes, his gaze dark and burning. "Never. I... there are guys out there who would kill to have this with you. I thought the most important thing in the world was feeling you come with me, that that was the sign we were really in love. But every single atom of my being is completely in love with you, and I know you love me. There is so much more that's important to me, than being inside you when you come."

She sniffled again. "I do love you," she told him.

He searched her face. "Here. Just... think about it, okay? And if you want to talk about it some more, we can."

She nodded cautiously. Ned laid down again, and Nancy wiped her face again and turned off the bedside light before joining him. When he wrapped his arms around her, cradling her against him, she rested her head against his shoulder and slowly began to relax.

"Forever," he murmured. "Through everything, Nan. I'll love you forever."

"And I'll love you too," she whispered, nuzzling against him, her palm resting on his chest.

--

He knew.

Nancy tried not to look at her reflection as she splashed cold water on her face and wiped it away, but as soon as she looked into her own eyes, they began to fill with tears.

He knew.

When she had first realized that she didn't enjoy sex the way other people apparently did, she had tried a few tentative online searches to see what she could do or try, to help. She had run across the term asexual and she had read a little about it, and then she had closed the browser window abruptly, her heart pounding.

It was one thing to consider herself frigid, a prude, old-fashioned. That was a personality quirk. She could eventually work past it, somehow. But this... he thought she was asexual. He thought it would never get better for her. That this was all they would have.

She choked, sniffling, and tried to get herself back under control.

She wished he had never said it.

The love he had made to her, before he had told her... oh, it was everything she had wanted, everything they hadn't done in so long. The anxiety and fear had faded away like they had never existed. She had been able to see the love in his eyes, to feel how much he wanted her, and he had asked nothing of her in return. All she did was feel. And then he had held her in his arms, and for a moment, everything had been exactly as it should have been.

He was wrong. She had to show him he was wrong, and then they could get to where he wanted, and he would be happy with her.

Ned was probably still awake; she had been awakened by the sound of water running in the sink, and then he had been moving back into bed with her. Then she had needed to go to the bathroom, too.

She felt miserable. Her heart ached.

God. If he hadn't talked to her... she would be sliding back into bed, feeling his arms wrapped around her, and she would have been content, happy and safe. Loved.

She slowly opened the door and flipped off the lights, closing her eyes so they would adjust faster. Then she pressed her lips tight together and pulled her slip over her head. She jerked her thumbs down and sent her panties sliding toward her ankles, then stepped out of them.

It took Ned so little to become aroused. She thought this alone would do it.

She slid back into the bed, glancing over. The lube was still on the table at Ned's side of the bed. She moved toward him under the covers, fighting the hiss she wanted to voice as her bare skin slid against the sheets.

"Mmm. Hon?"

He was drowsy, but he took a deep breath and rolled onto his side, toward her. "Okay?" he murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep.

She took a deep breath. Then she reached for him and touched his shoulder. His skin was so warm, his muscles hard underneath. She gave him a gentle push so he would roll onto his back again, and he made a soft inquisitive noise as he did.

She had done this part a few times, but it was impossible to think about what she was doing. She had a feeling she might cry or have an anxiety attack if she did. She stroked her palm over his chest, over his abs, over the trail of hair beneath his belly button. She made her touch slow and deliberate, so he would know what she was doing. She didn't think he would stop her, once he knew.

"Nan, what... what's going on?"

She touched him between his legs and found him naked and growing aroused, and she smiled, but only with a quick quirk of her lips. She stroked him a few more times, then steeled herself and swung her knee over him, perching above him.

"Honey..."

She kept stroking him. "You said you wanted this," she finally said. "You said you could touch me while I... did this. That maybe it would work."

"Nan..."

"Touch me," she begged him. "We just—have to try. We can figure it out."

He cupped her hips and stroked them gently. She waited for him to do something else, but that seemed to be all he wanted to do.

"The lube's over there," she told him, panting a little. "That will help?"

Ned sighed quietly. "Okay," he whispered. "If you want this, okay. Here."

He reached for the lube, warming it against his fingers, and then he touched the ball of his thumb against her clit. She moaned, tilting her head back, trying to imagine what he wanted, how he had always pictured her. He would want her to look sexy and alluring. She wasn't sure how to do that, but she had to try. Maybe the darkness helped.

He stroked her clit gently, and she took the lube and slicked her palm before she ran her fist up and down his cock. Ned made a quiet noise under her, and she could feel it.

