Love Me More

by R. S. Medina

  He then bends down between my legs and licks a long strip up my center that lands on my clit. And oh, my God, I'm so turned on. My hands fist in his hair again, and I feel him smile, and he's back at it. He doesn't relent until my legs are shaking, my head is thrown back, and I am begging him to just fuck me already.

  Finn smiles, stands up, and his mouth is on mine, and I can taste myself on him, and I love the way I taste in his mouth. I can't get enough of it. I feel him shove his sweats off his hips and they fall into a heap at his ankles, and he steps out of them. His huge erection is begging for my attention, and I wrap my hand around it as I hop off the counter.

  Finn spins me back around, so I'm facing the mirror and counter again, and I'm forced to brace myself on the counter. I feel Finn slowly tease my entrance with the head of his cock, and I try to shove myself back onto him. He just smiles and shakes his head at me through the mirror.

  "Please!" I gasp. "Just give it to me!" I plead. He loves to hear me beg. His eyes are on fire. He teases me and enters as slowly as he can, watching my mouth pop open with heated eyes. He is so hard and it feels heavenly. Like he was made to fit perfectly inside me.

  He starts rocking into me, and I take it all. It feels so fucking good. I'm trying to stay quiet so I don't wake Olivia, but I'm moaning and can't help it. My knuckles are white where I'm gripping the bathroom counter. When he reaches around and starts massaging my clit at the same time, I lose it. I come hard, my legs shaking. Finn finishes right after, coming deep inside me. Finn stills, and kisses the back of my head, and then pulls out. I stay where I'm at; catching my breath, but Finn picks up his sweats and walks out of the bathroom without a word.

  I clean up and get my panties back on. When I walk out of the bathroom, Finn is already back on the Xbox, headset on.

  Present

  She answers the door in my favorite pair of green boxers and a tank top, that shows the perfect amount of her bare midriff, and I can see her nipples through her shirt. Even though she had a baby a couple of months ago, she looks fantastic. She's already lost most of the baby weight, and I can't see any stretch marks. I lick my lips hungrily and eye her.

  I knew she stole my boxers. They were my favorite pair, and I want them back. She smiles seductively at me, leaning up against the door.

  "Where's Sam?" I ask, hesitant to come in, still unsure of whether or not I should be here. She opens the door wider for me to come inside. I look behind me and then step in the entryway.

  "He's at work," she says, wrapping her arms around me with a smile after she closes the door. I feel trapped. Seeing her face makes me angry and aggressive, but I need to forget Blair, so I stomach my hatred.

  "And the baby?" I ask, standing in the entryway, my posture stiff.

  "Asleep," she says, her lips whispering against mine. And that's all I need to know.

  I shove her up against the wall, and she whimpers. I walk her back to the bedroom she now shares with my ex-best friend, and I throw her on the bed. She falls into the pillows with a squeal and giggles.

  I use Stephanie to relieve my anger and frustration. I use Stephanie to get back at Sam for betraying me. In the back of my mind, Blair is always there. I wonder how she would feel if she knew I was here with Stephanie right now. She wouldn't have the right to care because she's married and goes home to her husband every night. I thrust into Stephanie harder, and she yelps.

  When I'm finished, I roll over and take the condom off and throw it in her bathroom waste basket. She's lying on the bed, still completely naked.

  "Tristan," she whines, "don't go this time." She's twirling a piece of hair around her finger. She pats the bed with her hand to motion me to come back to bed with her.

  "Why not?" I laugh harshly. "We are finished here, and won't your boyfriend be home soon?" I ask, snarling at the word boyfriend.

  Her face falls. "I don't want to be with him," Stephanie moans. "I want to be with you. I miss you."

  "You didn't miss me too much when you were fucking Sam," I retort, my blood starting to boil. I shouldn't have come. I made a mistake.

  "I made a mistake. I said I was sorry," she cries. She's such a cry baby when she doesn't get her way. I forgot how whiny she could be. I find it annoying now.

  "Sorry doesn't fix you having my best friend's baby," I inform her. God, how many times do we have to go over this?

