"Don't kid yourself. You'll be there all day," she interrupted with a knowing smile. Perfectionists knew how to spot each other in a crowd.
"Yeah, probably," I admitted. "Or not. I don't know how it's going to go yet. I don't know how I'm going to feel about leaving Maddie at home. I'm having—I'm just not sure about anything yet."
Andy's lips turned down in a deep frown as she considered this. She sipped her drink and stared at the baby, then said, "The one thing I've realized in the past few years is that it's tough balancing it all. And I say that as a person with very little in need of balancing."
"Torsion," I murmured.
"Hmm? What was that?"
I smiled, shook my head. "Nothing," I replied. "Go ahead. I was just thinking out loud."
"I have Patrick and my job and that's it. We don't have kids or pets or any extraordinary family commitments. I have a couple of succulents but I can't call those commitments. I don't have much on my plate so I don't have much business complaining about the struggle of finding balance but it's legit."
"It is," I agreed. "I want to be able to do it all and do it well. I want to be a great school leader and a sexy wife and an awesome mom, and I want to spend time with my friends and accomplish more than showering and dressing and being tired each day."
"But sometimes showering and dressing is doing it all," Andy said. "As I'm coming to see it, balance requires a flexible view of success. Sometimes I have fifteen or twenty active projects and getting through the week without chucking my phone out the window is the best I can do. Other times, I can plan a dinner party, go to pedicure night, get in enough yoga to keep me sane, and give Patrick the attention he needs, all while keeping a handle on my properties and watering those succulents." She refilled her mug again. "It's all about how I choose to define my version of doing it all. It's whatever I want and 'all' doesn't have to be consistent. My all today doesn't have to be my all tomorrow."
"Yeah," I said. "And tonight, my definition of doing it all begins and ends with my husband."
She glanced down at her left hand, adjusting the diamond sitting on her fourth finger, the new wedding band behind it. "I might do the same thing."
I put my hand on her forearm. "I'm going to put Maddie down. Help me pick out something to wear, okay?" I glanced down at my yoga pants. "I don't know what looks good anymore and I'll die before I put on another maternity dress."
She topped off her mug and stood. "This is not a problem," she said. "You have something I don't which is boobs for days. You also have ride-or-die sexy lingerie. You can make those puppies look good. I'm talking Victoria's Secret runway show good."
"I'm not sure my lingerie still fits." I cringed. "My rib cage is a little"—I held hands apart, miming my new width—"not in the same place it used to be."
"Doesn't matter," she replied with a wave of her hand. "We'll stuff them in. We'll make it work. You have some coconut oil, right? That always works. If all else fails, we pack up the babe and take her shopping."
"All right," I said with a slow nod.
"Then we move onto shoes," Andy continued. "You, my friend, are the queen of Come Fuck Me heels. You could wear those things with a ratty old bathrobe and he'd sit up and take notice."
"I haven't worn heels in five months," I admitted. Another cringe.
"It's just like having sex which is not unlike riding a bike," Andy replied. "It doesn't matter how long it's been because you'll remember how to do it once you start doing it again."
"That's…encouraging," I murmured.
"We've got the fundamentals: boobs, lingerie, shoes," she said. "The rest is easy."
"Can that be the theme? Easy?" I asked.
Andy frowned. "As in convenient or slutty?"
"How about a little of both?"
"Yeah, totally," she said, nodding. "Comfy-slutty is my favorite look."
* * *
~~
* * *
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, not certain I recognized the person looking back at me. It wasn't the body stuff, not entirely. But some, yes. My curves were curvier now. Rounder, wider, more substantial.
I looked different. I was different.
When I looked closely, I saw the physical changes but also the ones beneath the surface. I was stronger than I'd ever imagined possible. I trusted myself and my instincts more than before. I was whole, my body beginning to feel like my own again. I was a mother and a wife and woman, and I could be all of those. I wasn't limited to one.
