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She stared at her reflection, taking in the strange woman who stared back at her. Twenty pounds lighter donned in a pair of black pumps and a black bustier that made her heavy breasts look like two ripe, juicy cantaloupes, ready for the plucking.
And then there was the garter belt—Dear Lord—and the skimpy red-laced panties that she’d worn beneath her coat.
Krista covered a hand over her mouth and shook her head.
This was silly—God, what was she doing?
Playing dress-up.
Role-playing, pretending to be something she knew nothing about.
She didn’t want her life to be a façade. She didn’t want to live in a make-believe world. No. Krista wanted a life that allowed her to be something she’d never been. She wanted to live in a world that allowed her to shed her old skin without shame or guilt.
Over the last several months, all she’d lived in was a world filled with regret and lots of remorse.
No. Krista didn’t want that life.
All she wanted was a do-over.
God . . . Krista gripped the edge of the vanity and shook her head. What if she failed at getting it right—this time?
Hell, she could barely walk in the pricey, clearance-marked heels she’d found at Nordstrom Rack. But here she was, standing in five-inches of pure desperation.
She wanted her marriage. She’d been missing everything she and Kendall ever shared. All she wanted was her husband back. She missed him, his laugh, his light snoring, his kisses, his touch.
Oh, God, and, and . . . that magnificent dick.
That good loving.
That, that, unforgettable . . . fucking.
She wanted it all—him.
Kendall.
This was what her therapist had been suggesting, encouraging in the last several therapy sessions. Taking risk. Throwing caution to the wind without overthinking it. She’d even had Krista reading erotica, and so she’d been ODing on the likes of Allison Hobbs and Zane and Risqué, transporting her mind to erotic places she’d never imagined existed. She’d even downloaded a few of Nairobia’s porn movies. God, that whore was such a sex goddess. She had a way of making some of the kinkiest sex look so damn sexy.
It had her curious. Had her imagining, wondering.
Yet, she was still a work in progress. Lord knew she had a long road ahead of her. But therapy was helping her, healing her. Reading erotica was helping her too. Opening her to new possibilities.
Slowly, Krista was learning to embrace her sexuality, her sensuality, and her femininity, all while staying steadfast in her religious beliefs. However, it was, admittedly, still a struggle. One Krista was determined to overcome.
Dr. Dangerfield had once told her that she could be a Christian woman and still be a freak for the man she loved. And she wanted to be.
Krista glanced at herself one last time. “Well, here goes nothing.” And then she opened the door. And flicked off the light.
When she returned, Kendall was still standing in the same spot, as still as a statue, waiting. He blinked several times trying to make sure his eyes weren’t playing some cruel trick on him.
“Damn,” was all Kendall finally managed to say as he stared at her, wondering who this woman was, and where she’d come from. He was nearly undone by the sight of her. And the thought of her sweet pussy hidden behind that patch of silk made his dick suddenly hard, forcing him to shove his hands down into the front pockets of his jeans to hide his growing bulge.
Krista found herself holding her breath as she waited for his response. She felt a moment of panic set in. An infinite amount of time passed by before she forced herself to breathe out through her nose. And when he still hadn’t moved or said anything, Krista’s knees nearly buckled.
“I screwed up, Kendall. I really, really did. And I am so, so, regretful for shutting you out. For shaming you and trying to emasculate you—my therapist’s words.” She took a breath. “I don’t want a divorce, Kendall. I want my husband back. I want you—only you.” Krista swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She felt as if she were about to be sick. She couldn’t bear the thought of baring her soul to him to only be rejected in turn.
But it would serve her right.
“I should have listened to you. I should have been more open to hearing you, Kendall. I don’t want to be on the sidelines, watching another woman take what should be mine. You beside me, inside of me, on top of me, in back of me—wherever you wanna be. So, Kendall, I stand here, half-naked, offering you me—the best and worst parts of everything I am. The broken and glued and very flawed parts of me. There is so much more to sex than I ever allowed myself to know. I know that now. Therapy has shown me that. All I’m asking . . . is for another chance.”