  "She's not his! She's yours!" she exclaims, sitting up in bed. "We can be a family! The baby, you and me!" she says, clasping her hands together, trying to beg me.

  "Yeah?" I ask. "Where are you at with that paternity test?" I ask, reminding her that she's supposed to be doing this. If that baby is mine, I want to have a part in her life. I won't be a deadbeat dad. But if it's not mine, I want no part of it. Sam can be her dad. I don't need to take care of a baby that isn't mine, especially when Stephanie betrayed me and chose him.

  Her face falls. "I'm working on it," she says, looking down at the comforter. That's what I thought. She's dragging this out because she either knows it's not mine or she doesn't want to know the truth. I'm assuming it's the first one.

  "Get the fucking paternity test done," I growl, putting on my pants. I snatch my boxers that she was wearing off the floor. "And I'm taking these back," I say, stuffing them in my pocket causing her to pout.

  "But those are my favorite!" she protests, but she doesn't get off the bed to try to stop me.

  "Yeah, they're my favorite too," I say, throwing on my shirt.

  "I really don't want to be with him," she whimpers quietly. I see a tear roll down her cheek. "He's mean to me," she says. And for a second I pause. I don't do crying. My blood boils. He better not be hurting her or being a dick. I swear to God, I'll fuck him up. But then I remember that she chose him. My pity fades away back into anger. It's not my place to try and protect her anymore.

  Coming here tonight was a mistake. I don't feel better.

  "Then leave him," I tell her, shrugging. I pull on my shoes and walk out of the room. She doesn't follow, so I let myself out.

  Present

  I wake up in a panic. My heart is racing. I can make out the bedroom, but something isn't right. When I went to bed, I was alone, and Finn was in the living room still playing Xbox. Then I realize what woke me.

  I don't know when Finn came to bed, but he's jerking violently next to me. His face is tight and drawn. Even in his sleep, you can see he's panicked and distressed. It makes him look years older than he is.

  My heart aches seeing him like this. I'm torn between waking him and just letting him wake up on his own. I don't want to scare him by waking him up. This isn't the first time he's had nightmares, but usually, he wakes up on his own.

  He's crying out but it's muffled, and I can't make out what he's saying. Whatever it is, it looks like it is taking a toll on him. I can't take it anymore. My heart is breaking for him. He looks so distraught and scared. I don't know what he's dreaming about, and I'm not sure I want to know what is causing him to have these dreams, but I know it's bad. I know he wouldn't tell me even if I ask because I have asked. Finn's just not ready to talk about it. I'm not sure he ever will be ready to talk about it.

  I reach out to touch him but hesitate. Seeing him like this terrifies me. I've never seen someone have nightmares so bad that they can't wake up and they jerk and scream in their sleep. I finally muster enough courage to attempt and wake him. I put my hand gently on his arm, but before I can say anything, Finn's eyes pop open. The next thing I know, I'm flat on my back pressed firmly into the mattress. Tears are streaming down my face, silently. Finn's forearm is pressed into my throat, and he's deliberately forcing pressure, choking me.

  "Finn, baby, it's just a dream. Finn, Finn," I croak, trying to breathe and claw at his arm with my fingertips, but he's so much bigger and stronger than I am. I see his eyes go from wild and scared, like a caged animal backed into a corner, to recognition as he realizes that I am the body pressed under the weight of hi
s forearm being choked. His face quickly morphs into relief that it is me, and then horror as he realizes he's choking me and I'm struggling to pull in air.

  He releases me as quickly as he pressed me into the mattress, and I instantly wrap my hands around my throat protectively to make sure I'm okay. I gulp in air too quickly which makes me cough and it hurts. With the air pulling into my lungs, I feel the fear and terror creep in as well. My throat hurts. I'm shaking uncontrollably, and I hear a loud sob, and realize it's me who is making that God-awful sound. I try to pull it together, but my heart is pounding, and I can't stop the tears. Finn has never been so terrifying to me. It was just the nightmare, though, right? Like he would never hurt me on purpose.

