Page 81 of Midlife Crisis

I’m a total failure if I have to spell it out for him. “I thought I was seducing you, but obviously, it isn’t working. If you don’t want to see me anymore because of the money, just tell me.” I guess I need direct instruction. I don’t want to play games with him.

“I don’t want to.” My head shoots up as I’m scrambling to get my feet back in my heels. I twist to look at my foot, no glass slipper here. My prince crushes me. A finger comes to my chin, turning my face back to his, but I close my eyes. The tears well at my embarrassment. “I mean, I don’t want to not see you. I want to keep seeing you…” His voice drifts, and I’m visibly quaking. I can’t open my eyes, or the tears will leak.

“Are you afraid of me?” My lids crack slowly, and he demands, “Talk to me.”

I don’t know why he keeps asking me these things, begging me not to be frightened of him. I’m petrified of him—how I feel about him, that is. It consumes me most days, but especially today for some reason when I’ve missed him more than I should admit.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I snap. “I’m…I’m…I’m horny.”

The word hangs between us. Mortification fills me as I admit how badly my body wants to get off and get off by him.

“You want me to fuck you, little lady?” His voice lowers to a whisper, and the sinister hint rushes over my skin. I remember questioning once if a voice could make you orgasm, and I’m certain he just did. My knees come together, but in the next instant, I’m being dragged forward to lower my back on the seat. He tugs open my coat, examining the silky material slipping down enough to almost expose one breast and hitching up enough to reveal the thin lace covering my privates.

“You wear this for me?” I nod to answer. The plum-colored ensemble matches my jacket. I don’t own lingerie, but I thought I’d treat myself to treat him. Rough fingers tug the thin lace edge of the top down, releasing two swollen globes to greet his heavy fingers. He squeezes them both, and I gasp. He’s rough, his fingers callused but firm. He pinches both nipples simultaneously, and my back arches.

He’s kneeling, and he spreads my legs so one graces either side of him. He reaches behind his neck and tugs his t-shirt forward in that sexy male way. My hands find his hard abs and climb upward, sculpting over the hills and valley of him. Thick. Solid. Big. He grips each wrist, clutching them both in one hand and positioning them over my head. With his free hand, he wiggles his pants down his hips a bit. Instantly, his hard length springs free. Holding the base of himself, he swipes over my wet heat, the lace saturated with my longing.

“So fucking wet,” he mutters, shoving the lace aside and spreading my slick folds by dragging back and forth torturously through a place ripe, ready, and waiting to swallow him. I love how he loves to watch us join together.

“I’ll fuck you, little lady,” he says a little harshly, a mixture of passion and frustration. I look up at him as he watches how he’s coating his length. My thighs clench, and my clit pulses. Tears fill my eyes again at my intense desire for him to enter me. More.

“Condom,” I whisper, and something in his eyes shifts when his head flips up to face me. He pulls back, fumbling with his back pocket. A wallet falls to the floor. I watch as he rips the foil with his teeth and sheaths himself. Sweet cheese, why is that so sexy? I don’t have time to ponder the thought when his firm hand returns to holding mine hostage above my head. He impales me in one swift thrust. I grunt at the welcome intrusion and wrap both my legs around him. My heels remain on and lock over his ass.

“Touch yourself,” he commands, watching himself enter me.

“I…I can’t do this.” He’s hammering into me, his hand holding my wrists captive, the other balancing under my backside to move me in rhythm with what he needs. He loosens his hold enough to where I can free one hand which drifts to the spot, and I stroke. Then I rub. I swirl harder over the place I know will get me where I need most.

“Holy hell, lady. You are so goddamn hot.” He thrusts hard enough to rock the car. I’m spiraling as he jackhammers into me, and I touch myself. Then I implode. I bite my lip to hold back the explosive sound in my throat.

“Scream,” he demands, and I open, his name a prayer echoing through the classic car and out into the garage. The thumping music drowns under my call. He stills his body, only one part of him pulsing, releasing, jetting off inside me. I feel relief but still wired—weird, actually. It wasn’t enough of him. I could go again. More.

“Feel better?” Hank says as he pulls out of me a little too quickly. I nod, unable to answer.

“Do you know how hot you are like this?”

“Do you know how much I love you?” I counter, the words catch in my throat. Hank kneels between my open thighs. His head shoots up, and he stills. I take a deep breath. “I love you, and I’m sorry.”

“I thought you just wanted to…” My mouth falls open before he finishes, and my heart crashes. This is an off-the-cliff, shattered windshield, flipping vehicle kind of accident. I’m crushed as I scramble to sit upright. Hank envelops me, his lower body between my spread legs. Peppering my sternum with tender kisses and soft suction, his voice groans. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

His head pops up, frightened silver eyes begging me for something I can’t read. I’m numb inside. “I was too rough, baby.” I have no idea what he means. The moment of lust is lost, and we remain naked. Raw. Ripped apart. A shaky hand comes to his cheek as I suddenly know what this is and isn’t. This wasn’t me seducing him but triggering his fears.

“You’re never rough with me,” I say, swiping a palm around his head. My heart still races, caught between running away and the sprint of what we just completed. “You’re a gentle giant with a good soul and a generous heart.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he mutters against my skin, his forehead buried above my breasts. My nose burns, my eyes heating, but I dismiss the potential tears.

“You deserve every inch of me, and I want to give it all to you.” But there’s a ghost in this back seat, and I don’t know how much more of her I can take.

+ + +

The next night, I need another girls’ night out. Hank has an early shift at the crisis center, and it’s just as well. I can’t even look at him the next day. I decide to call Edie. She’s the closet friend I have as most of my prior friends were work colleagues, and the only person I think will understand my predicament.

“Hey, Midge.” Her chipper voice heats my nose, and my eyes sting. I will not cry again, I warn.

“Hey.”

“You okay, honey?”

“I don’t think so.” A tear slips as I recall how I wanted to climb Hank like a tree, nearly begging him for sex, and then he pigeonholes me in the same category as his former lover because I want him.