His fingers grazed mine when he handed me the coffee this morning, and neither of us pulled away. That’s a win too.
Now his palm presses flat against my spine while I’m squeezing avocados like they hold the answers to my marriage. Warmth spreads down my lower back, and I lean into him. Just a little.
His thumb traces one slow line up my spine, and my throat closes up. I’m about to ugly-cry in public for the second time in a week, and the only thing stopping me is the elderly woman comparing cantaloupe three feet away.
Get it together, Shannon. You are not going to have a breakdown next to the guacamole ingredients.
That night, I go to him.
I brush my teeth and take off my clothes and walk into the bedroom naked. Robert is sitting up against the headboard reading with his glasses on, and when he looks up, his book slides off his lap.
So this is Shannon Matthews’ grand romantic gesture. Bare-ass naked in a doorway while her husband blinks at her over his reading glasses. Eat your heart out, Nicholas Sparks.
“I’m yours.” My voice doesn’t shake, but my hands do. “I’ve always been yours. Even when I was stupid enough to forget it.”
Three seconds of silence feels like a fucking year. My brain, which has been blessedly quiet for the walk from the bathroom, kicks back in and screams,you are naked in a doorway and you just said that out loud, and if he doesn’t move in the next two seconds, you will die right here on this carpet.
Robert takes off his glasses and sets them on the nightstand. His eyes travel down my body, and when they come back up to my face, his jaw loosens. He’s not looking at my tits or my hips. He’s looking at me.
He doesn’t say anything. He just pulls the covers back.
I climb in beside him, and his fingers find my collarbone. His mouth moves along my throat to that spot behind my ear where my pulse is going crazy. Every touch is careful, like he’s making sure I’m real, and my skin lights up because it’s been days since he touched me like this.
I run my hands over his shoulders and breathe deeply. He smells like Robert. Like the man I almost lost because I was too chickenshit to be honest.
“Shannon,” he murmurs against my neck, and the roughness in the tone hits me right between my legs, the way it used to when we first started dating.
My fingers tighten in his hair, and I pull him up so I can see his face. The mix of love and lust almost breaks me.
His pajama pants are gone in about two seconds before he moves over me, his full weight pinning me to the mattress, his cock hard against my pussy. Heat rolls through me. My skin flushes and my pussy clenches before he’s even inside me.
I reach between us and wrap my hand around his shaft. He groans into my neck while I stroke him. When he pulses against my palm, my pussy throbs in answer. She loves this cock.
He lifts his head and looks at me, and I let go of his cock and pull his face down to mine. The kiss is soft at first. We’re still figuring out if we’re allowed to do this. Then his tongue finds mine, and fuck it, I’m done being careful. I kiss him hard, and my fingers dig into the back of his neck as his hand slides into my hair and holds on. I moan into his mouth so loudly it surprises me.
I whimper against his mouth. “I need you inside me.”
He lines up and pushes in slowly, and my breath catches from the pleasure.
“Christ, Shannon.” He presses his forehead to mine. His hips flush against me, all the way in, and we both stop moving.
Holy shit. I forgot how perfectly he fits inside me. I almost threw this away. I almost threwhimaway. That thought hits me so hard my eyes sting and I tighten around him and hold on.
He makes love to me slowly. There’s no other word for it. His hips roll against mine, and his cock drags along my walls with every stroke. Every time he pushes back in, my pussy clenches around him like she’s afraid he’ll stop. I wrap my legs around his waist, and my heels press into his thighs, pulling him deeper.
We kiss again, and our tongues twirl together. The pleasure from the kiss and his cock makes my brain empty…no more guilt. Just Robert.
“Look at me,” he groans.
His face is right there. I can see his jaw clench when he pushes deep, his eyes go glassy when I squeeze him. He can see me too. Every stupid thing I’m feeling is all over my face and I don’t care. I’m done hiding from this man.
He picks up speed and his pelvis grinds against my clit every time he bottoms out. My toes curl as the pressure builds, and I run my palms down his back and feel his muscles flex with every thrust. I dig my nails in because he’s inside me. A week ago I wasn’t sure he ever would be again.
He’s still mine. And I don’t deserve it, but I’m keeping him anyway.
And here’s the thing about Robert inside me versus anyone else: it’s not technique or even the filthy thrill of fucking a stranger. It’s that his cock knows exactly what I need. Fifteen years of fucking me, and he knows what angle makes my eyes roll back and how slow to go before I lose my mind.
And I’m losing my fucking mind.
