I came and rolled off of her, retreating to the bathroom.
I didn't lick her pussy until she came, not stopping until she was shaking from the two orgasms I got out of her because I felt bad for coming too soon. Not like I used to. I used to always take care of my girl.
We're the only ones we've ever been with and I know her body better than I know my own.
I acted like a selfish dick.
Now, I wonder if maybe while I was pulling away, I was trying to make her do the same to me.
Because maybe it would hurt less if she hated me.
"Wendy," I hold my hands out to her, stressing every single word, "I wouldnevercheat on you. You're the only woman I want. The only woman I'll ever want. I love you, baby."
Her eyes fill, her face crumbles, and the loudest sob I've ever heard from her tears from her throat.
Stumbling from my spot on the floor, I move toward her, unable to help myself. She buries her face in her hands,shoulders shaking as she sobs.
My mind is collapsing in on itself, and I fold her in my arms, damn all the fear and terror, she's breaking apart in front of me, and I'm the fucking cause of it.
I hold my wife, and she drops her hands to bury her face in my neck, gripping my shoulders with her nails, digging into my skin painfully.
She can dig in as deep as she wants, until she's tearing away chunks of my skin and muscle. She can make me bleed if she wants, as long as she's still in my arms.
This is agony and euphoria all at once. I haven't held her like this, when she's been awake, in far too long. I'm like an addict relapsing, desperate, the high rushing through my blood and making me lightheaded with pleasure.
I'm going to pay for this later, and I don't fucking care. I press my hand to the back of her head, the other around her back, firmly pressing her body into me.
It takes a couple of minutes for Wendy's sobs to ease into hitching breaths.
Then she's pressing her hands into my chest... and pushing me away.
"Do you even remember the last time you told me that?" She asks me tremulously, raising red-rimmed eyes to mine, the green so clear and vibrant. She's all puffy eyes and wet cheeks, and looking so fucking beautiful it hurts. "That you love me? Because I can't... I can't remember, Atlas..."
I blanch when I realize that no, I don't either.
And that makes me feel like an even bigger sack of shit.
I don't say the words out loud, but I say them in my head nearly constantly—late at night, when I pretend to be asleep till I know she's out and will roll over and stare at her.
When I watch her leave in the mornings with the boys, juggling our circus so easily.
When I peek around the corner and watch her helping Liam with his math homework, or watching Noah paint while she cooks dinner that I won't sit down to eat, I'll instead find someexcuse and leave the house.
I love you. I love you, Liam, and Noah so goddamn much. I love you guys more than air, more than my own life, more than anything in this whole world.
She sighs and shakes her head, harshly wiping away the tears still falling.
"I can't even remember the last time you held me—no, I do," she says, her voice hoarse. "But you were asleep, so it wasn't really you."
It was me!
I want to tell her. I want to say that I held her because I wanted to, because I couldn't resist anymore, but I fell asleep and then had the nightmare and fucking ruined it all again.
She steps back, and then again, until she's sitting back in her seat. I stay in my spot, standing in the middle of this living room like a useless decoration.
"Why did you miss the couple's therapy appointment?"
My stomach drops to the floor. The goddamn therapy appointment.
