Midlife Crisis_another romance for the over 40

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Mind if I come in for a bit? You said the boys are at their dad’s, right?” I appreciate his remembering and smile with relief that he asked first.

  “Please come in.” My voice shakes, a bit breathy. I sound anxious, and my eyes close for a second as I will myself to calm down.

  “Don’t be afraid of me.” His tone drops, and my eyes open.

  “I’m not frightened.” But it’s a lie. Hank Paige could break my heart, and I’m scared to death of anything like that happening again.

  I lead Hank to the kitchen. This is my comfort spot in the house, a gathering place with a large island and open eating area.

  “Got any coffee?”

  “I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t. I have a coffeemaker, but I don’t think I have any beans.” I cannot stand the smell, and with Paul gone, I moved the maker to the pantry.

  “Never mind. It would just keep me up all night.” Hank steps closer to me. “And I can think of other things I’d rather have keep me awake.”

  “Yeah,” I whisper. He stands so close to me, my breasts brush against his dress shirt. My arousal piquing, I’m on the verge of ripping off his clothes. He cups my cheeks with his hands and his lips meet mine. Hank’s kisses are meant to get lost in. He kisses slowly but with purpose, not missing any part of my lips before seeking my tongue. There, he takes equal time—spinning, swirling, twirling—and I melt into him.

  His hands release my face and grip my hips. He lifts me to perch on the island, and my knees spread, allowing him closer. His fingers touch the lace over my thighs, gathering it up my legs while his mouth continues to undress me of every anxiety. I like him too much, too quickly, but I’m savoring this moment.

  My eager fingers reach for his shirt, untucking it with haste. He breaks our kiss to reach behind his neck and shrug the shirt off with one pull over his head. It sticks on his arms, but after a quick tug from me, he’s shirt free. I moan, and my palms cover the landscape of his body. Firm pecs, a smattering of salt-and-pepper chest hair, and solid abs. A trail leads to the treasure bulging in his pants. He cups my cheeks again and kisses me with more pressure, his mouth growing wilder as my hands rove his body—over the flat of his belly, up the hills of his chest, and around his shoulders, until I squeeze his shoulder blades.

  “Fuck, I like your hands.” He groans against my mouth. His hands palm my backside.

  “I like your body.” I exhale, my voice low as I struggle to speak.

  “I’m gonna love your body, little lady,” he says, lifting me. “Bedroom.”

  “Upstairs.” Carrying me to the stairway, he sets me down at the base. “This is where we stop. Lead the way if you want to continue.”

  Taking his hand in mine, I walk backward up a step or two before turning to lead him the rest of the way.

  “Thank fuck,” he mutters. If my smile grew any bigger, it would crack my face.

  My room is average with a queen-size bed. I got rid of the king once Paul left. After repainting the room to a light yellow, I added more throw pillows than necessary to the new bedding. Feminine and delicate, this space is meant for the female head of household.

  “Like pillows?” He chuckles, reaching for one and tossing it to the opposite side of the bed. He sits on the edge, then reaches for my hips, tugging me back to him. With him sitting, we’re closer in height, especially with my heels off. I lost them downstairs when I sat on the counter.

  “Where was I? Oh, right, this dress.” His thick fingers find the zipper at my neck. Spinning me, he unzips the lace material to my waist. Soft kisses pepper up my back, and I shiver, catching the loose material against my front. My body hums with anticipation.

  “Time to be wild. Let go,” he murmurs between my shoulder blades, and I realize he means for me to remove the dress. My arms slip to my sides, and his hands slide the delicate material from my body. I’m suddenly self-conscious standing in my room with only waist high underwear and a regular bra.

  “I don’t own anything sexy,” I say by way of apology. “It seems impractical when you aren’t having sex.” He spins me to face him.

  “You’d be sexy in a dishrag,” he mutters. “Besides, you think I give a fuck about your underwear? I don’t plan on you wearing any for what I have in mind.” His mouth returns to my skin, traveling just above my breasts. The ache between my thighs increases as a hand cups one heavy globe. I groan when he pinches me over the silk.

