He must be able to tell I’m close to being overstimulated, as he slows his pace to let me come down for a few seconds and pauses to grab something from the nightstand.
“Give me your hand.”
I obey. He places our bullet vibrator in my right hand, already switched on, and I look back to meet his gaze. He takes the opportunity to give me a filthy kiss before he says, “Use that on your clit, but you still can’t come until I say.”
His knowing smirk says he knows how difficult this is going to be for me, but I’m up for the challenge. I face forward again, and he starts to drive into me again, even harder than before, his hands gripping my ass for all he’s worth. I maintain my balance with my left hand (not easy to do with the strength he’s using on me tonight), and place the vibrator in between my thighs and—oh, fuck, this really isn’t going to take long now.
My moans are getting louder and less contained, and he grits out, “Not. Yet. Baby.”
I’ve had about enough of this fucking game and an idea strikes me. I remove the vibrator from my clit, and move that hand even farther back between my legs until I find his balls. I press the vibrator into the palm of my hand, holding it to him with a fair amount of pressure as he continues pounding into me, massaging him as he moves, and now he’s the one making the strangled groans.
“Fuck, Di,” he manages to get out in a low voice, and I can’t help the satisfied smirk on my face. Luckily, he can’t see it, or I’m sure he’d make me regret my cockiness in this exact moment.
I toss the vibrator aside and turn to look back at him as he works himself in and out of me in ways that are undoing me with each pump of his hips. “Youever gonna look at another girl again?” I ask him, fire in my eyes.
“Fuck no,” he grits out, jaw clenched, focused on what he’s doing to my body. “You’re it for me, Di.”
“If you miss porn, I’ll give you something to watch,” I tell him, and stretch my arm out to the nightstand to grab my phone. I don’t waste any time in opening the camera straight from the lock screen and putting it in selfie mode before he can ask what I’m doing.
Now we can both see ourselves on the phone screen, like our own private movie. I’m not brave enough to actually record something that is going to be uploaded straight to the cloud—I have heard too many horror stories on nudes and intimate videos—but I am just brave enough to create the feeling of our own private screening for him right here and now.
Plus, I know the mental recording of this will stay in his spank bank for the rest of time. And mine, too, for that matter.
His eyes meet mine on the screen, boring into me, and I can see a shudder rip through his entire body. “Fuck, that’s so hot, baby,” he groans, and he sounds like he’s as close as I am now.
His hips are unrelenting, and he increases the speed until there’s no fucking hope for me anymore. I’m starting to come undone, whether he wants me to or not. My head falls, some sort of sob wracking my entire frame. He takes one hand off my body and brings it around to my mouth, covering it roughly, still watching us on the screen of the phone, and grounds out in my ear, “Now you can come, baby.”
Thank God.There’s no stopping this wave from cresting, and I shatter under the intensity of what he’s doing to me. I can’t be responsible for the sounds escaping me at the moment, and I guess that’s why he’s covering my mouth—he knows how hard I’ll be coming and how loud I’ll inevitably be. His tight grip on my face only adds to the sensations in my body right now, and I am out of my mind with pleasure. My entire body starts to shake, I feel him start to pulse inside me, and we come undone, together, as we do everything else in life.
This man knows more than just my body. He knows me on every level of my soul, my heart, my mind. And he not only loves me for all of it, he works to please me on every single plane.
There’s a lot of great things about being married to your soul mate, but this is close to the top for me.
* * *
Why doesno one warn you of all that comes with motherhood? The joy, people try to describe it. They don’t do it justice. The heartbreak? Every time your kid cries and you can’t make it immediately better. It’s a physical pain, your insides being sliced open, probably akin to hara-kiri.
The times you feel like an asshole for getting them to eat the dinner they asked for, or drop them off at school so you can go to work.
Or how you can have a cleaner come out weekly and spit shine the place top to bottom, yet within hours, your house is still going to look like an abandoned cottage in the woods that’s been overrun by mole people for the last few decades.
That’s what I’m working on now. My fourth load of loading dishes and cleaning the kitchen so far today. All things considered, not myfavoritepart of motherhood, but unless we win the lotto and can hire full-time help…guess who’s got two thumbs and gets to do the fun stuff? That’s right. This gal.
It was a teacher day for our county today, so all the kids are home with me. They’re currently playing out back while I clean up after lunch. The occasionalrufffrom Sir Wags, followed by squeals and shouts, that filters through the closed windows and doors tells me they’re still up to some fun.
It’s a soothing soundtrack for a little soul-searching I’ve been doing, keeping my mind busy as I go through the mundane routine of wiping off the bright yellow, red, and green plates and mismatched plasticware and putting them in the dishwasher, and wipe down an illogical amount of mess from such small bodies in the kitchen and dining area.
I’d like to think Chance and I have gotten things fully back on track. There’s still a part of me that feels guilty over the things he unloaded on me weeks ago. How I took him for granted. Made him feel like all he did for our family wasn’t enough. And worst of all, that this life we’ve created, these kids of ours, that this wasn’t what I wanted.
Apologizing isn’t my strong suit, we both know that. But I’m not sure I’ve done enough to show him that heiswhat I want. To reassure him that everything he puts into this family is more than enough for me. That despite the stress and shit of daily life caring for miniature versions of ourselves, whatever bad moods might set in from time to time, at the end of the day, it’s all worth it because we’re together.
I think I need to plan one of these dates, maybe give him a grand gesture of some sort to show him just how much I do want him.
I’ve also noticed that the few times we’ve gotten to see our friends, him at pickleball, with his Halo night, and me with brunches and girls’ nights, that game night we did,both solo and together, shit seems so much better after that, too. It’s made me realize that it wasn’t just our marriage we abandoned, but all the relationships we had going for us.
It was far too easy to get overwhelmed by the insanity of running a household, raising our kids, trying to work on my own career around feeding them, shuttling them to and from everywhere they need to go, getting them cleaned up, making sure our house isn’t a fit habitat for wild animals.
Like, Chance was right. Moms are the fucking GOATs of this world. Literal superheroes. Working moms even more so. For all our shortcomings, all the ways we tear ourselves down, wish we were better, there’s no one more impressive on this earth than mothers.