She was going to do this. She was going to ride him. She could imagine how it would work, and it would be good, and she could give him what he had wanted...

She resolved herself to do it. She had done so many difficult things in her life, during her career, and he was her husband. This wasn't hard.

"Help me," she whispered. "I... Just show me where..."

He traced his lube-slicked fingers down to the entrance of her sex, and Nancy whimpered once, then managed to stifle herself. "Right here," he whispered.

She trembled when she bumped the head of his cock against her clit, then began to angle it down, to wiggle until she thought she was in the right position over him. Her heart was pounding so hard, and she swallowed, trying to make herself calm down.

Once she had guided his cock down to where he had directed her, she bowed her head. Ned made another soft sound.

"Honey..."

"Touch me," she whispered. "Please, I need you to touch me..."

He stroked her clit again, and she shivered. When he brought his other hand up and brushed his fingertips over a hardened nipple, she moaned softly.

She could do this. She would do it, this time. She would show him...

He had been inside her before. That was all this was.

The head of his cock was just at her entrance, but he wasn't inside her. She just had to work her way down...

But she couldn't.

She froze, tears rising in her eyes, just like last time. They had tried this twice before and she had never been able to go any farther. Maybe she had decided, but her body wouldn't obey.

"P-Please," she gasped out, and then she was sobbing. "I-I can't..."

He stopped fondling her. Then he took a deep breath and grabbed her waist, drawing her down to the bed, onto her side, facing him. He rolled onto his side too and drew her into his arms, holding her tight.

"I can't," she sobbed. "You have to do it. Please..."

"What is it you want me to do," he said softly.

"Fix me," she sobbed, without even realizing she was about to say it. "I can't..."

He kissed her forehead. "There's nothing wrong with you," he said.

"I'm normal," she said, through another sob. "I just..."

"You are normal," he told her. "There's nothing wrong with you. And you're so much more than anyone else I've ever met. You're kind and sweet and beautiful and so smart. This is just a part of you, like it's a part of me. And I'm so, so fucking sorry I made you think this was what 'normal' was. That you weren't good enough as you are. You've always been so much more than good enough, and so much better than I deserve."

She felt so miserable and sad that she didn't know what to do. But he kept holding her. He stroked her hair and her back, making soothing noises to her.

Normal. She was normal. She had to figure it out. She had to fix this.

But the comfort of his arms around her was lulling her. Slowly her sobs, her tears tapered off, until she was just hiccuping a little. Ned reached for a tissue and she gratefully wiped her face.

"You're fine," he whispered. "I'm sorry this hurt. I didn't mean for it to. I thought you'd be—relieved, I guess."

"To know that there's no hope for me? For us?"

He stroked her cheek. "We have so much hope, honey. And it'll be so much better when we aren't hurting each other this way anymore. I want to stop. We can stop. We can make it good again. We can find what we were meant to have."

She didn't reply; she couldn't. She didn't know what to say. She felt raw and bruised and sad. It was as though all that pain and fear and self-loathing had been for nothing, and she had needed it to be for something.

He sighed as she, moving like a sleepwalker, laid down and rested her cheek against his shoulder again. He kept rubbing her back.

"So that's how it is for you," he said softly. "I... that was..."

She remembered what he had said to her earlier, and her cheeks flushed hot. "You didn't like it," she murmured, and cringed in embarrassment. "Oh my God. I... I'm sorry, I didn't... I just wanted to show you that I could... that we could— Shit." She curled up, her misery growing deeper. "Shit."

Ned rubbed her shoulder. "I'm sorry for what I did to you," he murmured. "I did this to you. I made you feel this way. And I've had a day to think about this and deal with it, and you're still upset... Please, sweetheart. Please just relax. We aren't losing anything, okay? We're going to be fine. Go back to sleep."

How could he reach over and draw her into his arms like he did? She had just started doing what he had apologized to her about. She shuddered with revulsion, angry at herself. She had hurt him.

It had hurt so much, to see that he was disappointed in her, to be powerless to fix it. Over and over. Every time.

She felt the sudden urge to push away from him, to scream. If this was true, then all that pain really had been for nothing. She wanted to hurt him.

But even as her chest turned tight and thick with anger, tears rose in her eyes again. She loved him so much. Her love for him had made her failure all the more acute, because she had been so afraid of disappointing him. She didn't want to hurt him now.

That terror of disappointing him was still haunting her.

