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We’re just different, I guess. We’ve grown apart. He doesn’t listen the way you do. He doesn’t laugh at my jokes like you. I feel like I can’t goof off with him a lot of the time. Like I can’t be myself, you know? Because he wants me to be this, like, Stepford version of myself or something.
Still. I wanted to fight, you know? This is marriage we’re talking about. Something I take very seriously. I wanted him to go back to who he was when we met. That man would fight for us. But that’s the thing. We’ve gotten in one, maybe two blowup arguments recently. For the past six months or so, though, we’ve barely said a word to each other. We’ve been civil. But we haven’t been talking, confiding in each other. It’s like that saying about the world ending with a whimper…that’s how my marriage is ending. Without so much as a goodbye.
Now Ryan’s gone.
Ugh sorry for the word vomit. Mom is coming over in a bit, so don’t worry about me, I’ll be looked after. But I just miss you, and I’m a mess, and I wish I could hear your voice right now. That always makes me feel better.
Thanks for listening. Hope you’re having (safe) fun.
XO,
Me
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Beau
Bel slaps my ass, then squeezes it.
“You have the best butt, Beau.”
“Thank you kindly.” I return the favor and give her ass a squeeze. “Yours is pretty damn cute, too.”
“I like it when you touch it.”
“I noticed.”
I walk into my bedroom, dropping Bel’s shoes, jeans, and panties as we go.
My housekeeper has been here. Bed is made, drapes are open. I hit a button by the door, and they silently glide shut.
“Neat trick,” Bel says as I lean down and set her on her feet.
“It’s a millionaire thing.”
“Gross.”
“I know.”
I’m struck by the fact that Annabel has never been in my bedroom here before. In college, we hung out in each other’s dorm rooms all the time, annoying the hell out of our roommates. We’d do homework in Bel’s bed or watch movies in mine.
But since then, I don’t think she’s been near my bed, much less in it.
“My sweater.” She turns, facing away from me, and pulls her hair over her shoulder. “There’s a button at the neck. Can you get it for me?”
Shamelessly, I lift the hem of said sweater and press my exposed dick into the small of her back as I work the button free, smearing precum all over her skin.
She lets me.
Bel holds up her arms, and I gently lift the sweater over her head. I unhook her bra, and she takes it off, dropping it on the floor.
I lean in and put my mouth on her neck, right where it slopes into her shoulder, and her head falls to the side as I work my way up to her ear. She sighs, reaching for my dick. I kiss her as she strokes me, touch sure and patient.
I take her tits in my hands and gently knead them, taking each nipple between my thumb and first two fingers. She arches into my touch with a moan.
“Too much?”
“My milk’s going to come in any minute. We don’t have long.”
Pressing one last, lingering kiss onto her shoulder, I make a beeline for my bathroom to grab some lube and a condom.
I head back to the bedroom, where I find Bel bent over the edge of my bed. Elbows on the mattress, ass in the air, legs spread, pussy exposed in the most lewd and delicious way possible.
My balls tighten like I’m already inside her.
I grab my cock in my hand. Hissing, I give it a vicious, almost painful tug, keeping my eyes locked on the pink slit between her legs. The slight opening in its center is just begging to be fucked.
“What?” Bel glances at me over her shoulder, all innocence except for the hot gleam in her eye.
“You play dirty.”
She digs her teeth into her bottom lip. Her eyes flick to my cock. “So stop being Captain America and give me what I want already.”
Christ.
Even the sex we have is laden with metaphors.
My hands shake as I rip open the condom and roll it onto my length. I coat myself with lube, then coat my fingers a second time and run them up the length of her pussy, front to back. Stopping to linger on her clit.
Stopping to linger on her asshole. Her breath catches, and her head falls between her arms.
“Can I?”
In reply, she presses her ass into my hand.
“Honey.” Honey.
That’s what she feels like when I slip my middle finger inside her rim. Warm and wet. She pants, her body tensing.
Keeping my finger there, I use my other hand to guide my dick into the cleft at the center of her slit.
“Let me know if it’s too much,” I say.
