CHAPTER ELEVEN
OLIVIA
THIS TIME, I DON’T TRY TO prepare an elaborate, welcome-home dinner for Dean—which turns out to be a good thing when he calls to tell me his flight is delayed. Nicholas and I end up going to bed before Dean even gets home, and I find my husband sleeping in the guest bedroom the following morning.
Though Nicholas is initially thrilled with his father’s return and the presents of wooden knight and dragon puppets, he launches himself back at me within two hours. He whines when Dean hugs and kisses me, he doesn’t want to be put down when I’m holding him, and he won’t let Dean help him dress or brush his teeth.
Any hopes I might still have had of a wild return to Sexyland with my husband disappears as I contend with Nicholas’s continued bout of intense neediness that is only soothed by the apparent magic of clinging to me like a barnacle whenever the three of us are together.
The third night after Dean’s return, I manage to get Nicholas to sleep by seven, but Dean is working late and by the time he comes to the bedroom with a gleam in his eye, Nicholas is calling for me.
I don’t know how other women do it all. Then I remember they very likely don’t do it all—not if my conversations with The Moms is anything to judge by. I can’t even offer to give Dean a close, sexy shave these days because by the time he gets out of the shower in the morning, I’m in the kitchen making Nicholas oatmeal and bananas.
I also haven’t yet come up with a viable Plan B to revive our sex life, mostly because my energy is going in so many different directions.
The statement stares at me from the pages of the beautiful Italian notebook Dean brought back for me. I’ve spent a lot of time learning about the importance of setting and keeping goals—and also about how effectively the craziness of working parenthood can thwart even the best of intentions.
A renewed sense of purpose strikes me when I realize Dean has been home for three days, and we haven’t managed to progress any farther than a couple of heated, interrupted kisses.
One morning Archer stops by the Butterfly House to drop off the chair he has painted for the Chair Fair. As I’d expected, it’s incredible—a detailed, cartoon drawing of Blue, the superheroine with blue-streaked blond hair who derives her power from the weather. Painted tornadoes twist up the legs of the chair, and a villain crawls over the back.
“This is beautiful,” I say with admiration, walking around the chair. “Has Kelsey seen it?”
Archer shakes his head, a shadow crossing his expression. “She’s been really busy.”
Though I suspect Kelsey is keeping herself crazy busy partly to avoid having to deal with the issue of marrying Archer, I keep that thought to myself. Instead I reach out to squeeze Archer’s arm.
“You know, I’ve always thought Kelsey and I were so different,” I tell him. “But turns out we have a lot in common. We both know when something is so good it would be foolish to change it.”
Archer shakes his head, his mouth compressing. “If you don’t change, you stagnate and start to rot. My parents didn’t change for twenty-five years, and look at how miserable they were.”
I don’t have an answer to that because it’s the truth.
“It wasn’t until they got divorced a few years ago that they were finally happy,” Archer continues, turning and heading back to his truck.
“But their relationship wasn’t good,” I tell him. “It took them awhile, but they had to change to find freedom.”
“So do I.” Archer slams the open back of the truck and walks around to the driver’s side. “Marriage to Kelsey is my freedom.”
My heart clenches with painful understanding. Marriage to Dean had freed me too, in so many ways.
“Does she know that?” I ask gently.
“If she doesn’t by now,” Archer says, pulling his keys out of his pocket, “then the past two years have been a waste.”
I realize I can see his point of view on this issue as clearly as I can see Kelsey’s. As much as I don’t want anything to change about our lives now, if I hadn’t been willing to take a risk with Dean almost ten years ago, we’d never have dated and gotten married. I can’t even imagine that.
“Archer, she’ll come around eventually,” I say, aware it’s a painfully inadequate reassurance.
“Yeah, well, I’m not going anywhere whether she does or doesn’t.” Archer shakes his head with a laugh. “Marriage or not, that woman is stuck with me for life. I love her more than I love… air, you know?”
“I know.”