She was exhausted as another pair of tears slipped down her cheeks, as she rested her cheek against his shoulder again. "Forgive me," she whispered.

"Nothing to forgive," he whispered. "We'll be home tomorrow. It'll be better."

So many nights in their bed, she had been on the point of tears and beyond. She had wanted to go back to before; now he wanted to take her back to before. She hadn't expected to feel so heartbroken when it happened.

"Sleep," he whispered, and it was the last thing she heard as she drifted away, heartbroken and heavy with tears.

--

They talked about everything else, it seemed, on the way home. Ned wasn't about to broach the topic that had to be on her mind too. He was afraid of what had happened to her the night before, the change he had seen in her. The raw pain on her face and in her voice.

He didn't deserve her. He had never been more sure of it. He was so used to her being strong that seeing her devastated made him panic. And there was no way to comfort her when he was the cause of her anguish.

When what she was, was the cause of her anguish.

They carried their bags inside, and Ned sighed in relief as he stepped into their apartment. It was good to be home. He hoped it would be a way for them to make a fresh start.

But there was one thing he had to do first.

Nancy had gone into the bedroom; Ned followed her and put his duffel bag up on the bed so he could unload it, tossing the dirty clothes into the empty hamper. She had washed clothes while he had been out of town. She had tidied up their apartment.

He pulled open the drawer in his bedside table and had unloaded half of its contents when Nancy came out of their bathroom and stopped a few feet from the foot of the bed. He glanced up at her. Her cheeks were blazing; her eyes were wet.

"I think I kept receipts for some of these. Like this one." He put a toy that was still in its packaging, unopened, on the bed. "Do you like this one, though?"

He held up a small silver bullet vibrator he had used on her with some success, and she nodded once, then glanced down.

"You can say no," he said gently.

She didn't look up again as she spoke. "It makes me uncomfortable to use toys," she whispered.

Ned's stomach clenched. He felt sick, and disgusted with himself. "Then I'll get rid of all of them. If I can find those receipts, I'll buy something we'll both like." Then he realized how she might misunderstand that. "Something—that isn't like this."

He loaded the toys they had used into a bag and tied it off before he threw it away. His skin crawled with something like revulsion now, when he thought about it, about how she had tried so hard to be what he had wanted. He held out the toys they had never used, putting those into a separate bag to return them.

Nancy sat down at the foot of the bed, her knees together and her open hands resting on them, her head down. After Ned had put the unused toys away—he didn't want them anywhere near the bed, knowing how Nancy felt about them—he paused in front of her, listening intently for any sign she was upset.

Then she took a breath, and it trembled.

"Are there any chores you wanted me to help out with? I'm sorry I wasn't here to help out yesterday."

She shook her head and sniffled. "No. Thanks," she whispered.

He couldn't bear to see her like this. She was breaking his heart all over again.

"Do you want to go lay on the couch and watch a movie?"

She sniffled again. "Okay," she whispered. "Um... Ned, I'm really sorry about last night, what I did—"

He sat down beside her. "I forgive you," he said. "You were really upset, and I understand that. And I'm sorry I asked you to forgive me for doing the same thing to you, in a way... because I don't deserve your forgiveness. I should have stopped a long time ago."

"You were just determined," she said. "It's one of the things I love about you."

"But it absolutely never means I should hurt you," he said.

She shrugged. She just looked so defeated and sad. Her blue eyes were so bright with tears, her lashes wet and dark, her skin flushed red. Her lips trembled faintly.

"You didn't hurt me."

He cupped her cheek and gently urged her to face him, to look at him. "I did," he said. "Wishing it was true isn't going to change what happened. And you didn't deserve it."

Her face crumpled. "I need it—to mean something," she forced out, her fists clenched, almost trembling at how hard it was to make her words comprehensible through her tears. "It can't—just be for nothing."

Ned brought his other hand up and stroked tears from her other cheek. "What would make it worth something?" he whispered, searching her eyes.

She shrugged again, but from the way her gaze slid away from his, he knew she was lying. "If we had figured it out," she whispered, and took a sharp breath to stave off another sob.

"I figured out that when I go down on you, that sometimes you can come," he said. "I think that's worth something. We learned what you don't like. And no one can say we didn't try, Nan. We tried everything. You don't need to have any doubt about that. There's not some secret, some trick..."

She wiped her eyes with her fists, gasping in a breath, and he pulled a tissue out of the box for her. She gratefully took it and blew her nose, then settled back down.

