Page 31 of Loving at 40

“Say yes, babe,” I command, holding her gaze. Her teeth find that lower lip again, and her eyes spark. “I knew it.” She needs to go another round, and she wants this. She wants my fingers on her, in her, guiding her.

“This is insane,” she whispers, but I ignore her as I coast my fingers to her center, spreading the pretty pink folds before sliding through her slit. I double-team her as a thick finger slips into her primed channel, and my thumb finds her clit. Watching her once more, I swivel my wrist and reach deep within while her hips rock. The water ripples around us, splashing up my thighs and soaking my jeans. I’d love to remove everything, allowing nothing between us. I’d tug her onto my lap, have her straddle me, and let her ride out what she needs, but this is all about her. This tired mama needs some relief. She needs to scream and holler and rattle the walls with her release.

“Be loud,” I demand.

“I can’t. I’m-I’m used to staying quiet.” She chews at her lips, and the pause reminds me why she hides her pleasure.

“We’re alone. It’s only you and me.”

Our eyes lock, saying so much more. She better be thinking of only me in this tub with her. I add a second finger to make certain she knows I’m present. I’m the one touching her. I’m the one pleasing her. When she closes her eyes, it better still be me behind her lids, filling the fantasy, acting out the reality.

“I don’t know if I can do it again,” she whimpers.

“You can. You will, ’Locks.” Jenna tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. “I can read it in you. Once is never enough.”

Slowly, her lids widen, and I’ve hit the mark. For some women, the initial orgasm is only a warm-up. The pleasure is satisfying, but they want a second go immediately after completing the first. I’m happy to oblige, especially in this case. In this turn of events when I’m fingering Jenna in the tub, and we haven’t even kissed yet.

Fuck. I’m not treating her like the lady she is, but something tells me Jenna’s okay with how things are happening. At least for the moment.

Within minutes, she jackknives forward. Her hands grip my biceps, forcing my fingers deeper within her, and she groans. It isn’t the scream I want ringing in my ears but a hard-pressed, long-humming moan of relief. When a hand comes to my wrist, I slow my motions and hesitantly pull back my fingers.

“Better,” I mutter. “But we still have work to do.”

Standing, I hitch my thumbs into the waistband of my jeans on the final thread of my restraint. Her eyes widen again, and something in them stops me. Is she still afraid of me? Doesn’t she trust me?

“Jenna, if you don’t want to keep going, you need to get out of this tub.” Her eyes lower only briefly to the heavy length protruding behind the denim, wet and plastered to my body, outlining my thick form. Quickly, she stands to her full height, and my breath hitches in anticipation that she’ll take over. She’ll shove down my pants and tug me forward, reciprocating what’s been done to her. Water cascades down her body like a steady stream, rippling over her peaked nipples and dripping off her ample breasts in the best waterfall I’ve ever seen.

To my dismay, Jenna steps out of the tub and reaches for a towel. Her back remains to me as she secures the fabric around her body before she spins to face me.

“Archer.” My name is a choked sob on her lips, and everything in me says to reach for her. Pull her to me and reassure her that what we did was all for her. I don’t need more, but I’m a selfish man. I want it. I want her. Instead, I feel played and old haunts slip between the cracks as I warn her.

“Out. Now.”

12

[Jenna]

After I returned to my room on shaky legs, I collapse to the bed before giggling into a hand over my mouth.

Oh, my God, what have I done? Reckless and wild, the situation reminded me a little bit of my old self—pre-forty, pre-children, pre-Ryan. However, along with the giddy sensation comes a heavy wave of heartbreaking emotion.

What have I done? The question slowly repeats as reality settles in. I’m no longer young. I’m no longer without those children. I no longer have Ryan. I let a man I hardly know use a pulsating showerhead on me in a bathtub, and then I went again with his thick fingers working their magic on me.

You slut, I silently shout as I roll to my back and stare up at the ceiling. My fisted hand hits the mattress once. I definitely don’t want to be that girl again, but I couldn’t help myself with Archer. His eyes ensnared me. He wanted me. Every graveled word and smooth movement said he wanted me. I couldn’t deny him.

Why did I let him do that to me? The answer comes fast and clear. I wanted it too. I wanted him. I’ve had three years of self-love, and I wanted the touch of his thick fingers.

My legs snap together, and I roll to my side once more, squeezing at the phantom sensation of his solid digits inside me and the pad of his thumb rubbing right where I needed him. He knew what he was doing, and I have no doubt it’s from years of experience. As far as I know, Archer hasn’t been married and hasn’t dated anyone seriously. Even Anna isn’t certain of any information she shares about her brother.

He’s a total mystery, and I’m clueless what to think about what we just did.

Still puzzled, I stand and slip on a lightweight dress and flat sandals, dismissing all thoughts of a repeat performance with Archer. The bathtub was seven minutes in heaven. Or more like seventeen, but who was counting? And isn’t that the point of what I’d done? For only a few minutes, I wanted to pretend I wasn’t who I am and get lost in my head. I wanted to disappear into who I once was—carefree and unencumbered.

Only, that isn’t my life.

Talia and Rosie await me.

I peek around the bedroom door and find the bathroom one still closed. Slipping from my room, I race across the living room as quietly as I can and sneak out of the apartment like the coward I am. I don’t know how I’ll face Archer ever again, and I still have a little more than a week of sharing this space with him.