Say You Love Me

CHAPTER 1

Marga

What’s a woman gotta do? 

Let me clarify my question, what's a 28-year old black woman like me supposed to do to get my husband to treat me like his wife?

I don't look that bad. I have long luscious black hair, a face that my father said was his proudest achievement, even though I look more like mom, and I've got a rocking body that I've maintained.

Throughout my marriage, Geoffrey touched me only once.

Once! Can you believe that?

I hold a framed picture of him. Even now, I still crush over his wavy black hair, dark eyes, and goddamned handsome face—the man of my dreams. 

I remember our wedding night; it was supposed to be the night of my dreams. Geoffrey carried me into our own home and brought me back to his bedroom. 

I was getting friskier with every second that passed as we were alone.

 I was drooling in anticipation as I chanced a few grabs at the bulge in his pants. 

Damn it!

The memories make me wet as I lay on the bathtub and touch myself as I reminisce.

I remember how Geoffrey kissed me that night; his hands made quick work of my wedding dress. His tongue was wetter than my pussy, and he laid claim to my neck and breasts.

And then I finally see it, his huge dick. I almost fainted when Geoffrey plunges his cock inside me. A potpourri of emotions was all that I could remember that night.

Three knocks on the bathroom door break my train of thought, "Marga, are you still in the bathroom?"

"Y-yes, honey," I quickly reply, still reeling from not being able to climax after all that. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Thank you, And are you alright? You sound as if you have diarrhea over there. Want me to go get the medicine––"

"I said I'm fine, honey!" 

"Okay," he replies. I frustratedly get out of the bathtub and take a shower, only thankful for the fact that women don't get blue balls.

I leave the bathroom in my robe as I finish, "It's all yours, honey. I––"

I almost choke on my spit when I see Geoffrey wearing nothing but a towel only as he reads the newspaper.

"Oh, thanks," he says as he gets up and casually walks inside the bathroom, never taking his eyes off the newspaper. 

And I'm just here drooling my ass off looking at his superhero-like torso, and washboard abs. 

I try my luck and talk to him, "Hey, why don't I join y––" 

But the bathroom door closes on me before I can even finish my sentence. I give up and head for the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Images of that night still haunt me, how Geoffrey deflowered me, released his hot manjuice inside me, and ultimately went to sleep immediately.

That was the last time I ever felt that Geoffrey wanted me. God, the thought of it is still making me wet. 

And how in the world did I not get pregnant from all that? Well, it was only one time. I frown at the idea and sigh.

What can I do?

Maybe having a child might have made the situation better. Perhaps Geoffrey would treat me more like a partner. Maybe…

Stop. I can't keep thinking negatively. Geoffrey is my husband. He made a promise to love me, and perhaps this is how he shows it. 

He's the CEO of Giovanni Gems, so he has work to think about, not just his severely unsatisfied yet caring wife.

I take care of everything for him, from his food to his clothes, always silently supporting him and doing my best, so is it so hard to ask for a caring husband as well?

"Something smells good," I hear Geoffrey compliment behind me. "Are those––"

"Scrambled eggs, bacon, and Scandinavian Frankfurts. Your favorite, honey," I finish his sentence. "I had the help make this since today will be your first day back on the job." 

I can't even tell him honestly that I made breakfast, in fear of him not liking what I made, though I've spent the last year learning how to cook his favorite dishes and never let him know that it was my cooking.

"Great," says Geoffrey as he takes a seat on our dining table, again his eyes glued to the newspaper. 

I head for the refrigerator and pretend to grab a bottle of orange juice. I slowly let my bathrobe slip down to the floor.

"Oh, dear me! My bathrobe seems to have fallen to the floor. But I can't get it since my hands are full. If only someone––honey, can you give me a hand?"

Without missing a beat, Geoffrey replies, never taking his eyes off the goddamned paper. "Just put the bottle of OJ back in the fridge, Marga, and pick up the bathrobe on the floor." 

I reluctantly do as he says and get dressed. We eat in silence. 

Soon after he finishes, he gets dressed and leaves for work while I wait in the front door for him, holding his briefcase and keys for him so that he won't forget them. 

All the frustration inside me is ready to burst at the seams.

"Thanks, Marga," Geoffrey says ungratefully. But to my surprise, he gives me a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead. 

This simple gesture paralyzes me and sends waves of pleasure in my body that reverberates from my mind down to my sensitive parts. The building pressure of desire almost releases. 

When I get back to my senses, Geoffrey is standing there, confused at what just happened.

"Are you okay?" He frowns. "I'll grab some Imodium for you when I get home, okay? So, just stay off dairy or any allergic foods, Marga."

As soon as the door closes, I fall to my knees. I'm not sure if I should be thankful or remorseful for being married to Geoffrey.