Archer shakes his head again, looking faintly embarrassed by the confession. He opens the truck door and hauls himself into the driver’s seat.
“So, you need my help with anything else?” he asks. “Take care of Nicholas or something?”
An idea sparks in my mind, intensified by my knowledge of Archer and Kelsey’s own relationship problems and the undeniable fact that I have to work harder to nurture my marriage.
“Actually, now that you mention it, could you pick Nicholas up from daycare tonight?” I ask. “Maybe keep him until around eight thirty or so?”
I’m not much good after eight in the evening for anything except watching TV and sleeping, but Dean gets home around five thirty, and that will give us three full hours together.
“Yeah, sure,” Archer agrees. “I’ll take him to the park and food court. He likes that noodle place.”
“Wonderful, thank you so much.”
I go inside to get him Nicholas’s spare diaper bag before he heads off. I spend the morning with Nicholas before leaving him at daycare and going to the café. At four, I finish my shift and walk to Avalon Street.
I make a stop at my favorite downtown lingerie shop and purchase several ruffled chemises and two sets of lacy bras and panties. At home, I go upstairs to the bedroom and open my notebook.
I have absolutely nothing else to think about since my entire To Do list has been completed. I’m all about getting sexy tonight.
I set the notebook on my nightstand and strip out of my dowdy work pants and shirt. I put on a pink-and-black sheer chemise whose open front is held together by a little bow. Then I slither into a pair of matching V-string panties that are hardly the most comfortable thing in the world, but I don’t expect I’ll be wearing them for long.
I do a quick primping in the bathroom, admiring how the chemise looks both pretty and sexy draped over my breasts and hips. Aside from making an effort to lose my pregnancy weight and go to the gym regularly, I haven’t paid much attention to my body since I had Nicholas.
A year of breast-feeding, which was both painful and difficult, combined with the unexpected physical demands of a new baby then a clingy toddler, have often made me feel more like a workhorse than a sensual woman.
I turn, still studying myself in the mirror and thinking I look pretty good. All the more reason to stoke the fires again. And even though I do want to know about Dean’s fantasies, it’s also true I haven’t indulged in fantasies of my own in recent months. So this isn’t just about Dean. It’s about me too. It’s about us.
I pull my old, padded bathrobe on over my chemise and belt it closed, then busy myself fluffing up the pillows and smoothing the sheets. I pick up a romance novel by the side of my bed and, to get myself in the mood, I read a few pages of a love scene in which Renaldo is penetrating Lissa’s silken petals with his turgid manroot.
“Liv?” Dean’s deep voice echoes from the foyer.
“Up here!” I call, adjusting my robe over my lingerie.
I hear his footsteps on the stairs before he comes in, rumpled from a day’s work but handsome as the devil in gray slacks and a hunter green shirt, his tie loose around his neck. He stops in the doorway and eyes me in my ragged old padded robe.
“What’re you doing in your robe already?” he asks. “You feeling okay?”
“Just fine.” I smile.
“Where’s Nicholas?”
“Archer wanted to take him to the park. They’re going to grab dinner at the mall.”
“Oh.” With a shrug, Dean goes into the bathroom.
I hear the water running. I know his routine, and sure enough—a few minutes later he emerges, unbuttoning his shirt to change into jeans and a T-shirt. As I admire his chest and the smooth musculature of his shoulders, a ribbon of lust uncoils inside me.
Yes!
I am so getting back on the sexy bandwagon. I watch Dean strip down to his boxers. The muscles of his back shift and flex underneath his taut skin. When he turns away to grab a pair of jeans from the dresser, I slither out of my robe and drop it to the floor. By the time I scramble to kneel in the middle of the bed, I’m all tingly with anticipation.
Dean turns, his eyes widening at the sight of me.
“Hi,” I say breathlessly.
“Well, hello.” He skims his gaze over me, his expression sparking with heat. “Is that new?”
“Just bought it today.” I stroke my hand over the bed suggestively, my fingers brushing against the book.
“You’re incredible,” he murmurs.