  “Holy tits, lady.” He tugs the cup down and envelops me with an open mouth, sucking on me like a ripe peach. His tongue circles the sharp peak of my nipple, and I cry out when he nips me. “You’re big for a little thing,” he says, before trussing up my other breast and working it in the same manner. My hips rock forward, seeking friction despite the attention up top. Nimble fingers skate around my back and unclasp my bra with one snap. Tugging it forward, he teases me as he watches my breasts fall from the holder. “You’re so pretty, lady.”

  I’m clutching his shoulders, my knees weak. Melting before he touches my needy area is a strong possibility. Dragging my palms from his shoulders to his neck, I lower to kiss him again, needing his mouth to assure me we are really doing this. My underwear drifts down my hips, and he taps an ankle for me to step out of them. Our lips don’t unlock, and I nearly split in two from sexual overdrive.

  “I don’t want to disappoint you,” I mutter as he pulls back, eyes roving my body. He tilts his head, uncertain of my meaning. “You know, hot dog in a hallway and all that.” I snort. Literally. Could I be any more awkward with poor movie quotes and a nasal noise?

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” His steel eyes blink.

  “I don’t think I’ll be all tight and neat down there.” My awkwardness grows with each flap of my lips. I mean, every romance novel has the girls all tight and trim, but that’s hardly me. I’ve had babies.

  “What the fuck?” Suddenly, he flips me, and I land flat on my back. Hovering beside me, he trails his fingers between my breasts and down to the hair at the apex of my legs. So close, I think, before he drags back up my middle. “What the hell you talking about, little lady?”

  “I’m just not young. I’m probably stretched out, and—”

  “Stop talking.” He interrupts, and I clamp my lips shut. Reaching for my hand, he yanks it to cover the bulge in his pants. “Feel this?”

  I nod.

  “I think he’ll fill you just fine, baby. Relax.” I take a deep breath, and tears prickle my eyes. He’s still partially dressed, and the hand on his excitement lifts for his belt.

  “You first,” he says, trailing tickling fingertips down my skin.

  “I want to feel you.” The boldness surprises me, but I want to touch him while he pleases me.

  “Oh, you’re gonna feel me.” He stands, strips, and returns to his side next to me. Deft fingers find their way and gently impale me. I arch off the bed, relishing the intrusion.

  “So wet, baby. Your body wants me.”

  “So badly,” I whimper.

  “Soon, lady.” He chuckles against my neck, sucking at my skin while his fingers work their magic—dipping, digging, dragging out an orgasm so fierce I drown in the length of it. Awash in sensation, my knees come together, drifting in a weightless haze. I’m gripping the sheets as Hank climbs over me.

  “Condoms?” His asking almost brings another snort. Another unnecessary supply when not engaging in sexual promiscuity. I shake my head and he slips back for his pants on the floor and returns fully sheathed.

  Lining up his solid length at my entrance, he watches as he slowly disappears inside me, taking his time to fill me as I stretch around him, welcoming him into me. Tears escape the corners of my eyes. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt anything like this. So full. So free. Hank pulls back, almost exiting me before thrusting forward again. My eyes roll back and more tears leak.

  “You okay, baby?” I can’t respond, so I nod. He pauses, peering down at me as he balances most of his weight on his strong elbows. A thu
mb swipes at the corner of one eye.

  “You must think I’m so inexperienced.” Now isn’t the time to share our sexual history, but it’s evident by the dance his body plays over mine that he knows more than I do.

  “Not going there right now,” he commands. “I think you weren’t loved properly, and I’m gonna love this body.” He rests on one elbow as his other hand hooks under my leg, stretching me, opening me to him.

  “Let go of the bed sheets, little lady,” he demands. “Touch me.” I’m still white knuckling the sheets at my sides as he slides forward again, the penetration reaching deep.

  “I’m afraid to let go. I might float away.” I’m not certain all the words leave my mouth as I’m having an out-of-body experience, like I’m watching him fill me. The euphoric feeling makes me light-headed. He chuckles, jostling us both, his dick pulsing inside me.

  “Hold on to me, baby. I’ll keep you grounded.”

