What Wifey Wants Read online

  What Wifey Wants

  A Royce & Makeena Pembroke Short Story

  Tina Martin

  Copyright @ 2017 Tina Martin. All rights reserved.

  WHAT WIFEY WANTS

  Smashwords Edition

  This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format including photography, recording information storage and retrieval systems without the prior written permission of the author. No part of this book may be uploaded without written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, names, places, things or events are a product of the author’s imagination and strictly coincidental and are used fictitiously.

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  Synopsis

  Makeena is excited to strengthen her relationship with her long lost family. Her husband, Royce, by her side is an added bonus. But her happiness slowly dissipates into thin air when she realizes Royce isn’t happy.

  Although he refuses to say it outright, Royce is having a hard time adjusting to a new, domestic life with Makeena. An ex-soldier, he’s accustomed to a more dangerous, adventurous lifestyle. His former job was one of purpose. Of saving people. Will he quietly settle down in the suburbs with Makeena or go off seeking to fulfill his desire for excitement and adventure?

  *What Wifey Wants is a follow-up short story to Royce and Makeena’s story in Wasn’t Supposed To Love Her. Read Wasn’t Supposed To Love Her before reading this follow-up story.

  WHAT WIFEY WANTS

  Chapter 1

  Makeena

  I can see my handsome-faced husband sitting on the sofa, staring at the powered-off TV like it’s on. Like it’s entertaining him. Like he’s engrossed in a show that he can’t look away from. But the TV isn’t on. It’s off, and his mind is drifting. With a black dish towel in my hand, I watch him. I know something is wrong with Royce. I can feel it. We’ve only been married for a short time – four months – and our marriage isn’t a traditional one. Nothing close to traditional. Still, I love him just the same.

  Deeply.

  With my whole heart.

  He’s special to me.

  He saved me.

  Our connection is as profound as our love. That’s why I’m sure something’s bothering him.

  I stand at the counter, staring at him. Even from this distance, I can see his long eyelashes, draping his almond-shaped eyes and the shadow of hair on his cheek. I chew my lip and drown in his good looks.

  “Royce, how was your day?” I ask to break up his trance. Mine, too.

  He looks at me. Blinks a few times. “It was fine,” he finally replies with a straight face, lacking expression. He’s an ex-soldier so his expressions, or lack thereof, doesn’t bother me. What troubles me is how, when we first moved into our home two months ago, he was excited about the prospect of starting a new life with me – about leaving Norfolk behind and starting over in Petersburg. He even went so far as to furnish the house and all. Then something changed. Lately, he’s been coming home, barely saying a word to me. He looks like he’s worried or even worse – he appears to be bothered by something. I have an idea what that something is, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions. I want him to talk to me.

  “We’re having lasagna for dinner…one of your favorite meals,” I say in an attempt to get him to loosen up. It doesn’t work. In fact, he doesn’t even respond. He turns away from me like he’s the least bit interested in dinner or anything else I have to say.

  “Royce?”

  He slowly turns to look at me again, this time, studying me hard. A frown appears on his forehead but quickly dissolves. “Yes?”

  “Did you hear me?”

  He holds my gaze for a moment. “You said we were having lasagna for dinner.” His brows raise. “Is that what you said?”

  “Yes. Is that okay?”

  “That’s fine.” He stands up. Stretches. “I’m going to take a shower. Be right back.”

  “Okay.” I watch him saunter away in a sexy stroll, even in dirty, torn jeans. I hate speculating about what could be wrong. I want to know what’s wrong, but he’s not the best at communicating his feelings. He’s never had to do it before me. I guess, from his perspective, he shouldn’t have to do it now.

  It’s dinner time.

  I prepare a plate for Royce and call him to the kitchen. With his voracious appetite, I never had to summon him to the kitchen before, but since he opted to watch TV in the bedroom and not the living room like he normally does, I call out to him. A few moments later, he appears wearing an army print tank top that shows off his bulgy biceps and thick pectorals. The black shorts he has on are flimsy and carefree. He looks relaxed. Finally.

  He sits down at the table in front of the plate, pre-placed silverware and ice water I have prepared for him and begins eating. I take in the first few bites of my food, too but I’d much rather have a conversation with my husband rather than eat.

  “Royce, do you enjoy working with my father?”

  “I do. Wendell is a good man.”

  I smile. He’s right about my father. He is a good man. A hard worker. An entrepreneur. I’ve enjoyed getting to know my parents, my sister and brother after being away from them for so long. Thanks to Royce, my hero, I’ve reunited with them and they’ve accepted me back into their lives with open arms.

  And they love Royce just the same.

  I looked up at Royce again. He’s chewing his food so seductively, I want to kiss those chiseled lips of his. Jeez. I’m still amazed at what he’s able to do to me. The things he’s able to make me feel. Right now, though, my main concern is getting down to the bottom line of what’s bothering him.

  “I wish you would talk to me.”

