Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 141255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
It seems like we’re all just working at healing. They don’t treat Tommy with anger or push him away. If anything, during the wedding it seemed like everyone was closer, tighter than ever. Moods were quiet and somber when they got here but the wedding day was magical, filled with love and well wishes and that’s what mattered.
Here, we’re also Tommy and Tia, but on our passports we’re Tommaso and Valentina Caruso, names I picked. I chose the surname for Rose’s parents. He says we don’t have to worry about money, he’s got enough put away to look after us for years and once the company’s taken all apart and sold we’ll never have to worry about money again. He tells me that to comfort me, but money probably can’t buy my husband what he needs the most – peace.
In an argument we had a few days after the wedding when he was being moody and broody and refusing to leave the house, Tommy said he wished he could turn back the clock to the day he first saw me and leave me behind that ice cream counter untainted by his poison. I slapped him in the face when he said that to me. In reaction to my slap, he pinned me against a wall with my arms held over my head and scowled at me as I screamed in his face that poison or not, his love is mine and how dare he wish that away. It turned my blood to acid to think that he’d wish what we have away for even a second. What we have is everything to me. It’s all I have.
That heated argument resulted in my getting a wicked spanking in retaliation for slapping his face and then sex so rough and so totally amazing that I limped the next day, my body feeling like I’d run a marathon. Sex is a common argument ender for us. It’s a common way to share joy or deal with frustration or fear; it’s what we do. Sometimes he gets wound so tight that I know it’s what he needs, so I push his buttons until he takes what he needs.
I’ve changed. I don’t know that I’m stronger but I do know that I find ways to deal with my anger and frustration now… usually through sex.
A few days after that argument, we had another. I wanted to go for a walk and he made an excuse about waiting for a phone call. I waited two hours but then told him I’d just go and be gone half an hour. He wouldn’t let me and refused to bring his phone on a walk, mumbling about bad reception and missing the call. So I told him off and left the house anyway. I saw him come out behind me and I said, “I’m going for a thirty-minute walk. Just let me go!” He grabbed me and threw me over the shoulder and carried me back and when we got back in the house he snarled, “Don’t you ever do that again!”
I stuck my tongue out at him and took off back out the door toward the water and he followed me, so I ran. Of course he chased me. He tackled me to the sand. I pushed, shoved, and swore at him, telling him I couldn’t spend 24/7 with him without losing my freaking mind and that I just wanted a half an hour walk on the beach to myself. He responded by apologizing for being so overprotective but then he fucked me hard down in the sand, telling me he loved me more than anything, begging me to be patient with him.
I’d often said it was a fantasy of mine to have sex on a beach. But the reality? It’s really not all it’s cracked up to be. First, there’s the sand. It gets … everywhere.
E-v-e-r-y where!
I had sand in my vajayjay, up my butt, everywhere. We were kissing and there was sand getting in our mouths. There were freaking bugs on us, too. It was not as sexy as Hollywood makes it out to be, especially when it’s as rough and tumble as it is with Tommy.
But that release of frustration helped us both that day and fortunately or maybe unfortunately, that plus the spanking after the slap in the face meant the start of a cycle of me goading him into rough sex whenever he got moody or broody.
After the beach sex, he took a two hour walk with me. But during that walk we didn’t talk. We just held hands and walked, the air heavy with all we were both feeling.
She’s irritating the fuck out of me. She’s walking on eggshells with me and mothering me one minute and trying to tell me what to do the next. I fucking hate it. When she gets particularly bitchy it turns me into a fucking animal and I know it’s turned into a cycle. She senses that I need release and she knows I hesitate because I worry about hurting her. She purposely pushes me over the edge so I’ll take what I need from her. I know it isn’t healthy. Since marrying me and promising before God and my family to obey me and be mine forever it’s given me an even more dark and possessive sense of entitlement to her body. But the depth of my love for her makes me feel guilty about it. I’m twisted in knots all the time.