“I love you, Krissa.” He held her gaze.
“I love you too.”
He reached for her, drew her to him with his hands on her waist. She let him pull her closer, rested her pelvis against his as they leaned against the vanity. She stroked her fingers through his hair, trying to tame the wild spikes.
Derek’s fingers moved to where the towel was tucked into itself above her left breast and tugged it out. He let the towel fall open and then to the floor. His hands returned to her waist.
Krissa pushed the towel aside with her bare foot and leaned in to kiss her husband. Their mouths met and clung. Derek tasted of minty toothpaste and coffee, still smelled faintlyof cigarette smoke. She laid her hands on his shoulders, satiny skin over firm muscle and hard bones, let her fingers curl into him.
They kissed again, and again, Derek’s hands sliding lower to her ass, pulling her against him, his growing erection nudging her tummy. She went onto her toes to rub him there, needed to feel him between her legs where she began to ache.
“I love you.” H Is mouth still touched hers. “I’m sorry, Krissa.”
“I’m sorry too.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, leaned her forehead against his.
“I feel like such a failure.”
“Don’t. Please, don’t. You’re not a failure. We’ll get through this.”
He swallowed hard, then lifted her by her ass. She wrapped her legs around him, feet resting on the cool marble vanity, and he slid a hand between their bodies, found her center and stroked through her wetness. Hot and achy, she let out a moan.
“I’m still a man.” He shoved at his underwear until his cock sprang out, hard and thick.
“I know.” Her head fell back. She wrapped her arms around his head and he took a nipple into his mouth and sucked, hard. Hot delight flashed through her. “I…know.” He pushed into her, filling her. He grunted and she gasped. “Yes.” She lifted her hips, tried to open more for him, let his cock surge into her, so deep it almost hurt. Involuntarily she lifted, and he thrust again, harder. “Oh, God!”
He drove into her, and she rubbed her swollen clit against his pubic bone on each push, driving her higher, the pleasure spiraling inside her, higher. She held on tighter, focused on their image in the mirror behind Derek, blurred by steam. She could make out the bulge of Derek’s biceps as he held her up, the ridges of muscles down either side of his smooth, tanned back, her hands gripping him. She squeezed her eyes shut. Water dripped down her naked back, making his hands slide on her body as he pumped into her.
He turned, sat her on the vanity, the marble cold beneath the warm flesh of her ass, his hands on her hips.
“Krissa, Christ, Krissa.” He kissed her nipples, hard and pointy and aching, and she peaked in a delicious spasm, arms and legs tightening on him. Then he went over, too, holding her against him as he pulsed inside her.
Her legs shook as he lowered her to the floor, the terry bath mat soft beneath her soles. She draped her arms over his shoulder and rested her face against him, both of them breathing hard. When she opened her eyes, she met her own eyes in the foggy side mirror, saw the flush on her cheeks, the heaviness of her eyelids. “We need to talk.”
He let of a long breath. “Yeah.”
“But now Nate’s staying with us.”
“Yeah.”
“I felt humiliated last night, in front of him.”
His body tightened. “Jesus, how many times do I have to say it? I’m sorry!”
He set her away from him with his hands on her waist. She sucked in air, bent over to pick up the towel. He yanked his boxers up over his penis, still half hard and wet with her cream and his semen.
“I have to get to the office,” he muttered. He threw open the bathroom door and strode out.
Krissa leaned her hands on the edge of the counter, looking at herself in the mirror. Her body still pulsed from her orgasm but her heart hurt. He felt like a failure. Like less of a man. She had to remember how this was impacting him, needed to understand. But her own aching heart made it difficult.
She felt bad leaving Nate all alone in the family room watching television through dark glasses after they’d eaten dinner. But she and Derek had to talk. This was theirlifeand they’d barely said ten words to each other since the doctor had delivered the devastating news.
Krissa closed the door of her office, actually the fifth bedroom of their home. She sat at the chair in front of her desk, and Derek slumped on the futon against one wall. He’d changed into cargo shorts and a T-shirt after arriving home from work. They’d eaten dinner and he and Nate were going to go out for a beer after this little “talk”.
“Tell me what’s going on with you.” Krissa leaned on one arm of the chair, studying his face.
Derek groaned. “God, Krissa. What the hell do you think? I was just told I’ll never father a child.” He covered his eyes with one hand.
“There are other ways to father a child.”