I wasn't panicked at the idea of leaving Madeleine with my parents. Not that I ever worried about leaving her with them but I had a good feeling about this night. Worst case, we'd arrive home to my dad singing "My Girl" while rocking her and my mother rearranging another room because we'd done it "wrong."
Surviving three full months with my parents in my house was another accomplishment. I loved my parents, I really did, and I hated feeling ungrateful. My mother was wonderful and we were lucky to have her help. I wasn't sure how we would've managed without her. But honest to god, she had a true excess of opinions on all topics. It was difficult to deflect all of them while also caring for a newborn and recovering from major surgery. Never mind the exhaustion and the husband who wasn't into me anymore.
My father was equally wonderful. For all his gruff ways, he adored his granddaughter. Between him and my mother, they saved our sanity by taking Madeleine's early morning feedings. But my father also wanted Matthew dead. Perhaps not dead but he still hit my husband with more than enough hairy eyeballs to make his position clear. He wasn't printing Team Matthew t-shirts any time soon.
I smoothed my hands over my dress, cocking my head to study the new flare of my hips, the swell of my breasts. If Andy was to be trusted, there was no mistaking the headline here: I was looking for some sexytimes.
More than that, I was ready for those sexytimes. But it wasn't just sex for the sake of a getting laid. No, I needed to be close to Matthew in a way only I could. It took me a long time to get to this spot, longer than it took Tiel or Shannon, but I was here and I wanted to be wanted again.
In the hallway, I heard Matthew say, "All right, Miss Madeleine. I need you to help me pick out a nice shirt. Do you think you can do that?"
He stepped into the bedroom with her cradled against his chest and my heart thumped right into my throat. There was nothing hotter than a good father. Nothing in the world. Now that I thought about it, that explained a significant portion of my sexual frustration. He was the best father I could've asked for my baby. I knew it from the start and I knew it now, with his big hands holding her tiny body, her bottom in his palm, her fingers gripping his t-shirt.
It damn near knocked me over.
"Come here," I said, my words as tight and choked as I felt.
"Say hi to mommy," he whispered as he stepped toward me. He looked me over, a quick up and down, but turned his attention back to the baby without reaction. Not even an arched eyebrow. "She looks extra pretty tonight, doesn't she?" He glanced at me again, meeting my gaze with a grin. "Maddie agrees. She just told me. She also said you're going to need to put on a scarf and a jacket if you think her grandfather is letting you out of the house like"—he shot a pointed look at the cleavage I had on display—"that."
I didn't respond, instead folding them both into my arms. Maddie cooed and wiggled between us. I had it all. Right here, this was everything.
Matthew pressed a kiss to the crown of my head. "It's a good thing you have the baby as a shield," he murmured.
I ran my nails along his flanks, across his lower back. "Why is that?"
I tilted my head to look up at him. I'd expected a lazy grin. I found his lips pursed in a harsh line, his eyes stony. His nostrils flared as he drew a breath. He seemed angry but—but it wasn't anger behind his eyes.
"Why, Matthew?" I asked, driving my fingertips into his soft tissue the way he liked.
He looped his arm around my waist, gifting me with a deep squeeze. "You're
beautiful," he replied, his lips on my temple. "That's all I meant. You're so fucking beautiful it hurts."
That was it. That was it. This was ending right here, right now. No conversation needed. Just action.
"Set Maddie down," I ordered. "Put her on the floor with the quilt or in her bassinet. She's not going anywhere, she doesn't even roll over yet. Just come help me in the closet for a minute."
Matthew hit me with a furrowed eyebrow. "You want me to help you. In the closet."
I stepped back, held up my hands. "This is not one of those times when we have an elaborate conversation," I replied. "Put the baby down and get in the damn closet."
"Yeah. You got it. All right, okay," he muttered to himself.
I didn't stick around to watch, instead marching straight into our walk-in closet. I traveled the distance of that narrow room, my hands on my hips and my elbows brushing the precise line of Matthew's starched dress shirts as I went. If I kept moving, I'd keep my nerve but if I stopped, I was stopping. Since I wasn't interested in bidding farewell to this moment, I continued pacing even when he stepped inside.