"I felt like there was," she admitted. "That we just had to find it..."

"I did too. And I was disappointed too, Nan, a little. I'd been so convinced that the way I saw it in my head—that I wanted it so much, it had to be real.

"But every time I imagine how something is going to be, especially with you... the reality is always better. Our marriage is better than I ever dreamed, and I'd already told myself that my expectations were too high."

"And I expected a lot too," she said, and shook her head. "Champagne and roses and something sweet and romantic," she whispered.

He reached for her hand, and slowly, after a moment, she took it in hers. "We can have champagne and roses," he said. "Silk and chocolates and slow music. And we don't have to be so serious about it all the time. We can laugh together and just hold each other.

"What I imagined, what I was trying to—to make you do, that was the fantasy. This is the reality. And it's so much better. Seeing the love in your eyes last night, when we were together, seeing that you weren't scared... it had been so long."

She nodded. "It was so good," she whispered. "It was exactly what I wanted."

He smiled. "So we have what we wanted," he said softly. "I was just too blind to see it."

She looked up at him and searched his eyes. "You aren't going to change your mind," she whispered, just barely loud enough for him to hear, and her voice rose slightly at the end of it.

He shook his head. "No. I love you, and we're never going back to that, not ever."

Another wave of tears rose in her eyes, and she blinked them down her cheeks. Then she reached for him, moving into his arms, and he held her tight, rubbing her back, his cheek against hers.

"Come on," he murmured. "Let's cuddle on the couch and watch a movie and just relax for a while. Okay?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "It just feels like everything changed while you were gone."

He nodded, brushing wet hair from her cheeks. "I guess it did," he murmured. "Do we have any of that cookie dough in the fridge?"

She chuckled and took his hand, wiping her tears with her other. "You're a bottomless pit," she said. "Even after that buffet last night. Come on. Let's see what we can dig up."

--

Nancy counted her bags one last time, then waved at Bess. "Looks like I have everything. Thanks, honey!"

Bess blew her a kiss. "Have a fantastic time tonight, Nan. You look great. And tell Ned I said happy anniversary."

"I will. I'll call you tomorrow."

Bess winked at her. "Just not too early, I'm sure."

Nancy adjusted the bags in her hands once Bess had waved and sped away from the curb. Most of what she had bought had been things they needed around the house: a replacement for the shower drain, a bottle of dish soap, a box of light bulbs. She and Ned were trying to save money, and for the first anniversary of their wedding day, they had agreed to celebrate at home.

She still wanted to look nice, though, and she had bought a dress she had found on clearance while she and Bess had been out shopping, idly browsing and not expecting to find anything while Bess had been in the changing room. The dress was pale blue, with pairs of spaghetti straps over each shoulder; it was moderately low-cut, and the long skirt fell from a cinched empire waist. She had been incredibly lucky that she had found it in her size and that she didn't need to have it shortened; the hem just brushed the tops of her feet. The fabric felt silky against her skin.

She had changed into it during the last stop she and Bess had made, so that she could surprise Ned with it. She hoped he liked it.

They definitely had a lot to celebrate.

A year ago, Nancy had been walking down the aisle to the man she loved more than anyone else in the world. She had been anxious and excited, and absolutely positive that he was the only man in the world for her. He would be her husband and they would have the kind of relationship they had only just begun to explore with each other. Making love with him would be sweet and incredible. She had been sure of her love for him, and his for her.

They had been through so much. She wasn't the same person she had been anymore.

She was asexual and somehow, miraculously, her husband didn't care.

She pondered that as she took the elevator up. It wasn't that he didn't care; he cared a lot about it. But once they had discovered she was likely asexual, he had completely changed. In the last month, she hadn't felt pressured or anxious during sex anymore. It was everything she had ever wanted.

She had been convinced that she had to change something inside her, to be what he wanted. She had thought the picture in her head was the only way he would truly love her. Having that belief taken away from her had left her shaken and heartbroken.

But her anxiety had completely melted away, once she realized that Ned wasn't going to revert back to who he had been over the months before. He got rid of the toys that he had encouraged and begged her to use while they were in bed, and had used the money from returning the unopened ones to take them out to dinner at an incredible new restaurant in the city. She didn't feel cheated at staying home tonight, not after how great that meal and that night had been.

Before, she had started dreading Saturday nights, their usual night for having sex. No matter how hard she tried, she hadn't been able to make him happy or give him what he wanted, and her frustration had grown every time. She had never been able to refuse him. When she even considered it, she felt miserable and depressed. She had to give him everything she could, to prove she was trying, that there was still a chance.

