“It isn’t shit,” I said quietly.

“We’ll talk when we have time to talk, after the tour is over.”

“There are six more dates for you to do.”

“Yeah, and the last of those is in LA so we’ll be home. Ten fuckin’ days,” he stated walking my way and I knew how he was doing it he had no intention to stop. “You can wait ten fuckin’ days to nag my ass.”

Okay.

Now I was getting angry.

I was not a nag.

Though I had to say, maybe I was becoming one.

But only because he was turning me into one.

“I’m not nagging.”

He stopped midway across the living area and turned to me.

“You’re gonna tell me shit I don’t wanna hear knowing I not only don’t wanna hear it, I don’t agree with you. You’re the one with the degree, babe, so maybe I’m wrong, but that seems to me like the definition of nagging.”

You’re the one with the degree?

Preacher never said things like that.

He not only never made mention that he thought that I thought I was better than him.

He definitely never insinuated he thought I was better than him.

“Preacher—”

“I gotta go.”

He turned again to the door.

And it was then I realized he was going to leave without kissing me.

To say our sex life had taken a turn for the worse was an understatement.

We used to have sex at least once a day.

This was because we loved each other, and we did this deeply.

The feeling of not being able to get enough didn’t start and stop that first time for me, and he’d indicated quite strongly, for him as well.

We clicked that way.

Sex was as natural and essential as breathing to us.

Sleeping.

Eating.

And it came just as easy.

The attraction, the desire for it never waned.

I could be in the kitchen, making a cake, and Preacher would come in and kiss my neck and that would lead to him fingering me to an orgasm or lifting me on the counter and going down on me.

He could be strumming in his music room, working out a song, and I’d come in and get on my knees on the floor between his legs, take him in my mouth and take him there.

I mean, “Musk” was no lie and it was no exaggeration.

Case in point, the first time he played that song he wrote for me, I loved it so much, got so turned on by it, I was sucking his cock before he’d finished singing it.

I had to admit, our activity level probably partly had to do with the fact that he was often on the road, or even when he wasn’t, he was busy.