  I release the bedclothes and clap a hand to his shoulder blade. The other finds his ass, one firm globe of perfection, and I squeeze.

  “Yeah, baby,” he spurs, rocking harder as I smooth over the fineness of his backside. The bed begins to squeak as he thrusts faster, penetrating deeper, teasing another orgasm out of me. As my head comes off the bed, I scream into his shoulder, tears spilling, as I hold him like I might fall off a cliff if I let go.

  “Fuck, yeah, little lady,” he quips through strained breaths as he rocks harder. His pumps quickening before he stills. His neck muscles bulge as he pulses inside me, and his strain pleases me. An aftershock sends ripples vibrating through my body. Hank collapses, rolling us to our sides but still buried inside me.

  “My sausage do okay in your hallway?” he jests. “Got the reference now. We’re the Millers.” He winks. I gasp before I chuckle.

  “Did you just make a joke?” My giggling jiggles him inside me, and he pulses once again.

  “I just want you to stop crying,” he whispers. He’s so close to my face, still hovering inside me.

  “I’m not sad. I’m not hurt,” I reassure him. “Just...I can’t describe it. I’m overwhelmed fits the best.”

  “No, I fit the best,” he teases, pressing up to kiss my shoulder before pulling out completely. Wet warmth pools between my thighs like the heat in my heart as I look at him.

  Yes, you do, I think. You fit the best.

  11

  Night sweats

  [Hank]

  We go at it again after a brief reprieve. This woman needs some taking care of. Rest. Repeat. Finally, we only rest, tangling with one another. I’m a sound sleeper especially on my back as she sprawls over me. I want to tuck her into a ball and hold her to my chest, but I also like the feel of her blanketing me, draped over my heart beat.

  Suddenly, she stirs, shaking me.

  “Hank, someone’s here.” When I come to full consciousness, it takes me a second to remember where I am and how we got here. I warn my brain not to think of Kit, but it can’t stop itself. Kit and I never had sex at her place. All her secrets were hidden there, and she never planned to share them with me just as she never shared her heart.

  “Hank, I think someone’s here,” she repeats.

  “Breaking in?” I’m groggy, but I’m slowly detecting the whispered panic in her voice.

  “No, as in one of my boys.” It takes me a second to register she means one of her kids and not a collection of men waiting for a turn with her. I bristle at the thought of others touching this sweetness. Pressing over me, Midge pushes off the bed and grabs a robe from her bathroom.

  I hear her patter down the stairs and wonder what I’m supposed to do. I’m sprawled out, naked as the day I was born on her bed, so I decide to dress. The only problem is my shirt is still downstairs. Her kid meeting me like this would be super awkward, but seeing as I plan to meet her kids, I slowly tiptoe down the steps.

  “Elston, what are you doing here?” Midge asks her oldest son.

  “Dad and I had a fight. I don’t want to stay on the boat with him.” Midge told me earlier how her husband decided he didn’t want to be a husband one day and went to live on a friend’s boat for a bit. The bit turned permanent, and the boys visit him there.

  “Does Dad know you’re here?” I don’t hear a response from her son, but she adds, “I’m not getting involved. You need to call him. Let him know where you are and that you’re safe.” I didn’t have a mother I remember, so the sound of Midge’s concerned tone pinches at my chest. I don’t have a child to worry about like she does, and that wrenches the pressure tighter.

  “I’m not talking to him,” Midge stresses, but suddenly, she speaks cheerfully. “Yes, Paul, he came home.” Pause. “No, I’m not getting into this with you. I’ll talk to him and talk to you tomorrow.” Pause.

  Her son snorts, and it sounds strangely like the noise she made earlier tonight. I shake my head at her thought process. Where did she come up with the hot dog in a hallway thing?

  “Good night, Paul. I’m hanging up now,” she says, and I suddenly think I have an idea of where her insecurities come from.

  “What happened?” She redirects, her voice lowering, and I feel guilty for eavesdropping.

  “He thinks I’m seven instead of seventeen. Everything is football even though the season is over. USC this and USC that. He hates how I want to go to school back home.”

  “This is home.”

  “No, Illinois is.” Silence follows, and a stool scrapes the wood floor. I picture the layout of her kitchen in my head.