Even after everything, she had been confident that they would figure it out, that some particular confluence would make it work. And then... it hadn't mattered anymore.

She could hear television sets in other apartments, the squeak of a floorboard above them, a sudden peal of laughter. She put her bags down just outside their door and found the key in her bag. She took a deep breath and smoothed a hand over her hair and her dress before she unlocked the door.

The first smell that hit her was the sauce—garlic and onion and tomato. Then cheese and cooked beef. She sniffed appreciatively, coming around the corner and into the kitchen.

Ned was standing in front of the stove, although he was turned to face her. "Nan—babe, you look so gorgeous. I don't remember seeing that when you were leaving...?"

She grinned. "It was on clearance. I was hoping you might like it...?"

He made a "turn-around" gesture, and she obliged him, feeling his gaze on her. "Absolutely gorgeous," he replied. "You're always beautiful, but that may be my third-favorite dress of yours."

"Third-favorite?"

"After your wedding dress, and that other blue dress I love on you."

She smiled. "And is that your mom's lasagna?"

"Yep. Her anniversary present to us, she said. Everything is almost ready, so why don't you just put your stuff away? I just need a couple more minutes."

She came over to him, still carrying her bags. "Most of it's for in here, anyway," she told him. "But I'll let you work your magic, Nickerson. I'm impressed so far."

Ned snorted. "I'm just reheating," he said dismissively. "This dinner is definitely too important for me to totally fuck up by attempting actual cooking alone."

After she put the light bulbs away under the sink, she patted his back. "I think you make a very competent sous chef."

"Which is almost entirely thanks to you."

He had found the formal white tablecloth and spread that over their small kitchen table. She had found that on Black Friday while department store shopping with Bess, and she had imagined hosting a Thanksgiving meal at their apartment the following year—though the lack of space meant it would be difficult. She saw a bottle of wine on the counter, and a few tea lights in cut crystal holders they had been given as wedding gifts.

He vanished soon after setting the table, and returned in a pair of gray slacks and a soft medium-blue polo, his hair just brushed. "T-shirt and shorts just didn't feel right, with you in that," he told her, then pulled out her chair. "Have a seat, sweetheart."

She smiled as he pushed her seat in, and offered her one of the nice cloth napkins she had bought along with the tablecloth. "I should probably tuck this in like a bib," she commented. "I'd hate to get anything on my new dress."

Ned smiled. "Want some wine?"

"Yes. Please."

The meal was incredible, just as she had known it would be. Edith had never really become accustomed to cooking for just herself and James, and when Ned visited, his mother always sent him home with at least one casserole and one dessert to share with Nancy. She was in her element when hosting family gatherings and dinners.

After Nancy had swallowed her last bite of lasagna, she sat back with a satisfied sigh, gently patting her full belly. "Ned, this was really sweet of you," she told him. "Thank you for putting all this together for us."

He shrugged, wiping his mouth and sitting back too. "I'm glad you liked it," he said, gazing at her, and she shivered as she looked into those sweet dark eyes she loved so much. "You know I would have loved to take you somewhere spectacular—New York or some beautiful beach, a nice hotel and a fantastic meal. Maybe in a few years."

She reached for his hand. "You did give me a fantastic meal," she told him. "Two of them, really. But I wouldn't care where we were or what we were doing, as long as I was with you."

Ned took a deep breath, gently rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. "Are you happy, Nan?" he asked, searching her eyes. "I... I never want to take that for granted again."

Her throat suddenly ached with tears, at the sincerity she saw in his face and heard in his quiet voice. "I've been so happy this past month," she told him softly. "Have I not seemed to be?"

He shook his head. "You have seemed... incandescently happy," he told her. "Especially when we're in bed. Do you... has that been okay?"

She nodded. "It's been everything I wanted."

"Good." He smiled.

"Have you been happy? With... everything?"

He nodded immediately. "It's been such a relief to understand," he said. "To not see you anxious and upset in bed anymore. It's like everything has just fallen into place, and I... I'm just really glad that we're here. That we reached this place together."

She nodded. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too." He gently squeezed her hand. "Want to relax on the couch for a little while? Don't forget that we have an entire cake layer for dessert."

Nancy smiled and groaned. "I'm definitely going to need a rest break for that."

They picked out a movie to watch, and Nancy looked down at her long dress. "Maybe I should change into something a little more comfortable," she commented.

