Page 133 of Scandalous Contract

As I ran my hand over the cherry blossom design, I wondered when he’d had time to go out and purchase this, plus get some clothing from home. My gaze moved to the clock beside my bed.Shit!

It was already noon! I never slept in.Never!I had an internal alarm clock that made me wake up early every morning, whether I wanted to or not. It seemed Julian’s cock had shut that alarm off.

I hurried to the bathroom and took care of business. After a quick shower, I styled my curls up into a high, puffy ponytail and slicked my edges back. I brushed my teeth before applying my face cream, then lotioned up my body.

I decided against any makeup, just sliding on a coat of clear lip gloss. Then I headed back into my bedroom and reached for the lacy panties he’d purchased. After pulling the tags off, I slid them on.

I was pretty sure he’d gone through my lingerie drawer to see what size I wore before going out and buying these. Again, I should be mad, or at least wary of the things he did. I kept waiting for that wariness to come. It didn’t.

I hated it when men assumed things or took it upon themselves to do things for me without me asking them to do it. Or without at least putting in the work to see what I liked, before they just did whatever they wanted.

I’d once had a man who I’d only gone out on two dates with, decide that he wanted to buy something for my daughter, since I’d told him that I had one child, a daughter. He never asked me how old she was.

We never discussed what she liked or didn’t like. On our next date, he showed up with a pretty pink box filled with baby clothes. The cutest little clothes ever. But India was twelve at the time.

When I asked him why he thought I had a newborn, he told me it was because of the pudge in my stomach. That motherfucker almost got slapped right then and there. I started working out harder the next day.

Even though we hadn’t gone on another date, at least he’d inspired me to up my workout game. That’s only one of the reasons I didn’t like men assuming I needed something. Usually, they ended up doing the exact opposite of what I wanted.

It was one thing to want to do something for me, but it was another to do whatever you wanted without first doing your homework to see what I liked, what I enjoyed, what I needed. I was fine with surprises.

But you should at least have some basic understanding of me before you assumed I’d enjoy jumping out of a plane. I had a guy take me on a skydiving date even after he asked if I was afraid of heights, and I told him yes.

My Julian wouldn’t have done that. I pulled my bra on, smiling slightly. I couldn’t get mad at Julian because the things he did were things I actually wanted. I posted this cherry blossom lingerie set on my Pinterest just last month, noting how cute it was.

And he’d gotten it for me. That was proof that this man had studied me. He didn’t just have good intentions. He made sure his intentions aligned with what I liked. I know most women would see that as a red flag.

Most women would say Julian went too far into creepy territory, but would praise another man for at least trying. It was the thought that counted, after all. I was tired of thoughts. I needed action.

In my opinion, that was why so many men these days did the bare minimum. It was because we praised them for that mediocrity. That praise left them under the impression that they didn’t have to elevate and do more.

I liked that Julian studied me. I liked that he asked me questions. I like that he remembered what I said and what he studied. I loved that he applied it in ways that made me happy.

For some reason, it took some weight off my shoulders. To me, it made him seem even more dependable. If times got hard, I wouldn’t have to tell him what I needed. He’d already know and he’d handle it, no questions asked.

My husband hadn’t been that type of man. He would see stuff in our home that needed repairing and wouldn’t fix it or try to get someone else to fix it. I’d grown up with a father who hadn’t needed to be told to do stuff around the house.

If he saw a problem, he handled it. And if my mom did have to tell him to do it, best believe she never had to tell him twice. I got married thinking that was how all marriages worked. I was wrong.

My husband died, leaving me to believe that men these days wanted their wives to have stay-at-home mom vibes while also working a job and providing fifty/fifty for the household. The only thing my husband wanted to do was go to work and come home to relax.

While I was expected to get up, have his clothes ready, and breakfast prepared. Oh, and he only liked home-cooked lunches. So I prepared his lunch for work too, only to find out from some of his receipts later that he’d been going out for lunch and taking his mistress with him.

Where had the food gone that I’d prepared for him? Then I had to go to work each day and come home and have dinner ready by the time he got home. The house had to be kept clean. If something needed to be repaired, he wanted me to call my dad to help or find someone to take care of it.

Now that I thought about it, I’d been foolish as hell for allowing that man to treat me that way. But while it was happening, I kept telling myself that he loved me and that he would change.

I told myself that if I kept reminding him that I needed help with things, he’d eventually catch on. I thought he’d eventually see how much the marriage was draining me and try to help. I mean, wasn’t that what a man was supposed to do for the woman he loved?

Not my man. Me asking for help led to him starting to hit me because he was tired of me nagging. And then he’d apologize profusely, but never change. I stopped nagging to avoid fighting with him.

That only led to him hitting me for every little thing I did that upset him. When I fought back, it made things worse. By then, I’d allowed him to alienate me from my family, and I’d been too ashamed to ask for help.

Then his parents started asking when I was going to have a baby. I was young. I was fresh out of college, just starting my career. But his mother insisted that now was the best time to have a child.

Like a fool, I’d agreed. Then we’d started trying, and failing, trying and failing. He’d made me feel horrible each month when my period came on and I wasn’t pregnant. As if it wasn’t enough that I had horrible periods that lasted much longer than most women and were heavier than most.

But I also had to feel ashamed of myself when I got my period because it was further proof that I was failing as a wife. I’d be in bed, cramping, hating myself because I couldn’t give my husband what he wanted.