He ignores my pleas and continues to whisper in my ear, the warmth of his breath causing every nerve ending in my body to tingle with pleasure, “I love you and everything about you. Your mind, your body, your touch, your mouth.”
He pulls away and works his way back down my body with a mixture of kisses, licks, and bites. My entire body is trembling with need when he reaches south, and he slowly begins to peel my panties from me.
“I also love your pussy.” The erotic way he husks out the word pussy sends another thrill of desire shooting through my body. “I missed it so much.”
He pulls me further down the chair by my thighs and forces my legs wider for him. His hands smooth over my inner thighs while he continues to speak, his voice now hushed with lust, “I didn’t get much of a reunion earlier, but now”—he lowers his head downward, and all the while, he parts my pussy lips with his thumbs—“I’m ready to focus my attention on her.”
He lightly breathes over my bare flesh, initiating more shivers to erupt along every inch of my skin. Then, he’s on me, and my God, it’s better than I remembered.
“Tyler, yes!” I scream as his mouth and tongue do unimaginable things to me, feasting on me like I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.
He gathers my legs over his shoulders without coming up for air, and I find myself slipping further down the chair until my ass is hanging off, Tyler’s grip the only thing holding me in place. I buck against his face, my legs like a vise around his neck, breathlessly moaning with every flick of his tongue.
“Keep doing that. Yes, keep doing it. I’m so close,” I whimper as my hips rock even faster against his face, earning me grunts of approval and a slap to my ass.
The sound of thunder cracks loudly, but I hardly register it, as I’m too focused on the incredible things Tyler is currently inflicting on me.
When he adds a finger and then a second, it takes only mere seconds until my entire world spins on its axis, and I explode around him, unable to stop the involuntary giggle that bursts from me as my body convulses with the impact of the climax.
Jesus, fuck. It’s been a long time since I’ve lost control like that.
Just then, another clap of thunder strikes, and the lights suddenly go out, covering us in complete darkness.
Tyler’s face glows golden orange, thanks to the freshly lit candles flickering through the darkness. Rain pelts harshly against my windows as thunder and lightning continue to wage a war against the Texan skies.
I’m sitting in the armchair with my legs hanging over the armrest, wrapped in Tyler’s arms, a blanket covering us.
A shiver goes through me when I realize Tyler is still wet from the rain.
I tug at his T-shirt. “Your T-shirt is still wet,” I complain.
Tyler gives me a wicked grin. “Well, that’s an easy fix,” he says while lifting the shirt up over his head and dropping it to the floor.
“Your pants, too,” I say, my bare ass feeling cold against his damp jeans.
“Are you just trying to get me naked?”
I giggle. “No, you’ll catch a cold if you stay in them.”
I shift from his lap as he peels out of his jeans. Once he’s naked, I resume my position and clutch the blanket closer to us. I tell myself it’s to keep the cold at bay, but really, it’s because I’ve missed this feeling of his warmth in such an intimate way. I’ve spent four lonely months missing his touch and having no idea what tomorrow holds. I decide that, in this moment, I need him as close as possible.
He plays with a lock of my hair as I caress the back of his neck.
“Your hair’s grown,” he muses as a flash of lightning illuminates the room for a split second, followed by a rumble of thunder a few beats later.
I clench my eyes shut as my body jolts at the sound, and Tyler gives out a low laugh.
“How is it that you’ve survived this long, living in Texas, and you still can’t cope with tropical storms?”
“I usually get so drunk, I pass out.”
He presses his lips against my head, chuckling. “The answer to all things Mother Nature.”
“That, or Xanax,” I respond lightheartedly.
“Talking of alcohol, I noticed you weren’t drinking earlier,” he points out.
I nod. “You’re so observant of the littlest things.”
“Well, I seem to always notice the little things. Like how you only like one percent milk on your cereal, how you’re always so quiet during your period, and how you have to buy hypoallergenic Band-Aids because you come out in a rash if you wear normal ones.”
I’m unable to hide my smile. “What else do you notice about me?” I ask, intrigued.
“Well, you hate purple. You only like one fruit, and that’s kiwi. You cry at sad films, but you also laugh when people die in horror movies.”
“Only because of how dumb the characters are. It’s like they’re asking to get murdered.”
“True,” Tyler agrees with a laugh. “You have a weird phobia of cats, especially Siamese. You only like crushed ice, not cubed. You love mayo on just about anything. You sing like no one is watching while you’re driving in the car, and you secretly watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians.”
I simply stare at him, astonished that he knows all of that. It’s stuff that’s never come up in conversation, mundane stuff I never thought he paid attention to. My heart races at that thought.
“It’s like you’re able to read minds or something.”
“No, I’m just so attuned to everything you do. I always have been. All I see is you and all your wonderful quirks.”
I lean further into him and press a lingering kiss to his bare chest just as the room lights up with more lightning, followed by more thunder. Tyler holds me closer to him, his hands soothing my trembling body from the nuclear-like sounds from outside.
“So, you weren’t drinking tonight,” he prompts a second time.