  Finn is sitting on the edge of the bed now, with his back to me, and his head is in his hands. He's tugging at his hair, and I see his knuckles straining. I see him shaking as well, and even though I'm frightened, I feel for him. My heart goes out to him.

  When I can breathe normally again, I pull myself up and crawl across the bed to him and wrap my arms around him from behind. I press my cheek into his back and close my eyes, feeling his heart pounding away, and trying to calm my own heart as well.

  It is then that I realize he is silently sobbing into his hands. He's shuddering from crying so hard, and it's the first time I have ever in our marriage seen him shed tears. And it breaks my fucking heart. I shatter.

  Any anger or fear I felt is replaced by sorrow because I can't imagine what has happened to him to make him like this. He didn't even cry when we had our first two miscarriages. And I can't for the life of me figure out what happened to him while he was deployed. I cry with him. And we sit together, and I just hold him, and we cry. I cry for Finn, and our anger, and what happened to him. I cry for what our marriage has become and our life. I cry until I cannot cry anymore.

  Finn finally stills as well, and he turns to check on me. I see his eyes scan my throat, and besides being a little sore and red, I'm fine. His hand gently touches where he pressed his arm into me.

  "I'm so sorry," he croaks, and I hear tears threatening again. They make his voice thick and deep. His eyes give all the apology I will ever need.

  I don't say anything because if I speak, the tears will start up again. I take Finn's hand in mine, gently. Holding his gaze in mine, I lift his hand to my lips and press a kiss firmly and deliberately into his palm. He closes his fist around my kiss, and I crawl back to my side of the bed, pulling him with me. He crawls in next to me and curls up under the covers. I wrap my body around his and stroke his hair soothingly.

  I stay awake with him, holding him, and matching up our breathing in the dark, trying to help soothe him, until his breathing finally evens out and deepens, and I know he's asleep. I then let his breath lull me into a sleep of my own.

  Present

  Blair will never know how bad I feel seeing the terror in her eyes as she looks at me, and those angry red marks on her throat. I pray that they don't leave a bruise, although with her fair skin, I'm sure they will.

  She doesn't deserve that.

  I feel like shit. So much so that I want to kill myself. I'd throw myself off a bridge right now to show her how sorry I am.

  I'm a danger to Blair and Olivia. They deserve better.

  Blair fell asleep holding me, which I don't deserve. She curled her tiny body around mine like she could protect me, but she can't. I remove myself from her and slide out of bed. I've gotten so good at it, that she doesn't even stir anymore. I can't sleep, and I don't deserve to be that close to someone who would forgive that I just choked her and almost killed her because I didn't realize she was trying to help me.

  She's too good for me.

  Past

  We are patrolling streets, just another routine sweep, another day. The air is stifling hot and dry like we are being roasted alive in a giant oven. Heat is radiating off the sand, baking our skin. I'm sweating in my cami's. They don't breathe well. You'd think the military would invest in more functional uniforms.

  My weapon hangs at my side, but I'm on high alert, my body tense. Something doesn't feel right. The street is too quiet. Something is off. My gut is twisting, and my mind is screaming at me. My heart is pounding. I just don't know what is wrong yet, but I have a feeling we are about to find out.

  "Stay alert," I whisper to my men gruffly. My second in command, Smith nods quietly.

  We're about to round a street corner when I see a child, probably five or six, maybe seven walking toward us. He's so young.

  "Halt," I command, hoping he understands a little bit of English or will at least be smart. But he doesn't. He looks right at us and keeps walking, no fear in his young eyes. But I feel the fear creeping up in my stomach.

  Smith steps up to point his weapon at the kid, but I wave him back, trying to save the kid. The kid just doesn't understand.

  "Stop right there!" I yell again, putting one hand out to signal him to stop, and one hand prepared on my weapon. I don't want to use it. Not on a child. He's a baby.

  "Please kid, I'm begging you," I say frantically. And the next thing I know, the kid is reaching for something on his person. And I panic.