"Mmm. Me too, then."

She knew what that was code for. She knew she and Ned were expected to have sex tonight. She would be most comfortable in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of loose shorts, but she opened her other drawer, the one where she kept her nightgowns. She only had a few. One was pale blue trimmed in lace, and it was almost the same shade as the dress she had bought today. Ned had seen it several times. He had seen the black silk one too, the fabric thin and slippery, clinging to her curves; he had drawn it up and over her head so many times.

But the one she picked was the one she had worn on their wedding night, the one she had worn the night she had told him she didn't enjoy sex and had asked him to make love to her, the one she had worn a month ago when Ned had told her that he wouldn't keep upsetting her by trying to fix what wasn't broken. It felt familiar when she slipped it on after hastily washing up in their bathroom. The first time she had worn it... they had made love for the first time. It felt like the right choice.

When she opened the door into the bedroom, Ned was beside their bed, just placing a vase of roses there. She smiled. "Happy anniversary," he told her.

"Happy anniversary," she replied softly. "They're beautiful, honey. Thank you."

"I want to give you everything you want," he told her. "Starting with this."

She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I have everything I want," she told him. "Let's watch a movie and eat cake and make love."

His smile became broad, then a grin. "Perfect," he told her.

They watched the whole movie, and ate cake an hour into it. Nancy had been worried that it might have suffered after being in the freezer for a year, but it actually tasted good. Ned fed her forkfuls of it and she fed him, and they laughed at each other, sharing long icing-sweet kisses when she wasn't wrapped securely in his arms.

By the time the credits started, they had finished off the bottle of wine too. Nancy felt buzzed and happy, and she loved being so close to her husband. Being a little drunk would help with her nervousness, too. Even after a year of marriage, even after the blissful month they had just spent together, she still felt nervous when he saw her naked, when she knew he was naked. She shivered still when he nudged her knees apart and slid between.

Ned dropped a kiss against her neck. "Are you ready for bed?" he murmured against her skin.

"Mmm. Yes," she murmured. Then she giggled. "That tickles."

He stroked his palm over her hip and upper thigh. "I think I need to take you to bed and see exactly where you're ticklish," he told her. "If that sounds good to you."

"Mmm. Okay," she told him.

In their room, she walked over to the roses and leaned down to breathe in their delicate scent. Her heart skipped a beat when she looked at their bed, and she decided to sit down at the edge. She sat with her knees together and her palms resting on her thighs.

Ned came in from the bathroom, running his tongue over freshly-brushed teeth. "I think we need some candlelight," he suggested. "What do you think?"

She nodded. "I'll help."

They brought the candles they had used for their meal, and added a few more. She and Ned had spent a few nights alone at the Fox Lake house during the winter, and she remembered how golden and luminous his skin had appeared in the flickering firelight, how it had reflected in his dark eyes. When they had been making out on the couch, when his hands had been stroking her through her clothes, she had wanted to enjoy it, but she had been so anxious about what she knew was going to happen that her stomach had been churning with it. Now, when they were like this... she wanted to try again. She wanted him to spread a fluffy comforter in front of the fireplace and ask if he could make love to her. And she thought that he would.

Ned stood after lighting the last candle, then reached over and took her hand. "You look so beautiful," he murmured. "I love you."

"I love you too," she murmured. "Do you want to make love?"

He nodded. "Very much. Do you want me to...?"

He made a vague gesture, but she knew what he meant and glanced down. "Yes," she whispered, and she could feel herself blushing.

Ned reached up and cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb against her skin. "I like it too," he murmured. "Okay? I know I can't change the way you feel about it, but I like making you feel that way. You don't need to be ashamed of it."

She nodded, and then finally glanced up into his eyes. He was trying. He was trying so hard to give her what she needed, to understand, and her heart was warmed by it. He hadn't forced or begged or guilted her into doing anything in the last month.

He laid her down without stripping her nightgown or her panties off. He stroked his palm over her belly and she felt the warmth of his skin though the fabric. His dark eyes were alight with desire, and she gazed up into his face. She could feel a soft, warm awareness low in her belly.

"I love you."

She slowly opened and closed her fist. "I love you too," she whispered.

