Method of Desire

Chapter 60

The newspaper sold the story, but never mentioned who I was. Paul, however, was mentioned as a "struggling Broadway actor" in the article. They said they squabbled over a girl, but never gave a name.

On our wedding night, tensions were high. Paul wanted to please me the way I liked. I wore a special white corset with a white garter belt and socks to match.

I also wore a veil on my head.

"My, my, my." Paul grinned as he watched me vogue on the bed for him. "That's my wife!"

I giggled as he flung himself on top of me, taking off my veil and giving me a longing kiss.

He kissed my breasts that were pushed up from my corset, then pulled at one of the cups. It didn't budge, and he stared at it.

"Who makes this? The US military?" Paul asked with wide eyes and I laughed. "This shit can ricochet a bullet."

I patted his arm, motioning for him to roll off of me. Then I kneeling in front of him, slowly unlacing my corset. He came over and licked my nipple, then taking it in his mouth to suck. I rolled my fingers in his hair as he did this.

He sat up, and I immediately put myself over his lap. I poked my ass up for him, and he rubbed it.

"Go ahead." I told him, waiting for a hard spank.

Paul spanked me, but it wasn't enough. "Harder." I told him.

He rolled me over, and sat me up while I was on his lap. His arm was wrapped around my waist.

"Can I make love to you for once?" Paul asked as he looked into my eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked him with furrowed eyebrows.

"I mean that all you want to do is that Brando shit. Every now and again, yes, but I'm not Marlon. I want to be close to you, not punish you." Paul explained.

"It's not a real punishment to me, it feels good." I explained to him, running my fingers through his curls.

He placed me next to him to lie down, then rolled on top of me. I tugged his hair as he put himself inside of me. Then he thrusted hard into me.

"Fuck me, Paul." I whispered to him. He thrusted again. "Fuck me harder."

His face got red, and he began quickly thrusting into me without mercy. He fucked me with anger and frustration. It felt exquisite to me, and afterwards I was left sore.

Paul moved away and sat the end of the bed, his back facing me. "Is that what you want?"

"Marlon of course—" I answered, and Paul looked back at me. He stood up and walked to the side of the bed, pulling me by my ankle.

"I'm your husband!" He shouted. "I'm tired of being a push over for you. Making love to you and all you want to do is think about Marlon, tell me to be like Marlon, sometimes even say his name!"

"It was only that once!" I cried as he still held onto my ankle.

"It's been multiple times!" Paul shouted back at me. I cried hysterically, as he looked down at me.

"Well I'll let you know you're not my only lady love." Paul whispered. "I've got another girl, Joanne."

"So you are out with that whore from your play when you say you're playing poker with friends!" I cried out at him.

"Yes because my fiancé didn't treat me as a fiancé should. And now my wife isn't either." Paul told me. "It's either you shape up, or I'll annul the possible mistake I just made!"

Paul walked out, and I had tears streaming down my face. I did still love Marlon, and I didn't know how to conceal it. Loving Marlon was hard to hide, and now I know why James Dean after the way he did when I first met him.

Marlon leaves an imprint on your heart, no matter how cold or agitated he is. You can't ever forget him.

But now Marlon was in Hollywood, away from all of us. He was always in the papers with a new girl, and was even in Life Magazine as well!

I walked out to Paul, who didn't have any accolades to his name. He was on Broadway, and I guess that was going okay, but he hadn't broken that fifth wall.

He stood in the kitchen, drinking dark liquor out of a glass. I stepped behind him, and touched his shoulder.

He brushed my hand off.

"Paul." I said sternly. He turned around, glass still in hand.

I took a step toward him, slowly taking his glass away and placing it on the kitchen counter. He picked it back up and downed the whole thing, then placed it behind him on the counter.

I wrapped my arms around him, the tears on my cheeks hadn't even dried yet. Then I kissed Paul deeply. He picked me up and wrapped my legs around his torso, then carried me to the bedroom.

He laid me down, and kissed up my body as he crawled on top of me. Then, he rocked his hips into me, rubbing his member on my heat. My cheeks got warm as I pressed my hips up to his member.

"I love you, Patricia. And I'll get rid of Joanne if it means that I'll be the only man in your heart." Paul said quietly as we rubbed our centers onto each other.

"You're the only one." I whispered, and I couldn't tell whether or not that was the truth. Paul kissed me and entered himself inside of me, then began thrusting once again.

He thrusted deeply and meaningfully, never breaking eye contact. I held onto his shoulders as he thrusted into me.

Then I felt his member twitch inside of me, and closed my eyes at the warmth of his release. He kissed my chin, then my jaw, then down to my neck.

Then he pulled out, stood at the end of the bed and looked at what he had done. Then smirked as I sat up, kissing him again.

Paul Newman was my husband, and at this point in time I knew I had to get over the past.