Page 79 of Say My Name

I could simply tell him to come over because I want him. My thumb rests on his name without touching it.

On my couch, Dominic told me he didn’t want me only inside the plan. He waited when I said stop, checked on me, brought me water, and left without punishing me for changing my mind. This morning, he told me I sounded angry because he gave me the space I requested.

He would come if I asked for sex. I know that. I also know he would make me own the request, and the thought of saying it plainly terrifies me more than anything we did on the phone.

Wanting him for one night sounds manageable until I try to separate it from everything else. I want the way he looks for me in meetings. I want him beside me when the clinic calls. I wanted him at my birthday table with the friends who know me outside work, and I noticed the empty space across the hall when he stopped finding reasons to fill it.

That list is already longer than sex. If I say all of it aloud, I have to face how quickly Dominic has become part of days I spent years arranging around myself.

Conception gives me a boundary I understand. It gives the sex a purpose, a start and an end, and a reason that doesn’t require me to admit how much of Dominic I already count on.

I leave the laptop open on the coffee table, get up, and walk to the kitchen. The clinic information remains visible from across the room, and I can recite every relevant fact. The appointment date hasn’t moved. The projected window is still more than a week away. This morning’s ovulation test was negative.

The facts stay the same no matter how many times I walk around my living room.

I hate what I’m considering because it’s dishonest. The test in my trash is negative. The appointment is eleven days away. Dominic will believe me if I say the cycle shifted. I’ve never given him a reason to question medical information.

My hand drops from the phone.

For several minutes, I sit with the laptop open and try to make myself wait.

Then Dominic sends a message.

Dominic: Are you home?

I stare at the screen.

Me: Yes.

Dominic: Did Maya get the authorization?

Me: Three minutes before cutoff.

Dominic: Good.

The dots appear again, disappear, then return.

Dominic: Are you all right?

He asks the same question he asked after I stopped him and again after Maya knocked. I don’t know how to handle him asking without using my answer to get closer.

I type, “I’m fine,” then delete it. He knows what fine means when I use it. He’ll let the conversation end because I asked him to, and tomorrow we’ll stand in another meeting acting as if I didn’t tell him where I want his cock.

I call him.

He answers immediately. “Elena.”

His voice is still rough, and the sound of it coils low in my stomach.

I hold my breath. “Did you finish?”

There is a short silence. “No.”

“You listened.”

“You gave me an order.”

My fingers curl around the phone. I almost tell him I’m still wet and I want him inside me. The rest is harder to admit: I’m tired of thinking about what changes when I say yes.