He brought his hand up and cupped her breast, gently brushing his thumb over the hard tip of her nipple. She took a deep breath. She felt both aroused and anxious when he did this. For a long time, she had been so worried about trying to encourage or maintain arousal so she might orgasm, that it had been more than likely to slip entirely through her fingers, to flicker and fade out quickly. A few times, even though he had gone down on her, even though nothing had seemed different, she still hadn't been able to reach climax. It felt good even when she didn't, but her orgasm was sometimes so intense, so consuming, that it left her shaking and clinging to him. To her, it felt arbitrary.

It was getting better, though. She didn't think she would ever understand exactly how it worked, but at least she was feeling less nervous now.

He moved over her and gazed into her eyes, still fondling her. "I love you," he murmured. "You feel so good. I love how sweet and wet and tight you are when I'm inside you. And I love the way you look tonight. You looked so sweet and beautiful in your dress, and seeing you in this..."

She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. "You gave me everything I wanted," she told him softly. "You've given me everything I wanted. It's okay. I want this with you."

He gave her a long, slow kiss, and when he moved on his knees between her legs, her heart skipped a beat. "You have no idea how much I want you," he whispered. "How much I need this."

"I think I do," she whispered. "I need this too, baby. I need to be with you."

He kissed her again, lingering and sweet, and then he began to nuzzle and stroke and kiss his way down her body, always keeping his hands on her, caressing her, fondling her, making her tingle slightly between her thighs. He pushed her legs apart and stroked her, and she closed her eyes, just letting herself feel.

When he nuzzled against her inner thighs, when his lips brushed against the sensitive skin, her spine arched a little at the thought of what he was about to do. He moved his hands under the hem of her gown and began to inch her panties down, and the slippery fabric of her gown moved against her hardened nipples, and she let out her breath in a long sigh.

He slid her panties down, planting a kiss against her lower belly as he did, and then pushed her gown up. Once she was naked, he pushed his shorts down too and perched over her.

She breathed his name, letting him part her legs wide, tipping her head back as he nuzzled and kissed bare skin, moving ever closer to the join of her thighs. She had been able to do something like this with him, but after she had stroked him and kissed his erection a few times, she always became nervous and had to stop—and Ned was already more than aroused by that point, and ready to make love to her. She wished it was so easy for her.

Maybe it was the wine, or the fact that it was their anniversary; she didn't know. But as he licked her, suckled her clit, nuzzled against her, whispering how much he loved her, that low, vague hum in her belly deepened. He pushed her knees back, parting her legs even wider, and she whimpered, her abs tensing. With every stroke of his tongue against her clit, she found herself wanting to cry out.

He made love to her that way, kissing her belly or her breasts whenever he teased her clit with his slick fingertips and thumb or the heel of his hand, then switching off again. The continual stimulation soon had her gasping, writhing slowly under him. "Oh, Ned," she moaned.

"That's right, baby. Feel it, sweetheart. Feel me love you."

She released a choked incoherent cry. "Oh my God," she moaned. "Ohhhh..."

The tension inside her became a roar, and she was somehow able to let her self-consciousness about what he was doing to her, about how she was reacting, drift away. She slid her fingers into his hair and tipped her head completely back, and he was gently squeezing and stroking her nipples as he licked her clit, and she panted, trying to catch her breath, but every breath sounded like another cry.

Then the tension broke, and it kept mounting, because he didn't stop what he was doing. She let out a high, almost soundless, breathless scream, rocking her hips against the strokes of his tongue. He switched off again, fondling her clit with his fingers and suckling against her other breast as he fondled her nipple with his fingers, and she released a loud desperate cry. His fingertips were gentle at her entrance, not yet probing her, but he groaned as he rubbed the warm slick proof of her arousal over the already-slick folds of flesh between her legs.

"Is it good, baby?"

She sobbed in answer, and trembled as her entire body seemed to tense, like she couldn't bear to miss a single stroke or brush of his fingertip or his tongue. She was so overwhelmed by the hum of arousal and pleasure that it dampened how strange it was, to feel her body react this way. She wasn't in control of it, not at all.

He kept rubbing her, and she felt her hips thrust hard, the same way he sometimes moved inside her. Ned groaned loudly.

"Do you want me inside you?" he gasped out.

She didn't know how to respond; her hips jolted hard again, and Ned moved back, still stroking her as he gazed into her eyes.

"Baby, I won't do it unless you want it."

She cried out, knowing her face was flushed. She felt like she was coming out of her skin; she was damp with sweat, and she could feel her womb, her inner flesh, clenching and releasing in firm pulses. She knew it was what he wanted.