"What—what is happening here?" He caught my hand, whirled me around, and tugged me into his arms. "What's going on?"
And that was when I attacked him. I backed him against the full-length mirror, tore his belt right off, and dropped his zipper as my knees hit the floor. "I'm doing something I've been thinking about for months." I blew out a breath and yanked his jeans and boxers down. His hard cock sprang free. I glanced at his length and then up at him. "Please don't pretend it hasn't crossed your mind."
"Lauren, get up," he said, reaching for me.
I batted his hands away. "Say it, Matthew. Tell me you don't want me to suck your cock right now. Say it and then I'll get up."
He stared at me with the same stony eyes and harsh twist to his lips he gave me not more than two minutes ago. His hands curled into fists, his breathing quickened.
"Say it," I repeated, running my palms up his legs, back down again. My thumbs brushed his inner thighs, the tender spots around his base. "Say you don't want this. Say you don't want me. Say it and I'll stop."
I treated him to another minute of teasing while his erection bobbed between us. "Of course I want you," he said with a rough whisper. "Of course I—oh, fuck."
His words vanished when I took him into my mouth. I kept my fingers wrapped around his base as I stroked him with my tongue. He tasted perfect. Like he always did but somehow better because it'd been so long.
"This," Matthew started, the word fuzzy, as if he'd spoken it while asleep, "will be over quickly."
"Mmhmm," I murmured around him.
His head banged back against the mirror. He growled, he swore, he babbled incoherently.
Yeah, I knew what I was doing.
Then my mother showed up. "What is going on in here?" she cooed. It took me a second to realize she was using that tone because she was speaking to Madeleine. "Lolo? Are you in the bathroom, honey? I won't interrupt you. I know how you are about privacy."
One time. One time I'd asked her to stop inviting herself into the bathroom to carry on a conversation while I used the facilities. Now, I was the one with the privacy issues.
"Lauren, Lauren. Sweetness. Lauren, your mother's in the bedroom," Matthew whispered. He cupped his hand around my chin but I didn't stop sucking. He traced his thumb around my lips. "Fuck. Fuck, sweetness. Your mother cannot see this."
I leaned back on my heels, slowly dragging my tongue over the underside of him. "Then tell her we'll be out in a minute."
"Lolo?" my mother called. "Honey, I promise I won't go in there but I think Madeleine's ready to eat again. She's making that angry-hungry face. Do you want me to give her a bottle?"
"Lauren," Matthew hissed.
I went right on stroking his cock, treating him to quick kisses on each down stroke. "You handle it." My words whispered over his crown. "As you can see, I'm rather busy."
"Lauren's getting dressed, Judy," he called. I edged closer, taking him all the way to the back of my throat this time. "I'm just—oh my god—I'm helping her with a necklace. A really…really fucking amazing necklace. That's all."
There was a pause on the other side of the door. I had to imagine my mother was inventing some explanations of her own while I was busy deep-throating my husband. "All right," she said eventually. "Should I feed Madeleine? She's about half an hour ahead of schedule."
I hummed around him in agreement. Yes, give her the bottle now. Yes, fuck my mouth like you mean it. Yes, lose your damn mind on me because I need to know you still feel this the way I do. Another hum followed by a tentative jerk of his hips. I drove my nails into his ass, showing him how to take what he needed.
"Yes!" he cried, his body searching for the right rhythm. "Yes, yes, oh my god, yes. Give her—give her whatever she wants."
Another pause. Then, "Let's go downstairs, just you and me. We'll have a nice bottle and some girl talk." Her words faded away as the bedroom door snicked shut.
"You." Matthew's fingers drove through my hair, twisting around the strands, gripping. "You." I gazed up at him, my lashes fluttering while I waited for him to finish that sentence. Finally, he said, "You don't know what you're doing, sweetness."
I dragged my lips down his length, twisting as I reached the head. I teased him there, the way I knew he loved but also hated. "Yes. I do."
