Mark had wondered what had gotten into his wife. Emily was never that aggressive in bed. When she confessed, he faked a sneezing fit to get away.
—Sorry. Must be my hay fever acting up.
Now, as he watched her sleep, he wondered what to do. One of the reasons he had married Emily was that he thought that a vegan would never fetishize his hunting the way some of his exes had. Trophies, they had asked for: hooves, horns, teeth, anything . . . it disgusted him. He only hunted for what he could eat.
Emily stirred. —Why aren’t you sleeping, Mark? What’s wrong?
She snuggled up against him with her head in his lap, and he began stroking her hair. What could he say to her? What about your beliefs? Well, what about them? She wasn’t killing or eating any animals. He wasn’t going to start hunting more because the thought of it turned her on; if anything, he’d do it less. No, there was nothing to say. He loved her. That was that, unless she asked him to put antlers on the bedroom wall.
Mark coughed a few times. Emily turned but didn’t wake. He lay down beside her and put an arm around her waist. He was going to have to get used to the ropes.