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“Scapulae?”
He shook his head. “I have to take you on more dates for those.”
“And not the pelvis, either.”
“Not the pelvis,” he agreed.
“Are we ever going to…?”
“Decca,” he said, a plea to reroute the conversation.
“Okay, but… you do… want to?” I looked at his crotch.
He stared into the bathroom. The light I’d left on for him cast half his face in shadow. His hands were in his pockets, and with his long hair and beard, that sleepy, sexy look in his eyes and half smile playing on his lips, he looked effortlessly cool.
I so rarely let myself look at Gus. Not this deeply. I did everything I could to tamp down that hunger inside me. The hunger that was currently making my vulva rush with blood and fluid soak my panties.
“I don’t understand, Gus. You have my consent. I’m incredibly attracted to you. I want to.” I dared not step closer. My nipples were hard. The slightest movement of my shirt sent them tingling. Even my amazingly self-controlled husband couldn’t help but glance down.
I sucked in a breath, daring myself to be brave and have confidence. “Gus, do you mind if I ask—”No. That wasn’t confident.I straightened my shoulders; peaked nipples be damned. “How long has it been for you?”
The question hit him with an unseen force. He blew out a breath with his cheeks puffed out. “A long time.”
“Since you were twenty-two?”
“Well, I didn’t exactly stop cold turkey after Eleni.”
“Okay, how long? Yesterday?”
“I would never—” He made a groaning garbled noise in the back of his throat. “Before seminary.”
“So... three years?”
“Ahh, no. After college, I spent some time at Saint Nektarios monastery in New York.” He looked at the ceiling as if there was a timeline written on it. “Definitely didn’t get laid there. Then a little over a year for the Theology Masters and Byzantine music certificate. I worked a little over two years in the Metropolis of Boston—that’s like an archdiocese.” His arms crossed as he kept counting back the years of his celibacy. “I built a camp. Like a summer camp. Still didn’t get laid. Then the three years of the Master of Divinity with extra semesters of fieldwork. So, that’s... what? Eight?”
“Eight. It’s been eight years since you’ve had sex.”
He took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“And you married me because you thought you couldn’t handle celibacy.”
He shook his head. “I married you for the companionship. The potential for sex is just a plus.” He kicked off the wall and headed into his room. Then spun on his heel and walked right back to me. “It’s different when you’re staring down the barrel at the rest of your life. I never set out to abstain from sex for eight years. I was learning, growing closer to God, seeking Theosis. Sex wasn’t really on the forefront.”
“And yet we’re married, and you’re still chaste.”
He winced. “Technically, as a married couple,oursex would be considered chaste. As long as it remained between us.”
“Hmm. Any kind of sex?”
He raised his eyebrows. Then looked at the floor, nodding. He’d just recounted almost a decade of his nonsexual history and I’d finally managed to embarrass him. He cleared his throat. “Well, I imagine there could be some debate on that, but I’ve never heard thePapathesbring it up in conferences. According to myreadings and interpretation... I’d personally add the safe, sane, and consensual guideline, but yeah.“ He met my eyes. “Any kind.”
It was so hard not to take those three steps closer to him, press my body close to his and feel if he was as hard as he claimed to be around me.
My mouth was dry. I licked and bit my lower lip. His lids lowered as his eyes focused on the movement.
“So... we just had our first date. No time like the present?” I offered.
“Dec.” His mouth pressed into a line, and he considered my offer—or rather, considered the best way to turn down my offer. His voice sounded pained. “I’ve never had sex with a woman and not hurt her after. I had a pattern.”