  “Honey, you need to talk to him. Work this out with him.”

  “Why? You didn’t.”

  “Elston.” His name mixed with a sharp intake of breath makes me not care for this kid, and he’s about to meet me, like it or not. I creep down to the bottom step when he continues.

  “That’s not what I mean. I just mean, you eventually let him go, so why can’t I?”

  “Sweetheart, it’s different. He’s your dad. He was beyond loving me, but he’ll never give up on loving you.”

  Silence follows. A stool scrapes again. “Head to bed, honey. Get some sleep.”

  This is my cue to crawl back up the stairs like a dirty little secret, especially if the kid comes upstairs first.

  “Hey, who’s shirt is this?”

  Shit.

  “Oh, that’s where that went,” Midge says, her voice too high. “I was trying it on and set it on the stool. It must have slipped to the floor.”

  “This is a guy’s shirt.” Silence.

  “New fashion statement. Get some sleep, babe.”

  “Mom?” her son teases. “You’re turning pink.” I want to smile until I hear her response.

  “It’s nothing, honey. Now, get to bed.”

  And that’s exactly where I return, feeling like what she said—nothing.

  Sitting on the edge of her bed with my elbows on my knees, I wait for her. Old feelings having nothing to do with her return like a blow to the head. She turns the corner, enters her room, and closes the door.

  “You’re dressed,” she whispers.

  “You have my shirt.” The observation is snappy and sharp. She dangles my dress shirt from her finger by the collar, like it’s trash, like I am. I reach forward and rip it from her, hastily shrugging it over my head as it remains buttoned.

  “Hank?”

  “Time for me to go, right, cupcake?”

  “Hank, this is so awkward for me.” She steps toward me, but I stand, my height towering over her. “I’m sorry about Elston. He isn’t supposed to be here.”

  “Did he go to his room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll let myself out.” My tone chills the air between us. I don’t reach for her. My fists curl into balls at my side.

  “Why are you being like this? What did I do?” Her shrill voice cracks with strain, but the sound remains quiet enough not to give away that a man is in her house. I’m suddenly not feeling considerate.

  “Can’t do so
mething to nothing.” Fuck being somebody’s someone. It never works that way. She blinks, her eyes going wide and glowing like they did in the candlelight long ago. I’ll add it to the memories of women I need to forget.

  “Hank?” She still doesn’t get it, but she doesn’t need to. I’m lost in my head because getting kicked to the curb is all too familiar for me. Sweat dots my brow. A distant need for a drink creeps through my bloodstream. Clutching at her chest, clasping the robe closed, she steps forward. She’s too close. “I don’t want you to go. Not like this.”

  “This is the way it rolls.” I lie, my chest clenching. I step around her and leave while making as much noise as possible.

  + + +

  We work Sundays. The garage is our church. Plus, it works best for our customers. I’m elbow deep in grease with my arms shoved under an engine when Chopper calls my name.

  “Hank. Yo, woman’s here to see ya.”

  What the fuck?

  My first hope is Midge, but I can’t see her. I’m still too raw after the other night. I mean, I came like I’ve never come before, that I remember. I saw stars. My toes curled. But the sad thought is I can’t remember most orgasms I’ve had with a woman. Were they all as incredible as I thought with Kit? Or did I just build her up to be something, someone? Midge’s voice filters through my brain.

  I want to be somebody’s someone.

  Me too, I think.

  Midge made me feel this way for a few minutes. She had this effect on me. I don’t fault her kid for coming home—I recognize she couldn’t help it—but I am disappointed. However, being in her bed wouldn’t have been the best way to meet her child. Midge is a lady, not some hussy taking guys to her bed with her kid in the next room. She’s good, and clean, and smells sweet—not smoky, and musty, and used like rock chicks can be. Like Kit could be. I realize leaving was all on me. I overthought, and I sigh as Chopper calls my name again.

  “I’m coming,” I bellow, the double entendre not lost on me. My head screamed it while I filled a condom enough for it to leak. Midge did that to me. My heart races as I’m suddenly hoping it is Midge here to see me.