  He glances up, stops mid-chew and frowns just a tad before the disturbance disappears from his forehead. This is the second time he’s frowned at me in less than two hours. “What do you mean?”

  “I want you to talk to me, Royce. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

  He takes a slow sip of water and stares at me intently as he lowers the glass to the table. “Nothing’s wrong, Makeena.” He takes another fork full of lasagna to his mouth and chews. “How was your day with your mother?”

  I swallow disappointment along with my food because I know he’s hiding something. “It was fine. She showed me where the farmer’s market is. You know how much I like fresh fruits and vegetables.”

  He nods.

  “She carries a lot of guilt, you know, even down to this day. She was talking about the kidnapping and tears came to her eyes.”

  “Why was she talking about it?”

  I shrug. “She usually brings it up. I never do, because I don’t blame her for what happened to me, but she’s having a difficult time forgiving herself.”

  “Then the next time she tries to bring it up, reassure her that you don’t blame her and then change the subject.”

  “I’ll try.” I eat more, then glance up at him. That’s when I see a cut on his left index finger. “Royce, you cut your finger?”

  He looks at his hand. Looks at me. “I did, but it’s okay.”

  “What happened?” I ask, sounding more worried than I probably should. It’s a cut – not a life or death matter – like say a stab wound. Still, I’m on edge. Because it’s a cut. On my man.

  “I was throwing some tree limbs in the wood chipper.”

  “Don’t you wear gloves?”

  “I do, normally. I wasn’t wearing gloves when this happened.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know why. I just wasn’t.”

  I immediat
ely stand up from my chair and say, “Let me get you a Band-Aid for that.”

  “Makeena.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Makeena,” he says, tone raised.

  “Yes?” I turn to look at him before leaving the kitchen.

  “I don’t need a Band-Aid,” he says.

  “It looks like you do. It’s not a scrape, Royce. It’s an actual cut. It needs to be cleaned—”

  Amused, he says, “Cleaned? I just took a shower.”

  “It needs to be cleaned with some antiseptic, and you need a Band-Aid.”

  “I’m not five-years-old, Makeena. I don’t—” he began with a raised voice, then catches himself. “I don’t need a Band-Aid, now will you sit down and finish your food with me, please?”

  “Okay,” I say reluctantly as I cross the vinyl-covered floor and ease back into my chair. “Why are you so stubborn?”

  “I’m not stubborn,” he mumbles with food tucked into his jaw. “I’m a man. I’ve endured a lot worse than this little cut on my finger.”

  I glare at him. He’s so hard headed. Yet, I love that about him.

  “Eat,” he says. “You’ll need your energy for later.”

  “Later?” I question.

  His lips quirk up into a sneaky grin, and then I know what he means by later. I smile to mask frustration. I’m not frustrated by later because I love the way he makes love to me. I love that he loves me. My frustration lies in the fact that I know we need to have an in-depth conversation about our move here, about his new life away from the military base, but he doesn’t want to talk about it.

  He never wants to talk about it, which leave me wondering…

  Chapter 2

  Makeena

  After I’ve finished showering, I step out of the bathroom to see that Royce is lying in bed, face up. His eyes are closed tight. Breathing sound as a calm before a storm. He’s sleeping.

  I guess I didn’t need extra energy after all.

  I crawl underneath the sheets, slide over next to him and whisper, “Goodnight, Royce. I love you.”

  I leave a kiss at the corner of his mouth prompting his eyes to fly open. Like a well-oiled machine, he rotates his body towards me and doesn’t stop until he’s on top of me – until his weight holds me beneath him. It’s only then I realize he’s birthday-suit naked. He stares down at me with his desire-laced eyes and stares so intently, I lose breaths.

  “What’s…what’s wrong?” I ask, barely getting the words out.

  “Who said anything was wrong, chiquita?” he asks in a super-sexy whisper.

  “You’re just staring at me,” I tell him.

  “That’s because I love staring at your beautiful face. I love everything about you.”

  I glance at his lips.

  He looks at mine, then licks his lips. “May I have a taste?”

  I smile. “When have you ever had to ask?”

  He lowers his lips to mine and latches on, kissing me deeply the way he always does. He pulls and grips my lips, sucking on them while stealing my tongue in the process, rolling his tongue in waves and groaning deeply. He grabs the fringes of my camisole and snatches it in an upward motion. I lift my body a little to give him clearance. To give him everything.

  “You are perfect in every way that I’m not,” he says. “Do you know that?”

  He dips his head and trails fluttery kisses all around my mouth, then nibbles on my neck. “Do you?”

  “You’re just as good for me as I am for you,” I say with my hands resting on both sides of his stubbled cheeks. “I love me some you. That’s why I worry. That’s why I pester you about something as simple as a cut and try my best to make sure you’re okay. I love you, Royce.”

  “I love you, Makeena,” he says, kissing my neck again. “Mmm,” he groans and I feel him solidly on top of me. He nudges my legs and probes, seeking entry as I grimace and hold on to his torso.

