Surprise flickers through his face, his handsome features, before he unbuckles his belt and wastes no time strolling over to me, sinking his fingers into my hair, and guiding my mouth to where we both want it.
Not sure if he even notices the new lingerie, but with my trademark enthusiasm for the job at hand, all that dangerous femininepassionthat I’m not supposed to let out in the workplace, I’m not on my knees for long.
Afterward, I get a kiss on the forehead, a hand up, and we both change into something more comfortable and make—you guessed it—taco salads for dinner.
The conversation is easy, comfortable, if routine. That’s how it is when you’ve spent almost half your adult life with your partner. Convenient. A known quantity. Safe.
Maybe you wouldn’t use words likefiery,adventurous, or evengoalsto describe us, but we’ve got a good thing going, David and I.
How many twenty or thirty-somethings can say they’ve found a partner they can build their dream life with? Put in years together? Have financial stabilityandemotional security? We’ve both got great careers, a lot of mutual interests, and we both primarily depend on logic to propel us through life.
We’re damn near a dream team.
Are there things I wish were…livelier between us? Sure. But no one has the perfect relationship. I think ours is just about as close as it gets.
So why do I feel like I’m selling myself on it?
* * *
After dinner,a quick kitchen cleanup, and both of us prepping for our days tomorrow, we’re in bed. It’s just after nine, if you were wondering. In my defense, neither of us are ever home before at least seven, and I’m up by five most days for my morning workout, then my time-consuming (but incredibly necessary) hour-plus beauty routine.
But can you show me a millennial couple who stays up late on a weeknight? Or a weekend? I’ll wait here.
That’s what I thought.
But Ihavebeen a little in the mood since I welcomed him home earlier.
My hand sneaks under the cover and slides up and over his back, down his hip bone, and nearly makes contact with the part of him I’ve been craving since it was in my mouth not that long ago, but his hand comes down overtop mine and stops me before a murmur of a protest hits my ears.
“I don’t need anything else tonight, Ellie.” He pulls my hand to his mouth, places a kiss to the palm, holds it to his chest, and goes back to trying to fall asleep. I get a whiff of him, that new cologne I got him isn’t doing the things I hoped it would, and my nose crinkles.
Meanwhile, my jaw is making a run for my very ample chest, and my brows are trying to implant themselves in the headboard, where I lay next to him.
“You… You don’t need anything else tonight,” I repeat dryly.
“No, I’m good, thanks babe,” comes the sleepy reply.
“What about me?” I ask, a dead tone to my voice.
“Hmm?” He rolls over slightly, turning his head toward me, and I withdraw my hand from his clutch.
“I’m glad you’re all good after I blew you. But what about me?”
I’m sitting up now, and if I were him, I’d be a little careful about what I say next. If he misconstrues my words as I’m upset because I can’t get him off again, I might actually explode for the first time in my life. I know Chrissy is always telling me how she could never display the emotional maturity I do in most situations, but I’m a few wrong words away from losing that life skill entirely, and opting to employ her preferred method of conflict resolution: fiery death to all.
Probably wisely, given his odds, he doesn’t answer.
“Did you consider thatImight need something tonight?”
Silence. Better than anoh, but not the right answer, buddy.
I can’t believe I skipped my line dancing night for this. Again.
I throw back the stark white covers with flair and flounce to the large marble and tile bathroom, where I make a show of turning on the shower. I proceed to take as long as I need in there, just me and the handheld showerhead, who is never too tired, too thoughtless to take care of my needs. I’m not quiet about it, and I’m not subtle, either.
But when I return to bed twenty minutes later, much more satisfied, yet much more pissed off for it, David is passed out, and looks like he has been for some time.
* * *
