SUBTLE PLEASURE, Just say yes!

Chapter 2

Pamir Carppo vs Cambilly Spencer

Winning battles but losing wars.

Subtle pleasure, just say yes.

Cambilly Spencer POV

Heavy breathing permeated the quiet, old room.

Pants can also be heard.

His heart rate and rhythm rise in tandem with his excitement. "Oh, f*ck, you w***e," he grunted quietly.

She did, however, hear every word.

"My w***e," he opened his mouth again and let those words out, thinking that using profanity would turn her on, which could not be further from the truth.

Cambilly lay on her back in a run-down three-bedroom house across town in Ocean Congress, north of south town, with the pristine backdrop of the dark green mountains in the distance beyond the highway embankment, staring aimlessly with the hollow space inside her that she thought would never be filled.

She stared at the ceiling for longer than she would like; she should have made a sound by now, but there was nothing to rave about. Absolutely nothing... But the desire to be free from him.

She gulped, sweat running down her neck. He revolted her, but Cambilly was compelled by duty and guilt.

Cambilly stared on, the shade from the curtain above their bed head and the dimly lit lamp blocking out most of his face, and his head was bent in the crook of her neck, making matters worse. She had no idea if he was happy, having fun, or just going through the motions like she was. She was unable to see his expression and she did not want to.

There was always something with him, and she was exhausted by him, so when it came to her marital duties, she would only be present physically.

She did not know any better, but she did not believe this was sufficient. Something about their encounter did not sit well with her spirit.

Low grunts from his throat vibrated against her skin as he kissed her cheek and neck sloppily, while his greedy hands brushed against her sweaty skin. He whispered low, his voice throaty, and his breath superheated in her ears, causing her to shudder, and ushered Cambilly back into the room and into her body with a breathless gesture.

If she made noise to match his grunts, he would finish faster, climb off her faster, and she would not have to put up with another second of his lovemaking until he was ready again in the next two weeks or so, with his determined intent that heightened her innermost anxiety.

She could not shake the nagging feeling or mental strain that something was not right. This particular night, she felt as if a part of her was hurting or missing, something she could not put into words, so she squeezed her eyes shut and willed her mind.

So, what was it?

"Achoo," she sneezed, and a tiny voice whispered to her who not what.

"Bring it all out, you w***e," he murmured in her ears, and Cambilly wondered who was mentioning her name when her husband thought he was performing admirably above her.

Cambilly was not a naturally superstitious person, but her mother was, and she picked up a few habits unintentionally.

Sexual intercourse was her least favorite aspect of their marriage. No, she disliked everything she did with him, but she did it because he was her husband and she felt obligated to do so. It was a chore really, and the more he planned it, the worse it became. At this point, it was easy to criticize him and wonder what the hell drove her father to marry her off to this guy.

Oh... Of course, she knew, but she could not stop herself from asking the silly question.

"Oh, oh..." she murmured, finally satisfied with her moans, and pushed herself forward as he slobbered over her collarbone. "You enjoy that, don't you?" he groaned, and she held her breath. The stench of alcohol on his breath killed her.

Cambilly contracted throughout the entire thing; there was no thrill, excitement, or anything as she closed her eyes, waiting for it to end.

She wished it would end in seconds like it did on numerous occasions, she saw no point in it. She could not decide which was worse: the s*x, his touch, or the derogatory words he usually used.

His grunts transformed into thicker pants, and she could not help but roll her eyes. Cambilly could not understand how or what he was enjoying, so she lay there silently, staring at the ceiling as he slugged in and out of her, feeling the pressure between her thighs.

He panted and quivered harder, and the sixty seconds were up. Thank goodness it was over.

He pinned her naked body beneath him for a few seconds longer before rolling off, satisfied with himself.

"You liked that?" he asked, kissing her cheek.

Cambilly found it strangely ridiculous that, with their pile of debt, his hefty fines, his gambling, overdue bills, and more problems than she cared to think about, the rickety bed would not shut up with every turn they made: that made it its business to squeak with all of their movements. And to think her husband would be bothered is absurd.

No! He was here asking her stupid questions when he abandoned them in this old house, where they were living in poverty.

"Yes, yes," she responded. "You are the best, Jared."

"I know you would like that... I came straight home from work for you, baby," he said, throwing his leg over hers as he rolled onto his side. Jared kissed her neck again, then closed his eyes, and he was fast asleep in that moment, pulling more timber than a logger.

