Cullen - Is That It
CULLEN
I stared at the house for a long time before I finally opened the car door and stepped out. The place already drained me, and I hadn’t even walked in yet. As I made my way up the stairs, I heard his voice, my father’s.
“Cullen.”
I paused and turned to face him. “Aren’t you asleep yet? I thought you'd be sleeping by now.”
“I was waiting for you,” he said, straight to the point, no hesitation.
I groaned inwardly, stepping off the stairs and following him to the living room. He took his usual seat. I dropped into the chair opposite him, already exhausted.
“What is this about, Dad? I’m tired.”
“Careful,” he warned, tone sharp.
I sighed. “Okay, what is it you want to talk to me about?”
“It’s about your mother,” he said.
I shrugged. “What about Mom? Is she okay?” A flicker of concern passed through me despite everything.
“Physically, yes. Emotionally… I don’t know. You know how much she loves you. You know she loves spending time with you. But lately, you’re neglecting her. You don’t give her your time, and she’s been chewing my ear off about it.”
I rubbed my face. “I don’t know, Dad. Maybe you should tell her I’m a grown man now. I’m married. I have a job. I can’t be her emotional support animal anymore. Buy her a dog or something.”
He gave me a look that could cut stone.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m just tired. Can’t we do this in the morning?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared at me for a moment, disappointment written across his face. Then he stood up and walked away, leaving me alone with silence and guilt.
I waited until I was sure he was gone before heading to my bedroom. I just needed to shower, sleep, wake up, shower again, get dressed, and leave this house. Every time I come here, it’s one thing after another.
When I opened the door, I wasn’t prepared for what was waiting for me.
There she was, my wife, Sarah, draped across the bed in nothing but red lingerie. Not just any lingerie. The kind that hugged every inch of her body like it was tailored for sin. It clung to her skin in a way that brought out her curves, made her eyes even more striking, and highlighted the soft glow of her complexion. I have to admit, it stirred something in me, something primal.
I might not love my wife. I might not even be attracted to her on most days. But in that moment? Yeah, I was. She was attractive. Objectively so. She could make any man’s blood rush south, and I wasn’t immune.
Watching her there, lying back on the bed with that quiet confidence, eyes locked on me like she knew exactly what she was doing… I wanted to climb onto that bed and fuck her senseless.... so hard I’d leave an imprint of her in the sheets.
But this wasn’t just a woman I met at a bar. She wasn't a whore at one of our clubs. This wasn’t a one-night stand, or some random fling who I could walk away from once we were done. This was Sarah. My wife. A woman I was going to spend the rest of my life with, whether I liked it or not.
And that? That was the problem.
Because if I touched her, really touched her, she’d get attached. She’d think there was something between us. Something more. And I couldn’t let that happen. That would be crueler than rejecting her and I didn't have the patience for it either.
So I closed my eyes. Took a breath. Turned away from her tempting, irresistible body, and walked in the other direction.
“I’m going to shower,” I said, keeping my voice flat. I headed toward the bathroom.
Maybe I’d beat one out in there. Get this desire out of my system before I came back and figured out how to deal with her without giving her any ideas.
“Aren’t you going to look at me?”
Her voice stopped me cold. I turned, meeting her gaze, forcing every ounce of control I had, every ounce I’ve ever learned, not to let my eyes drop to her body. Not to let them roam... God knows I wanted to.
“What did you say?” I asked, even though I hadn’t really processed it the first time.
“Do you like it?” she said, twisting a little on the bed. I didn’t let my eyes follow. I kept them on her face like it was some kind of test I couldn’t afford to fail.
“Like what?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“This,” she said, standing on the bed now, trying to get a rise out of me literally, probably. But my eyes stayed locked on her face.
“I don’t understand,” I replied, playing dumb. “What are you trying to show me?”
“This!” she screamed, frustrated. “I wore this for you. I’m getting to the end of my rope here, okay? I know you don’t love me. I know you’re in love with somebody else. But I’m your wife. And I have needs.”
I started to chuckle. A slow, dark laugh. The kind that chipped away at her bravado. I could see it, the confidence she started with. Slipping. And I hoped it died. I hoped it died forever.
“Why are you laughing?” she asked, her voice quieter now, vulnerable. “I’m telling you the truth. I have needs, and I’m married. If you’re not going to give me what I need… maybe I should start looking somewhere else.”
I laughed harder this time.
“No one’s going to touch you,” I said, voice low and final.
I turned to leave again, but her voice cut through the silence once more.
“Is there something wrong with you? Are you… like… can’t you get it up or something? Is that it?”
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