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I look at my watch after tucking in Sammy. It’s been about an hour since Miranda dashed out the door. I have no idea how long she will be gone. I have no idea how long it takes to track down, fight, and defeat trolls. I have no idea when I should start to really worry about my wife.
I know she’s the one who has to handle all this, but it’s hard to reconcile that this woman who can fight monsters and win is the same woman who gave herself tennis elbow folding laundry a year ago. So, I look at my watch and wonder when I need to worry.
I know that it takes fifteen minutes to get to George’s compound—that’s the only word for it; the place is humongous. So that’s thirty minutes round trip. Then they have to track down these trolls, in the dark, and then fight them. All in all, I estimate that Miranda needs about four hours to get this done. Give or take. So when she gets home right after ten pm, only two hours after she left, I am surprised. I’m staring at a cartoon I turned on to pass the time, but I’m so zoned out I don’t even know what I’m watching anymore when the alarm chimes that the garage door has opened.
I’m happy she’s home and want to hear about what it was like to fight trolls, so I jump up from the couch, forgetting to shut the tv off. I run to see her, desperate to make sure she’s okay. But when I meet her in the mudroom, she is caked in literal mud and muck and smells like she fought the trolls in a landfill. My eyes close for a moment as my body automatically does what it can to block as many of my senses from assault as possible.
Despite the stench, Miranda grins from ear to ear as she pulls off her boots, opens the door to our deck, and throws them out into the night air. Then, with zero hesitation, she strips down to her undergarments and tosses all her clothes into the washing machine. She looks at me for one brief moment before shrugging, pulling off her underwear and bra, and throwing them in also. Only after she’s filled the detergent drawer with disinfectant and smacked the button to start the wash cycle do I dare speak.
“So, how did it go?” My eyes are wide and bright, like a child waiting to talk to Santa Claus. She may have entered the house only forty-five seconds ago, but I can’t believe she didn’t immediately begin to divulge the night’s events to me.
“I got them, of course, because I’m the motherfucking Guardian! But damn do trolls stink! I need to take a shower!”
She trots her naked self by me, and I can’t help but watch her ass as it bounces with each giddy step. Suddenly, I am very grateful the kids are already asleep.
At the kitchen door, she looks at me from over her shoulder with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “I know I’m a little smelly, but care to join me?”
The look her eyes has something stirring inside me, and inside my pants, but as I move closer, I realize “a little smelly” is an understatement, and all those stirring calm right down. “Um, yes. But I’m going to let you get a head start, if that’s not too offensive to admit.” I wink so she knows I’m being playful.
She responds with an over the top sultry and campy voice. “Suit yourself.” Then, she flips her hair over her shoulder as she walks to the stairs.
I smile at how over the top she’s being, but really want to just pull her naked body into my arms. Instead, I catch another whiff of her and hang back, avoiding the cloud of stink I can practically see float toward me, so she has time to de-stink. I smile to myself. This is our new normal now. I’m glad we’re finally there. I love how high on self-esteem she gets after she vanquishes a challenger. The new confidence is the sexiest thing I could imagine on her. And now, without regularly seeing the way George sees me, his looks that don’t let me forget how I hurt her in Las Vegas, I can start to enjoy it.
A few minutes later, I turn off the kitchen lights and make my way to the bathroom, where I walk into a cloud of raspberry smelling steam. A huge improvement over what my gorgeous, naked wife smelled like just a few moments ago.
I love fucking in the shower and don’t want to lose this rare chance, so I strip my clothes as fast as I can and throw them to the floor. I only watch her hands slide over her wet, soapy breasts before I’m too hard to wait and open the glass door to join her.
Chapter 10
Miranda
Mymusclesaretighteningup, and I’m wondering how I will even rinse the shampoo from my hair when the flash of cold air tells me that Jake is joining me. My back is to the shower door, and I don’t turn around to let on that I know he’s there.
My breath hitches when his hands wrap around my waist. He presses into my back as he reaches up to my wet breasts, his fingers slipping over my skin to wrap around my nipples.
I let out a sigh and swing my head back to rest against him while I melt in his hands. “I was worried you’d gone to bed,” I admit.
He kisses my shoulder, then along the line to my neck where he nuzzles in. “You know I can’t say no to showering with you.” More kisses before I feel him inhale against my neck. “Oh, thank God. You don’t smell like a skunk threw up out of its anal glands anymore.”
I spin around to yell at him but slip on the tile. As I start to fall he steadies me by my forearms. Then he puts a finger to my lips as if trying to keep me quiet, only to replace it with his mouth. The kiss is slow and deep. It is tender and sensual, yet hungry and erotic. It is the most amazing kiss I have ever felt. It is the perfect kiss.
I lean into him as my body chooses this perfectly wrong moment to release the last of my troll-induced adrenaline rush. My legs tremble, and my knees buckle. My lips and tongue cease their active role in the kiss.
He reluctantly moves his mouth away from mine. “Where’d you go, Miranda?”
I slide down his body to the floor and curl up, closing my eyes. “I’m just so tired.”
He chuckles sweetly as he shuts off the water. “If I can get you to your feet and guide you, can you get yourself get to the bed?”
I nod, feeling myself being enveloped in a soft, warm towel and lifted gently. I move my feet but can barely open my eyes so I depend on Jake to get me to the bed without crashing me into anything. I haven’t felt this tired in ages. Maybe some of that troll spell did get on me when it hit George. Or, maybe this is just how my body recovers after a fight.
Jake manages to get a nightgown on my limp, naked form before laying me down in our bed. He kisses my forehead and whispers, “Sweet dreams, sleep tight, don’t let the monsters bite, my beautiful badass bride,” before my remaining bit of consciousness drifts out of reach.
I text George when I wake up the next morning, just to make sure he survived his night after being spelled. Thankfully, he replies,
I’m alive. We’ll talk when you get here.
Not terribly encouraging, but I can’t worry about it until I get the kids off to school.