She quietly reached across the top drawer of the decade-old chest near their bed and extracted the package she had hidden there.

She could not move much, but she managed to open the watermark drawer door by tipping her fingers to the edge. Cambilly used her index and middle fingers to remove the last pill she was holding against the drawer barrier. She made a mental note to stop at the pharmacy on her way home before swallowing the pill.

She looked over at Jared, who took in more air than he could expel, resulting in a loud grunt, and quickly swallowed the pill dry.

She rarely slept after having intercourse with her husband, so she would lie there listening to Jared snore while her mind wandered.

She had to be at work in a few hours, and she was dreading the agonizing minutes that were ticking away. Her dread of working on weekends was not due to rush hour or the weekend itself. No, it was not the weekend rush at all, but rather the attention she received. Some of the male customers would make it their life's mission to not only declare their brazen intentions, but also to make their hands fast enough to touch her, grab her, or give her a feel.

Cambilly would fend them off, but how much could she do given her small stature? Despite this, she returned every day, even on days off to Pearls dinner.

Sure, she had a nice backside and wide hips to support them; she even admired them on multiple occasions. She had taut breasts, a flat stomach, and thick thighs, but she felt particularly vulnerable at times because she disliked being touched.

Cambilly despised it wholeheartedly. Not even the man lying beside her, whom she had promised to love and cherish until death do them part. Her worst dislike was his touch.

It did not feel right. It did not feel natural. She simply felt that it did not feel the way she thought it should. It hurt so much that she would come up with every justification in the book to avoid carrying out her marital responsibilities. On the nights when she ran out of justifications, she would just lie there numbly and act like everything was okay. Even though he was a man way over the hill for her, Cambilly had practiced it so much that Jared had never suspected.

She had just returned to her house and draped her coat over the worn-out, wobbly dining room chair. When her husband entered the room and undressed her, she had just fallen onto the bed's edge.

Cambilly fell asleep without realizing it due to the constant mental chatter, but she awoke when she heard the crow on her phone, signaling the start of a new day. She was working the early shift.

She quietly turned and threw her feet off the bed. She returned her gaze to the log lying there, unfazed by the light streaming through the window onto his face. Cambilly wondered and wondered what tell-tail he had for her today. She was perplexed as to how anyone without a steady job could be so brazen as to gamble away everything he had, including what she earned. However, she was even more taken aback by his quick buck scheme and his lazy dreams.

But given the company her father kept, she should not have expected anything more.

Tired of being an adult her entire life, and with a burst of rage in her chest, she was not going to bring up all the ridiculous things her father and the husband he had sent her away to had done in the past.

Cambilly shook her head and reached up with both hands, running her fingers over her scalp and through her ginger-colored hair, interrupting her thought before she could rehash ancient history. She did not want to upset herself; she had accepted her fate. But she never gave up hope that her knight in shining armor would come to her rescue one day. She believed in fairy tales and assumed that it was only a matter of time.

Cambilly could only snort bitterly as she cast a sidelong glance at the half-empty vodka bottle on the chessboard before turning on her heel and walked to the restroom. What a waste of time and thought, she reflected.

Jared was not the luckiest man on these streets, but he knew how to use his street smarts to get out of any situation, and Cambilly was tired, no, exhausted, of his small-time tricks.

She was all set to begin her weekend after taking a long shower. She wore large plain-wash blue jeans and a large white hood. Cambilly put on the new Balance sneakers she had given herself for her birthday two months ago and ran her fingers through her hair. She pulled her hair back into a quick ponytail, leaving a few strands hanging down the side of her head.

Cambilly then proceeded to the kitchen, where she replaced and reorganized a few items that Jared had used.

Subsequently, she grabbed a can of juice from the refrigerator and left her husband a frozen packed bowl for him to thaw upon his awakening.

In a hurry to get away before he could wake up, she grabbed her top, scarf, and jacket. She pivoted on her heel and swiftly exited the residence, silently shutting the fragile front door in her wake.

After running down the short flight of stairs, she reached the driveway only to realize that she had left her shoulder purse containing yesterday's eighty-dollar tip on the kitchen table.

She knew she had to go back in there even though she did not want to. She climbed the stairs two at a time and returned inside to retrieve it.

When the Bible said that the sin of the Father would be visited on the children, it was not a joke. She was just moving through the motions. Winning the battle but losing the war was her forte

She peered through the ajar bedroom door to find her husband sitting on the bed, holding her purse.

Shit, she thought, s**t!.