I realize I never answered him. “Yeah, I’ve been easing off the wine for a while now. It was impairing my judgment, so my therapist suggested to follow the sobriety route for a little bit while I work through my stuff.”
“You’re still seeing your therapist?”
I frown, confused. “How did you know I was seeing a therapist?” I never told him that.
“I was kind of keeping tabs on you through Jo, and she told me a while ago. I was seeing one myself.”
“You were?”
“Yeah. After you left me, I was a mess. It was during the first two months—when you thought I’d gone MIA. I was seeing a therapist twice a week. Then, when I wasn’t at work, I was with my personal trainer, trying to better my health. I wanted to be a better version of myself, the man you deserved.”
“I didn’t know that,” I say, feeling a little lost for words.
During those first two months after we broke up, it never once crossed my mind that he was seeking out help as well. I just thought he’d given up on me, but instead, he was doing exactly what he’d promised. I just didn’t know it.
I’m such a selfish bitch.
“Well, it’s been a tough year. We were hurting. We were angry. We were broken. We haven’t exactly been the best version of ourselves with each other.”
Talk about an understatement.
“I hate how we let this break us apart. I hate the time we’ve wasted.” I feel emotion beginning to clog up in my throat.
Everything could have been handled so much differently. We both could have supported each other better, been there for each other, instead of becoming closed off. I shouldn’t have walked away. He shouldn’t have let me. But, like my mom always says, things happen for a reason, and maybe we were supposed to end up exactly where we are—in the middle of a power outage, enveloped in one another’s arms, listening to the sounds of the rainstorm rattling against the windows as we finally open up to one another.
“We don’t have to continue letting it break us apart,” Tyler states.
He’s right.
I’m just not sure how to go about that.
“But how do you fix something that’s already broken?”
He flinches at my chosen words, and I feel guilty, but he covers it well as his hand reaches under the blanket and slowly caresses my leg.
“There’s never an easy fix, never any guarantees, but to fix something valuable, you’ve got to do everything in your power to try to repair it. I asked you a question a few months ago—in the bathroom at Alex’s birthday—and you weren’t ready to hear it. I’m going to ask you again, but this time, it’s not rhetorical. This time, I’m asking it as a question, one I want an answer to.”
He pins me with his piercing green eyes, keeping my gaze in place. I remember his question word for word, as it’s been trapped in my mind ever since he spoke those words to me, determination set in his features.
“Are you going to fight with me or against me?”
I don’t even have to mull his words over, as there’s no choice to be made. I’ve spent months fighting against him when I’ve desperately wanted to fight with him. I just didn’t know it.
“I want to fight with you,” I declare.
He brings his lips to mine, kissing the living shit out of me.
After a few beats, he pulls back, a smile playing on his lips. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too. But—”
“No buts.”
He pouts, and I giggle, brushing my thumb over his plump lips.
“It’s not a bad but, I promise. I still have a lot of stuff to work through, so you need to be patient with me. We need to take things slow, and when I say slow, I mean, back to the basics.”
“What, like, first-base, second-base kind of basics?” he asks with an amused smile.
“No, not high school basics. I’m thirty, not thirteen.” I roll my eyes, laughing lightly. “I mean, we continue to live separately while we work on our marriage. We treat our relationship like we’re just dating and not like we’re married. Are you okay with that?”
“I’m happy to go at whatever pace you’re ready for. Can we still have sex though?”
His eyes hold so much hope that my next words feel like I’ve just told him Santa Claus isn’t real.
“We should probably treat sex as if we’re starting off in a new relationship.”
“So, we can have sex after the first date then because, if I remember correctly, that’s exactly what we did.”
I lightly smack him on the shoulder. “Sorry, no, jackass.”
“Well, I guess we already failed at the no-sex rule, as I’ve already fucked you up against the wall in a public restroom and feasted on your pussy not even fifteen minutes ago.”
“Tyler,” I chastise, feeling my cheeks burn with a mixture of lust and embarrassment.
He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m kidding.” He raises his hand up to a lock of my hair that keeps falling in front of my eyes and tenderly slips it behind my ear before caressing his index finger along the softness of my cheek. “Just being with you is enough. Sex, I can wait for. I’ve survived four months without it. What I can’t survive is another four months without you.”
My heart falters at his words, and before I can utter a response, his lips are on mine, and I spend the rest of the night enveloped in his warm arms, which eases my jolts of terror as the storm continues to terrorize the night sky.
Mia
I’m going on a second first date with my husband.
It sounds odd, saying it like that, but it’s true; that’s exactly what this is.
It’s been just over a week since we began to take things slow again, and even though I’ve only seen him once during that time, we’ve been more open with each other than we have in a long time. We understand each other better, and it seems I was too quick to judge the man who’s my soul mate. I blamed him for things that had gone wrong in our marriage that were beyond our control, and I pulled away when, really, I should have been clutching to him even tighter. We haven’t discussed many of the issues surrounding our breakup. We will. Eventually. But, for now, we’re just taking things slow.
He texted me last night, asking me to dress nice and to be ready by seven p.m. the next day. So, here I am, at six fifty p.m., and I’m still dressed in only my underwear as I stare into my closet with a blank expression on my face.
