Wifey Talk [COMPLETED, 18+]

Part twenty-seven

SOFIA'S POV

For our last day in Hawaii, James and I decide to go kayaking. We take a two person kayak out on the water. The waves are calm. There are lots of fish, sea cucumbers, and coral easily visible in the sparkling, clear water.

The wind makes it hard to guide our kayaks, but James and I manage. I figure now is the perfect time to strike up a conversation about what our life will be like in New York. "What are we going to do when we get back home?" I ask James.

"What do you mean?" James asks.

"I mean with this whole open relationship thing. I'm not really comfortable with you bringing over girls to our apartment."

"For the record, I would never do that. Our home is our space. And just like I would never bring another woman home, I would expect you to keep other men out too."

"I can do that," I tell him. It's not like I'm planning on seeing any other men. Other than flying back to see Ioane of course.

"So our home is a safe space for us two," he says. "Anywhere else, anyone else is fair game," he says.

I bite my lip nervously. Literally anyone? Did he really need to have sex with that many other women to get pleasure?

"You look apprehensive," he tells me.

"A little," I admit.

"What's the problem?"

I try my best to be honest. "I guess I never saw myself in an open relationship. This is weird for me."

I can't meet his eyes. Is he going to be upset with me for telling him that I'm uncomfortable in an open relationship?

"I can understand why it might be a bit overwhelming at first," he tells me cautiously. "But I think it's for the best. We just need to be careful not to get caught back home, otherwise my parents will have our asses."

"I'm sure they will stop paying my father the installments if they find out we have an open marriage," I say nervously.

"That's why we will be discrete," he says.

"Ok." I don't know what else to say. I feel like I can't tell him that I want us to be exclusive. If I had my way, I would want us to at least try giving it a shot. Maybe we would fall in love or maybe we wouldn't, but at least I would know. He's not even giving us a chance. I just don't understand why I'm not enough for him. Why does he have to be with other women?

Every time I dwell on this, it only makes me feel worse about myself. I don't know why I even bother.

I can't help but wonder what James looks for in other women that I don't have. I know I'm really curvy—am I too thick for him? I don't have a slim supermodel figure. My boobs and my butt are too big for that.

"Sofia?" James' voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
~~~
JAMES' POV

I can't read her mind. What is she thinking? Ever since I brought up sleeping with other people in New York, she's been quiet. Is she not into that idea anymore? I don't know what to make of that. I thought she was having fun with Ioane.

Does she want to be with me? The idea of having sex with her sends a thrill up my spine. I've been dreaming about her every night for the past two weeks.

We both kayak back to the beach in silence. I think about how I'm going to be living with Sofia permanently starting from tomorrow. I'm not going to lie, spending the rest of my life with her doesn't seem as bad as I initially thought it would. I'm definitely not a one-woman man, but she isn't the worst company.

We head back to the mainland after kayaking out on the water. Sofia wants to head to the cottage so that we can start packing up. We have an early morning flight to catch.

I watch her begin packing up her clothes and folding them neatly into her suitcase. I begin taking my clothes and tossing them into the suitcase. When Sofia looks over and sees what I'm doing, she laughs.

"James, you can't just do that with your clothes!"

"Why not?" I ask, quirking an eyebrow at her.

She picks up one of my shirts and begins folding it. Then she sets it in the suitcase. "See? Look how much space you save by actually folding these."

I groan. "But it's so much easier to just toss them in."

"I'm going to fold them," she tells me.

I watch as she begins folding my shirts and setting them in the suitcase. She even grabs my boxers and starts working on them. I can't resist wrapping my arm around her waist from behind. My other arm is in a sling. I kiss her cheek, letting my lips linger against her skin. "That's some wifey work you're doing there Sofia," I say.

She laughs. "Oh yeah? You like it when I go domestic?"

"Mhmm," I hum, kissing her cheek again.

"How about I fold everything up while you make dinner tonight? That's a fair trade I think," she says.

"Does it count if I make a frozen pizza? I can't cook for shit," I tell her.

"That's fine with me," she says, waving me off. I back up, heading out the door. Before I exit through the doorway, I take one last look at her. She's intently focused on folding, and I can't believe I'm actually letting her handle my boxers. It's kind of hot to see her picking up all of my clothes.

What is wrong with me? How is someone picking up my clothes hot? I have it really bad for her, don't I? It's gotten to the point where I've had to jerk off multiple times just to fall asleep. Not to mention I've taken more cold showers these past two weeks than I have in my whole life.

I set the oven to pre-heat, pulling out the frozen pizza. In the meantime, I cut up some watermelon. When the oven is ready, I place the pizza inside. By that time, Sofia is done packing. She comes out wearing one of her sexy slips. This one is a lacy mauve number with a deep V. Her tits are barely covered, and the curve of her ass peeks out against the bottom of the slip. My heart races as I watch her take a seat across from me.

"Is the pizza ready?" She asks innocently. Sofia has no idea the effect she has on my body. It feels agonizing to look at her dressed like that and not ravish her.

"Uh, yeah," is my brilliant answer.

"Will you give me two slices?"

We eat together at the dining table, which we've hardly used our whole trip. Sofia asks me if I have my clothes picked out for tomorrow, and I tell her that I haven't. She reminds me to pick something out. We discuss the fact that my sister Sarah is picking us up from the airport tomorrow.

"I'm dreading waking up early," she groans.

I smirk at her. "I can imagine. You've been sleeping in pretty late these past few days."

"Only because of my nightmares. I can't sleep," she whines.

My gut drops hearing that, and I feel guilty for causing her to lose sleep. I think she can tell I'm feeling bad, so she puts her hand over mine across the table. "I'm sorry, it's not your fault that I'm having nightmares. It was just really traumatic for me. I hope you die after me," she says off-handedly.

My jaw nearly drops. "Why would you say that?"

She looks at me like the answer is obvious. "Because I don't want to know what life will be like without you now that we're together."

Something about the genuine honesty behind her voice leaves me worried. I don't want to know what it's like to live in a world where she's dead either. I try to open my mouth to say something—say anything—but nothing comes out.