Kayla Perrin - Control

On most days, Robert could be found on the greens at The Peninsula Club. It was his home away from home. We ate there much of the time when we chose to dine out, which was why I had wanted to try someplace different.

But that’s where we went, and Robert was a much happier man. After a casual dinner and a couple of drinks, we headed home—where I still hoped to end the night the way I had originally planned.

I tried to get Robert in the mood after we pulled up in front of the house. Reaching across the seat, I lazily skimmed my fingertips over his hand before taking it in mine.

Robert squeezed my fingers in return. Then he met my eyes.

I stared at the man I had married. He was getting older, yes, but he was still so distinguished. Still looked like Harry Belafonte, a man who no matter how old he got would always be attractive.

“I love you,” I told him. “Only you.”

Robert’s mouth curled in a small smile, one thing that despite the years was as dazzling as it had been the first day I met him.

Leaning forward, I pressed my lips to his. A lingering kiss that said we would continue this in our bedroom.

“I love you, too, Elsie,” Robert whispered as we pulled apart.

We exited the Porsche, which he had parked at the front of the house. A series of pod lights and spotlights illuminated our grand, Italian renaissance manor. It truly was a spectacular place, complete with a Roman-style fountain on an island of grass in the center of the long circular driveway.

I looped my arm through Robert’s as we made our way up the steps. Once inside, I kissed his cheek. The double front doors led to a huge great room with a plasma television mounted on the wall, a fireplace, sofa, love seat and lounge chair. There was plenty of room to make love right there, and Olga, our housekeeper, was long gone for the day. But I knew my husband. He would want to wait until we were comfortably settled in our bedroom, as opposed to getting hot and heavy on the sofa.

Holding his hand, I led him up the curved staircase, across the portion of hallway that overlooked the great room below, to the double doors at the end that led to our bedroom.

The moment we crossed the threshold, I turned to face Robert, snaking my arms around his neck, my mouth on his, slowly coaxing his lips apart. Slipping my tongue into his mouth, I held him tighter. Robert began to kiss me back and I moaned, the sound ripe not just with desire, but with desperate need.

Robert’s hands went to my upper arms. He held me for several seconds, kissing me. Then he tightened his grip and forced my body away from his.

“I haven’t taken my pill, Elsie.”

“You can take it now.” I moved forward to kiss him once more, but he held me away.

“I want to make love to you—I do. But tonight—”

I planted another kiss on his lips. “Please, sweetheart. Please…”

I continued to kiss Robert, not ready for our night to end like this. He allowed it to go on for a few more seconds before pulling away again.

“I’m sorry, Elsie.” His eyes roamed over my face. And I thought I saw, just for a moment, a flash of disapproval.

“What is it?” I asked him.

“It’s…” He fingered the loose locks of hair around my face, almost as if examining the strands. “I’m tired, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

I got the feeling that Robert had been about to say something else. That there was another reason he didn’t want to take me to bed.

But it was late for him—nearly eleven—and he’d had a couple glasses of that expensive cognac at the club, which always made him a little drowsy.

“Okay.” I gave him a soft kiss this time, trying to quell my disappointment. “If you’re tired, you’re tired. Why don’t you go get ready for bed, then? I’ll do some reading in the great room.”

“I’m sorry,” Robert repeated.

“It’s okay.” I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

I turned and exited the bedroom. Halfway down the hallway, I felt tears fill my eyes.

What am I doing wrong?

Robert and I hadn’t made love in nearly two weeks. There’d been some crisis at the office, Kolstad Systems, and he’d stepped in to help sort the problem out. I’d been busy with work. With all that had been going on, we hadn’t carved out any time for us.

This was the first evening in a while that we had spent any significant time together. I hadn’t wanted it to end like this.

Because I was pretty certain I was ovulating.

I went downstairs to the kitchen and made some tea and put on some smooth jazz. I hoped it would wash away my disappointment, but it didn’t. Two years I’d been off the Pill. Two years I’d been trying to get pregnant.

Robert’s rejection—even if he was tired—stung.

And then I asked myself why the night was necessarily over. Sometimes one partner had to do some coaxing to get the other in the mood. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d seduced my husband.

My drive renewed, I made my way back upstairs. I would take off my clothes and crawl into bed with him. All he needed to do was get erect. I would climb on top of him and do the rest of the work.

As I neared the bedroom, I unzipped my dress. I pulled it over my head and tossed it onto the floor. Then I unclasped my bra and let it fall, as well. It was an idea that came to me, and I acted. Surely when I entered the room, naked except for the pumps and necklace, Robert would become aroused.

Outside the door, I paused to strip off my thong panties.

The lights in the room were doused, except the lamp on my night table. Robert was lying on his side with his back to me. He didn’t hear me approach.

“Robert,” I whispered.

No answer.

Time for plan B.

I kicked off my pumps and pulled the covers back on my side of the bed. Then I slipped under the sheets, their coolness caressing my skin. I slid over to my husband, running my hand down his left arm. He didn’t react, so I leaned closer, nuzzling against his neck.

That’s when I heard his deep, steady breaths—and realized he was sleeping.

Still, I ran my hand over his hip and stroked him through his silk pajamas, hoping to wake him. Robert didn’t react.

I was defeated. I lay back on my pillow, sighing. It wasn’t just that I wanted to make a baby. I was sexually frustrated, needed sexual release.

As I lay in the dimly lit room listening to my husband’s steady breathing, I rested my right hand on the lower edge of my belly. I ran my fingertips over my skin. It was my own touch, yet my vagina thrummed in response. It needed to be stroked.

My hand went lower, over my pubic hair and to my center. I spread my folds. Lazily let my finger stroke my clitoris.

Angling my head slightly, I glanced at Robert. He hadn’t moved. He was still asleep. But even if he woke up and found me touching myself, I wouldn’t stop.

If he saw me, hopefully he would become aroused and make love to me.

I circled my finger around my clit, each stroke making me hotter. Raising my left hand to my breast, I tweaked my nipple. It hardened instantly.

I played with my nipple. Played with my clit. Looked toward Robert and saw that his back was still to me. He was clueless.

Closing my eyes, I started to imagine my husband’s hands on my pussy. But the fact that he was sleeping beside me, that he’d turned me down…It left me cold.

So I began to imagine someone else’s hand playing with my pussy. A man who, if I climbed into bed naked beside him, would wake up. He would wake up, lower his head over my chest and lick my nipples with his tongue. He would lick and suck, pull at them with his teeth…

My clit flinched in response to the image playing out in my mind. I moved my finger more quickly over my sweet spot, then dipped it into the soft folds. I was wet.