I took all of him, pushing past the point of comfort and reflexes. My eyes were watering now, sure to leave streaks of mascara behind. But I didn't care. It didn't matter if I looked like a hot mess or I had to start this face from scratch in order to leave the house. It didn't matter how I looked at all. It wasn't the dress or the bra or the face that turned him on. It was me, taking what I wanted, giving what he needed.
It was all me.
My fingers dug into his ass, my nails pressing into his skin as I worked him over. His grip on my hair tightened. He tipped my chin up, whispering, "You filthy little cocksucker, you better be ready to swallow."
And just like that, my husband was mine again.
4
Matthew
Well. That was unexpected.
I brushed my fingers over Lauren's lips, smiling at their rosy flush. "May I ask what I did to deserve that?"
She rubbed her cheek against my upper thigh. "Since when do you have to deserve it?" she asked. "Can't you just want it and that be reason enough?"
Also unexpected. Apparently, I'd spent too much time worrying and yawning, and mentally preparing for a vasectomy and missing our former life. During that wasted time, I'd failed to recognize my wife needed my attention.
Until she took matters into her own hands—and mouth.
Tapping a store of energy I didn't know I had, I scooped her up and hauled her into my arms. When was the last time I'd held her like this? Like she was precious and fragile and all mine? Too long. I didn't have an exact answer but I knew it'd been too damn long. "And what do you want, sweetness?"
"I wanted that." She pressed her lips to mine, all sweet and sunshine. As if she didn't have the taste of me on her tongue right now. "And now I want you to take me out for the night."
I chased her lips. I wasn't letting her go that easy. "Lift up that skirt and I might."
Lauren shook her head. "No time. We have reservations."
"You're wrong about that. There's always time," I replied. I set her down, turned her to face the mirror. I pointed to either side of its thick, wooden frame. "Hold on."
She reached forward while I tugged her hips back, flipped her skirt up. A dainty pair of panties greeted me, frilly and lacy and feigning innocence. "These are nice," I said, dragging a finger along the edges. Across her back, along her hip, down the curve of her ass. Down down down. "Too nice to ruin?"
She barked out a laugh, her breasts heaving as her shoulders shook. I fucking loved this mirror. The closet wasn't bad either. One of these days, I was going to congratulate myself on the design of this place
. "Don't even think about it," she warned.
I reached between her legs, running my knuckles over the silky fabric separating me from her skin. "What should I think about, Lauren?" I asked. With my free hand, I moved her hair to one side. Leaned forward. Kissed her neck. Nipped her shoulder. "Should I think about sliding my hand under these panties? What about getting on my knees and licking you straight through them? Or should I pull them to the side and let you watch yourself getting fucked?" I wrapped her hair around my palm. "Tell me, sweetness. What should I think about?"
She dropped her head down, sighing as my knuckles traced her clit. "All of the above," she said. "But first, whichever you can accomplish in the least amount of time. I just need to get there and get there really fast. My mother will find a reason to come up here again and I won't handle things as well as you did. Great job, by the way. Remind me to put on a necklace or the jig will be up." She glanced at the mirror, met my gaze there. "Also, I've been looking forward to this night out all day. We're not missing our reservation."
"Okay," I murmured to myself. I hadn't walked into this closet with a Hail Mary at the ready but I wasn't leaving without a score. "All right. Here's what we're doing." I yanked her panties down, careful to keep the delicate fabric in good condition. I turned her, positioning her against the mirror just as she'd positioned me. Then I hit the floor. "Keep that dress out of my way."
"I know the drill," she said, a hint of laughter in her words. I dragged my hand up her thigh, then hooked her over my shoulder. I kept my hand locked around her leg, as much for her stability as mine. I stared at her creamy skin and soft folds for a long moment, both chastising myself for staying away and wondering how it was possible for love to grow by orders of magnitude, even after six years. "I guess the question is whether you remember it too."
I blinked out of my thoughts, shooting her a feral grin. "I remember," I promised. Then, "Please stop me if anything hurts."
She layered her hand over the one on her leg. "I always do."
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