Shit.
I have nothing to wear.
I mean, my closet is stuffed with clothes, everything color-coordinated, starting with red—and there’s a lot of it—pink, blue, navy, white, and black. Everything is old though. I haven’t been shopping in forever, and I’m wishing I’d had time to shop today, as it would have been nice to buy something new for a second first date.
As I’m mulling over my choices, the doorbell rings, and I curse with frustration.
Shit, he’s here, and I’m still only in my panties and bra.
I grab my robe from the back of the door and loosely hold it around me as I pad barefoot to the front door. I swing the door open, and even though it’s been a couple of days since I last saw him, I forgot just how incredibly hot he is. I mean, he’s my husband, so I’m kind of biased, but, Jesus Christ, he looks good enough to eat. He’s just in trousers and a button-down shirt, but, hell, he could be wearing a paper bag, and he’d still be the sexiest man on earth.
He gives out a long whistle while looking me up and down with pure appreciation in his lust-filled eyes. “Well, this is some greeting. Is this a new fashion trend? Because, if it is, I’m all for it,” he says with a cheeky grin on his face.
I look down at myself and realize that, while I was eye-fucking him, I somehow let go of the front of my robe, and now, any Peeping Tom walking past my apartment knows what color underwear I have on. Red to be exact. I all but jump behind the door and hastily pull my robe back around me.
“Down, boy. I still haven’t picked out my outfit. In fact, you can pick for me.” I tug him into my apartment by the hand and drag him into my bedroom before positioning him in front of my closet. “I’ve been looking at my closet for the past half hour, and I can’t find anything to wear, so if you don’t want us to be late for a second first date, I suggest you pick.”
He chuckles, smoothing his hand over his jaw. “Well, somebody’s bossy today.”
I flush crimson. “Sorry, but you know what I’m like. I just want to look perfect.”
His eyes take a long sweep of me from head to toe before he gives me a mischievous smile as he returns my gaze. “You already look perfect.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure wherever you’re taking me doesn’t include a slut dress code.”
“I’m sure we could find somewhere,” he says with a waggle of his brows.
I playfully push him against the shoulder. “Just pick out a dress,” I reprimand.
“Yes, ma’am,” he responds, still with a smirk on his lips.
He approaches my closet and intently looks through the collection of clothes until he pulls out a red dress and hands it to me. “This one,” he simply says.
Immediately, I notice it’s the red halter neck skater dress I was wearing the night of Alex’s birthday.
I frown, not quite sure. “That’s a pretty old dress.” I’ve worn it once, but everything worn at least once feels old.
“And?” he says with a raised brow. “Old or new, all I know is that I couldn’t take my eyes off you when you wore this dress. You looked beautiful.”
I feel a tender squeeze where my heart sits in my chest, and for a split second, I feel like telling him to skip whatever he had planned for something that doesn’t even require any clothes. However, I ignore all hormones that are slowly simmering to the surface and take hold of the hanger.
I set the dress down on my bed. “Turn around.”
It’s his turn to frown. “You do realize I’ve seen you naked before, right? A lot.”
“I know, but if we want to treat tonight as a first date, then it’s better to keep everything to the imagination for now. So, turn a
round, please,” I say with a twirl of my finger.
He lets out an irritated sigh, humor twinkling in his eyes before he turns and faces away from me. “This reminds me of the first time I met you, only there’s no mirror for me to peek at your tatas while you change. It’s a pity, as I love your tatas,” he comments, happiness in his voice.
He’s always been obsessed with my boobs. I think he spent the first six months of our relationship with his hands constantly on them.
I giggle as I remove my robe. “You don’t say? I remember times when you’ve spoken to my boobs like they were living, breathing things.”
“You know how I like to give my favorite things the attention they deserve.”
I shake my head, stifling a laugh. “You are something else, I swear.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, baby.”
I have a smile on my face as I discard my bra—since this dress can’t be worn with one—and slip it on. The material clings perfectly to me. I love how it fits my curves, as if this dress were made for me. I pick a pair of strappy red heels that fasten around the ankles, and once I’ve buckled them up, I step in front of the full-length mirror where I smooth my hands along the sides of the dress. For the first time in over half a year, I feel pretty. Sexy even.
My eyes trace over my face, applied with just the right amount of makeup. My cheeks glow with a happy flush, and my eyes sparkle in a way I haven’t witnessed for some time. I feel happy. The churning anxiety I could feel growing in the pit of my stomach all afternoon at work with the anticipation of tonight has now turned into light butterflies, the kind I felt when we first got together. It didn’t matter if he sent me a text message or simply walked into a room; it didn’t stop my belly from erupting into a million butterflies at the mere thought or sight of him.
“You can turn around now,” I tell Tyler.
I watch through the mirror as he pivots on his feet, and as our eyes connect, I feel tingles erupt up and down my body at his pure appreciation. My heart begins to race, and the force of the flutter inside my belly grows stronger. He steps up behind me, his gaze never straying from mine, the green of his eyes almost hypnotizing. His jaw flexes as he goes to touch me, but he retreats his hand before he can.
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