  I raise my weapon and train it on him, catching him in my sights easily. I'm trained to shoot, but they never prepare you for what it feels like to point your gun at a child. My hands shake. I am mentally begging God to let this kid turn around and run away.

  In the kid's tiny hand is a gun. He pulls the trigger, and Smith falls to the ground, screaming in agony. My men pull him back behind a building, blood staining the sand.

  Anger clouds my vision and all I see is red. I pull the trigger. The kid's body jerks with impact and falls to the ground limp.

  I've just killed a fucking child. But it was him or us.

  And he shot Smith.

  I run to check on Smith behind the building. He was shot high in the leg. One of the medics is trying to stop the bleeding, but there's so much. Blood everywhere. Smith looks pale.

  "It hit an artery," the medic says. "He's bleeding out."

  This is all my fucking fault. It shouldn't have been Smith who took the bullet. It was my call. I should have been the one to get shot. It's my fault.

  Present

  I type several texts the next morning as I'm lying in bed alone, and then erase them without sending them. So many things happened last night that need to be addressed. I think Finn and I had a breakthrough yesterday. I wasn't happy that he seemed to use me for sex last night and then didn't say anything and then went right back to his game, but I think we made a real connection last night after his night terror. Maybe Finn and I will be okay. I'm here for him, and I can't leave him like this. He's broken and needs healing and understanding, not a wife who is giving up on him. I should be ashamed that I was considering leaving him.

  Plus, I am embarrassed. I was irresponsible. And drunker than I thought. I am more than a little hung over this morning. My head is splitting, and my stomach is queasy. As a grown ass woman, I shouldn't be making such irresponsible and dangerous decisions. I know better. I was raised better. I didn't even make these dumb ass decisions when I was a teenager. Drinking and driving are not okay. I am truly ashamed at myself.

  Finally, I just settle with being straight forward. I have to tell Tristan that I can't talk to him anymore, right? It would be leading him on if I kept talking to him. Having an emotional affair is not fair to Finn.

  Me: I owe you an apology.

  Tristan: Good morning, pretty girl. For what?

  But I back out. I panic. I don't want to hurt Tristan. It's not fair to Tristan for me to hurt him that way. He's listened to me bitch and moan. He's been there for me. He truly seems to care about me.

  Me: For being an irresponsible fuck yesterday. I was a mess. I have never driven drunk, and I never will again. That was insane. I don't know what the fuck I was thinking. I am so sorry. Thank you for coming to get my drunk ass. You didn't have to do that.


  Tristan: Just never make me worry like that again. Ok?

  Me: I pinky promise.

  Tristan: send me a picture of you, pretty girl.

  Me: I just woke up!

  Tristan: I don't care.

  I take a quick Snapchat picture, and send it off after capturing it "I woke up like this," and I get a response immediately.

  Tristan: Blair, why do you have a bruise on your neck?

  Me: What?

  Tristan: Why does it look like you have a bruise on your neck?

  Me: It must be the lighting. It's dark in here. LOL

  Tristan: You promise it's not a bruise?

  Me: OMG, yes. I'm good, promise.

  It's sweet he cares, but the bruise must be more noticeable than I realized if he's pointing it out over a Snapchat picture. I run my hand over my neck as I think about it.

  I lock my phone, and roll over onto Finn's side of the bed and stretch out. I can hear Olivia in the living room playing, and I can hear Finn's video game in the background. Our bedroom door is cracked, so I guess Finn got up with Olivia this morning and let me sleep in. He probably couldn't sleep much after what happened last night. I stretch out as far as I can and feel my muscles pulling, and it feels so good. I roll out of bed and try to flatten my bed head.

  When my bedroom door opens, Olivia's little head pops up, and she sees me. A huge smile crosses her face, and she comes crawling to me as fast as her chubby little legs will take her. When she gets close to me, I scoop her up, and her curly blonde hair is a mess. She's in her favorite mermaid t-shirt and a diaper. I cover her in kisses. Olivia laughs. Olivia and her baby giggles are seriously the best thing to wake up to.