  “Royce.” His name is a desperate, uncontrolled whimper from my lips. My hands tremble along with the rest of my body as I try to hold on to him. As I feel every forward, impressive push. Every clench of my muscles accommodating the invasion of his body. He takes my lips again, kissing me passionately, rolling his tongue again and pulling mine over and over until he reaches a stopping point. Until he can no longer descend.

  “I’ve been needing this all day long, baby,” he says in a frenzy.

  He closes his eyes and drowns in ecstasy, relishing the feeling of our bodies being joined like this. He then dips his head lower, pulling the tips of my soft flesh between his lips.

  “Royce,” I say when my body jerks.

  He stops the sweet torture and looks at me with that stoic, no-nonsense stare that makes my body tremble even more. And then he moves, boy does he move and twist his body in a way that has me feeling an overwhelming current flowing through my veins until my legs lock up and I tumble into waves of ecstasy.

  “Royce!” I yell, pant and cry at the same time. “Wha…what are you doing to me?”

  “Showing you how much I love you. How much I need you,” he says and then I feel his body buck on top of me as he calls out my name and fills me completely with his love. The groan that escapes his lips sounds more like a wail as his hands tighten around my wrists while he continues rocking into me until we both fall over and scream out for each other. He takes a final kiss and eases his body away from mine, lies next to me and strokes my hair.

  Our bodies rest while our hearts continues to drum. I exhale a long breath while staring deeply into the eyes of the man I love.

  He smiles.

  I smile back. Panting, I say, “I still think you need a Band-Aid.”

  He laughs. Catches more breaths. “I’m okay, baby.”

  I find his hand and fondle his injured finger. “How did this happen again?” I ask before I slide his finger between my lips and massage his cut with my tongue.

  He bites down on his lip. “I—I,” he shudders. “Stop doing that.”

  I smile, defiant, only stopping for a moment to ask, “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to want you again.”

  “All the more reason for me to continue,” I tease.

  He smiles. “I cut it on a sharp piece of wood.”

  “You need to be more careful, Royce. I don’t want to be here worried about you.”

  He grins. “So what if I lose a finger? I’ve already lost a leg. You’re okay with that.”

  I glare at him. “Okay, that’s not funny. And you didn’t lose a leg. You lost a part of your leg.”

  “Same difference.”

  I release his hand. “Goodnight, Royce,” I say, twisting my body to turn my back to him.

  “I’ve upset you,” he says.

  I felt his breath tickle the back of my neck when he said it. Feel him sliding closer to me.

  “I’m sorry, baby. I was just joking with you.”

  He leaves a kiss on my back, just below my neck that makes me quiver.

  “Are you mad at me?” he asks and proceeds to kiss me all around my neck while reaching his arm around me to grab a hold to my chest, massaging my tender flesh.

  I push his hand away from me and as if by reflex, he locks his lengthy fingers around my wrists. Before I can blink he’s back on top of me.

  “I said I’m sorry, Makeena,” he says with a dreamy look in his eyes.

  “Why do you play like that, Royce?”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you. You forgive me?”

  “No,” I say in a way that he knows I really do forgive him.

  “I hope you do,” he says dipping his head to kiss me on my lips, all around my mouth and kisses a trail to my earlobe. He pulls it between his lips, teases it and then whispers, “Because I want you again.”

  And we make love once again, this time even more earth-shattering than the last. Even longer than the last. This time, he does more talking – tells me how fortunate he is to have me and how much he loves me. How he’s glad that we found ea
ch other because there wasn’t another woman who could make him feel the way I make him feel. He says he’s lucky to have me. That he must’ve done some good in the world to be blessed with a woman like me. And then he loses control, taking me like something took over his body, and he drives back and forth until we cry out together. Until our bodies give and take simultaneously. Until we’re both nearly out of breath and completely spent.

  Chapter 3

  Makeena

  Royce isn’t home from work yet. I was hoping he’d be here before my brother arrived. A fan of my art, Wendell and Meghan wanted to take me to a museum this evening, showcasing the artwork of one of Wendell’s friends. When I first told Royce I was going, I explained to him that it was a siblings thing and he seemed cool with it, although I got a strange feeling that he didn’t want me to go. Sometimes he says a lot with his eyes. That’s what I’m learning about him.

  I glance at the clock. It’s 5:30 p.m. Royce usually gets home anywhere between 5:15 and 5:45. Today, he must’ve been stuck in traffic, but it doesn’t explain why he’s not answering his cell phone.

  Where are you, Royce?

  Standing at the front door, I see Wendell turn into the driveway. Meghan’s riding in the passenger seat. I lock up the house and dial Royce’s number again.

  No answer.

  On the way to the car, I leave a message when the voicemail picks up:

  Hey, Royce. I’m just leaving the house. I don’t know if you remember, but I’m going to the art museum with Wendell and Meghan this evening. Anyway, if you need me, I’ll have my ringer on. Oh, and I made dinner for you. It’s in the microwave. I love you. Bye.