She nodded and Ned fitted himself just at her entrance, and she didn't let herself think it, did her best to ignore her anxiety. Her hips jolted again, like she was so eager to join to him, and he moved inside her.

Her inner flesh clenched again.

Ned gasped sharply. He pushed deep inside her and her hips jolted again, her shoulders hunched, her breath coming in desperate pants. She studied his face anxiously, afraid that her body clenching against him had hurt him.

"Oh my God..."

He began working in her with rapid thrusts, still stroking her clit to keep her aroused—

And she began to relax. The last of the aftershocks was over. Her body was her own again, even though she was so wet between her legs that his thrusts were audible, almost primal, animalistic. Then Ned grunted quietly, slowing down.

"It's over," he panted.

She nodded, her heart skipping a beat—in fear, in remembered frustration and pain. If that was what he had wanted, would it wake his need, his obsession, again? She had loved the past month, and to undo it all...

"Shh," Ned murmured, making his thrusts even more gentle. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you just now?"

She shook her head. She didn't know what to say. Maybe she would need to talk to him about it, but the fear took her breath away.

"Was it okay?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Shh. Shhhhh." He leaned down, shifting the angle of his hips, and she closed her eyes as he nuzzled against her neck, feeling his erect cock move in and out of her, feeling the flushed warmth of his flesh against hers. "Shh. I hope it felt good for you. It's okay. It's okay, baby, just relax. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset."

Her hand twitched, and then she brought it up, to stroke against his shoulder blades. He moved back to look into her eyes.

"I love you, honey. I love you so much. Are you all right?"

She nodded. She had a feeling that if she could at least pretend to thrust her hips like that again, if she could wrap her legs around him, he would like that—but she felt limp and powerless from her release. "I love you too," she whispered. "It's okay. Thank you..."

He smiled. Her gaze was on his face as he stroked inside her a few more times, then moved deep within her and found his release. "Oh my God," he panted. "God, sweetheart..."

She closed her eyes as he slowly lowered himself to her, both of them damp with sweat and exhausted, and she wrapped her arms around him and held him. "Shh," she whispered, stroking his hair. "I love you."

It took a long, long moment for him to move off her, to part from her. He kissed her temple and her cheekbone, then slowly rolled off her.

"Okay," he said, once he had cleaned both of them up and she was in his arms again, starting to relax. "You freaked out a little..."

She swallowed hard, trying to figure out how to say it. "I wasn't—doing that," she started. "My body was. Do you know how weird that is?"

"I can imagine."

"And... that was what you've wanted all this time, wasn't it..."

He kissed her forehead, then looked into her eyes. "The way I imagined it, I'd be inside you the whole time," he told her. "Feeling all of it. And that's not going to happen for us, so we don't need to worry about it. All right?"

She took a deep breath. "But..."

When she trailed off, Ned stroked his palm against her back. "But what," he murmured. "I don't ever want to see that look on your face again."

She felt tears prick at her eyes. "I was afraid it would come back," she whispered. "All the... trying..."

He shook his head. "I loved what just happened. And we could try it twenty times, a hundred times, and I know us well enough to know that it might not happen again in all those times. That we'd analyze and pick everything apart until it wasn't good anymore. But I need you to know that I won't do that again if it upset you. If it was too much, too sudden, too—anything.

"I don't ever want this to turn into what it was, again. I want us to make love, Nan. And if it never happens again, then it never happens again.

"Every time with you... in the past few weeks, has been all we wanted. Hasn't it?"

She nodded. "Yeah," she whispered. "I... I was just afraid. But you didn't hurt me. It didn't hurt. And... if you just... if we just let it happen, if it ever happens again..."

He nodded. Then he smiled at her. "We've had a long time to practice," he told her. "This is how it will be, okay? This is how I want it to be. I want you to feel safe and happy and utterly, completely loved, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. I will do everything in my power to help make sure that you don't feel anxious or afraid of this. We're not going back to what happened. Never again. I promise you."

She reached up and cupped his cheek, stroking the skin as she searched his eyes. "I do," she whispered. "When you look at me that way... there is no safer place in the world than in your arms. I love you so much."

He very gently brushed the tip of his nose against hers, then gave her a soft, sweet kiss. "To what has been the best year of my life," he whispered. "I'm sorry for what I did to you, what I almost did to us. And I hope every year we're together is just better and better."

She stretched up and returned his kiss, gently. "It will be," she whispered. "I know it will. I love you. You're the other half of my heart."

"And you're the other half of mine."