This story can only be found bundled with the Erotic Novella “Anger Management”
My body tingled with excitement as Morgan pulled me towards him. He smiled, and I shivered as his lips touched a stray curl of my hair. Just as I was about to kiss him, he turned his head sideways, froze and took a step back.
“You left the milk out again,” he said.
I felt like I had awakened from a dream. It was going to be one of those arguments, I just knew it.
“I was going to put it back,” I said and hurried to return the bottle to the fridge.
“You know I don´t like it when you leave the milk out, Carrie.” Morgan´s cheeks blushed red, and his eyes had gone from soft to ice cold.
“And you know I don´t like it when you leave the dishes for me,” I said with a pointed look at a tower of dishes.
“I did them yesterday,” Morgan said.
“Only because I told you to,” I yelled.
“Why don´t you do them yourself, if they bother you so much?” Morgan was yelling now, too.
I was going to retort when a horrible thought struck me. We had the same argument last week, and the week before. There was always something worth arguing about. In fact, we rarely talked if we weren´t arguing.
I silenced myself and walked away, leaving Morgan to stare at my back. Is this how our marriage is going to end? I thought.
When I woke up the next morning, Morgan was already downstairs having breakfast. I put on some coffee since he had, as usual, stubbornly refused to make me any, and sat opposite him without a word. He ate bread, I ate yogurt every morning since we met seven years ago.
I took a deep breath, gathered my courage, and said, “Do you think we argue too much?”
Morgan reached over the table and took my hand in his. The feeling of his warm skin against mine warmed me, from my chest and down between my legs. It had been a long time since we had sex, for sure.
“Perhaps we should see a couple´s counselor,” Morgan said.
I nodded and smiled. “I´ll make an appointment tonight.”
Morgan bent down and kissed me, sending another wave of desire through my body. To my disappointment it was already time for work.
A few other couples were already seated in a circle when we arrived. We joined them with downcast smiles and nods, preparing mentally to share our marital problems. The room was nervously quiet as we waited for the therapist.
“Marc, stop that,” a woman to my right said and pushed her husband´s hand away. I blushed to realize that it had been very close to her breast.
“Don´t talk to me like that,” Marc said. “I wasn´t going to embarrass you.”
“You´re already embarrassing me,” the woman snapped, but I saw how she brushed her hand against his thigh.
“Don´t sit next to me then, Carla, if you´re that embarrassed.” Marc looked like he was going to move away, but instead he ended up even closer to his wife.
She frowned, placed a hand around his neck and was just about to pull him towards her for a kiss when the therapist walked into the room. The couple separated, both blushing and staring at the floor.
“Welcome everyone,” the therapist said and sat on an empty chair in the circle. She began talking about communication, but I could barely focus. Carla´s and Marc´s argument had made me wish Morgan would try to touch my breast. They were still talking and making gestures at each other until Marc bent forward and kissed her neck.
“Carla,” the therapist said, “do you have anything to add?”
Carla blushed and pulled away from Marc. “No, I think you´re right about communication being important in a relationship.”
“Nonsense,” Marc said. “You never want to talk things over. Don´t you remember when you left your coat on the floor and I tried to tell you how I felt about it?”
The therapist cleared her throat. “Let´s talk about it. How did you end the argument?”
Marc cleared his throat and tried his best to pretend no one else was in the room. “On the hallway floor.”
“I can´t believe you said that,” Carla said and rushed out of the room. Marc gave the therapist a silent apology and rushed after her.
I didn´t pay attention to the rest of the session, but wished I was at home, on the hallway floor with Morgan. Most other couples stayed for a private chat with the therapist after the session, but I excused myself by saying I needed to visit the ladies´ room.
The moment I stepped inside the restroom, Carla appeared in one of the booth doors. She stumbled when she saw me, her face red and her hair in a tangle. I was just about to express my concern when Marc appeared behind her, buckling his belt.
“Oh,” was all I could manage.
“I´m so sorry,” Carla said and led Marc out of the restrooms. I stared at the door where they had left, more jealous than embarrassed.
Morgan was waiting for me outside, and we walked in silence to the car.
“I met Marc and Carla in the hallway,” he said and started his engine.
“They were in the restroom having sex,” I said.
“I could tell.” Morgan looked embarrassed and I wondered if we could ever be more like Marc and Carla, wishing that we could.
We drove home in silence. I couldn´t stop thinking about how Marc and Carla resolved their fights. Could it really be that simple?
My groin tingled at the thought of this new method of anger management. The house was irritatingly tidy, however, without milk bottles on the counter or undone dishes.
The next morning I left the milk bottle on the counter, but to my surprise Morgan didn´t say anything. I went upstairs to gather the laundry only to find his clothes in a tangle all over the floor. He knew how much I hated clothes on the floor.
With a growl I gathered his shirts and threw them in the washing machine together with a pair of newly bought jeans with the warning “wash with similar colors” on. This should do it, I thought and felt my vagina tighten at the thought of us taking out our anger on each other.
The next morning, Morgan found all his shirts colored gray by my jeans. He stormed down the stairs, and I found him there eating the last of my yogurt. He never eats yogurt. I finished the last of the coffee before he could have a cup, in retribution.
I was furious at work, like I was so often when we were fighting like this. That day, though, was the first day I was looking forward to get home and continue the argument.
Morgan was already at home, and I walked inside the door and threw my jacket on the floor. He just glanced at it, and as I stepped inside the kitchen I could see why. The sink was full of dishes.
“Seriously?” I said, unable to contain myself any longer. “You know I hate it when you don´t do the dishes.”
“And you know how I hate it when you leave the milk out of the fridge.” Morgan had something wild in his eyes that made me even more excited.
“You left me without breakfast,” I yelled. “That´s much worse.”
Morgan took a step closer to me. He pulled his jumper off to reveal a stained blue shirt underneath. “Worse than this?”
“You left your shirts all over the floor,” I said. I was breathing heavily as anger and desire coursed through my body.
“Yes I did.” Morgan unbuttoned the shirt, revealing his perfect abs and the curly hairs on his chest, and threw it on the floor. “I´m not picking that up.”
I growled, walked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of milk. “I´m leaving this here,” I said and placed it on the kitchen counter.
“No, you´re putting it in the fridge,” Morgan said, took the milk and pressed it in my hand.
I placed the bottle so far in on the kitchen counter he had to reach behind me to get it. His body pressed against mine, and I could feel that his cock was stiff against my skirt.
I forgot about the milk bottle and ran my fingers over his heaving, sweaty torso. He bent his head backwards as if about to scream at me, but instead he let out a deep breath that reverberated through his whole body.
My eyes followed the lines of his muscles on his stomach, around his hips and on his arms. As they did so, they fell on the sink and the reason this whole argument had started. Another surge of anger, mixed with lust, tore through my body. The fingers that were entwined in the hairs on his chest tightened their grip, and Morgan gasped in pain and surprise.
He bent his head forward again, his eyes narrowed as they met mine. For a moment we stood locked in that state of anger where we would normally proceed with silence. Then he growled and pressed his cock against my groin at the same time as his hands cupped around my hips. His strong arms lifted me up on the counter and spread my legs apart.
Almost in the same movement he pulled away my underwear. I became wet at the sensation of cold air against my vagina and the thought of him so near me. But instead of entering me, Morgan ran his fingers up and down my legs. I realized he was punishing me by not giving me what I wanted, and he confirmed it with a grin.
I hissed, reached for his belt and undid it as quickly as I could. Morgan´s fingers tightened against my thighs when I took his cock in my hand and began to masturbate him. Then, in retaliation for how he refused to pleasure me, I stopped and grinned at him.