“I thought we could finally have some uninterrupted fun.” I pick up the romance novel and show him the cover of a buxom lass with long, red hair about to be ravished by a hunk whose billowy, open shirt exposes his ridiculously impressive abs. “My book gave me an idea.”
“Yeah?” Intrigue and growing lust spark in his expression as he approaches the bed, erotic tension already lacing his muscles. “What kind of idea?”
“A fantasy about you ravishing me.”
“Now that,” Dean says, sliding one hand to the back of my neck and dropping his other hand to the waistband of his boxers, “is a fantasy I can get behind. And on top of. As long as we get right down to the ravishing.”
“Well, of course, but you know, sharing fantasies is really supposed to… oh!”
Dean shoves his boxers down, his half-hard cock appearing right in front of me. His grip tightens on my nape as he pulls me forward so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed. Without thinking, I part my lips obediently, a bolt of arousal shooting through me as he nudges his cock into my mouth.
I put my hands on his hips, my blood heating as I feel his erection grow harder inside my mouth. I squirm, pressing my thighs together, a throb of urgency already starting.
He slides his hand over my body and underneath my chemise, his palms sending tingles of electricity racing over my skin. A noise of appreciation rumbles from his chest. He pushes his cock deeper into my mouth and fondles my breasts.
Shivers waterfall through me. I grasp the base of his shaft and slacken my throat muscles, letting him pump in and out. The salty taste of him floods my tongue, and before long his breath starts to intensify.
“Ah, fuck, Liv.”
The low murmur uncoils heat inside me. I move away from him to unfasten the bow holding the chemise together. The chiffon opens, exposing my breasts topped with stiff nipples and the curves of my belly and hips. Dean’s eyes darken as he gazes at my almost naked body, his eyes roaming hungrily over me.
“You are so damn sexy,” he murmurs, putting one knee on the bed and pushing me backward.
His lips come down on mine with surprising gentleness—especially considering that I can feel his pent-up lust ready to snap open. He strokes his tongue into my mouth, smooth and deep, his hands coming up to my breasts. I twitch underneath him, and when he starts playing with my nipples, electric sparks shoot through me.
I maneuver us both around and fall back against the pillows, gripping his arms to keep him close, our mouths sealed in a hot, wet kiss. With a gasp of pleasure, I wrap my legs around his thighs, my heart kicking into overdrive as his cock rubs against the stretched satin of my panties.
He slides a hand down my abdomen, his fingers twisting in the thin elastic string at my hips before moving around to my rear.
“Hmm.” His deep growl vibrates through me. “Not much here.”
“It’s a little small,” I admit, sliding my lips over his jaw to where his pulse is pounding at the hollow of his throat.
“Lemme see.” His voice is a gruff order as he pushes away from me, his eyes darkened to black with desire.
He sits back, making a circling gesture with his forefinger. I lick my lips, my heart hammering as I turn to show him the skimpy lace-and-satin back that barely covers my bottom.
“Damn.” The curse escapes Dean on a hiss as he covers my ass with both his hands, rubbing and squeezing. He moves his hand between my legs, probing at my damp cleft.
I gasp, arching my back. “Dean!”
“Jesus, you’re soaked down here.” He pushes a finger into my opening and strokes it back and forth.
I swear to God I’m already close to coming, and we’ve barely gotten started. A fog of lust and urgency descends over me. With a moan, I push my rear backward, seeking deeper penetration, my nerves tingling with pleasure.
I twist to look at Dean over my shoulder. He’s gazing at my lace-covered ass, one hand slowly stroking his big cock. The sight of him sends a firebolt straight into my blood. My clit throbs.
“Dean,” I moan, lowering my head onto the pillow and wiggling my ass.
He pulls the panties over my hips and ass, his cock nudging against my bare thigh. I experience an instant of self-consciousness—after all it’s not like we’ve been doing much of this lately—but then Dean slides his shaft right between my cheeks, and shock obliterates my embarrassment.
“Oh my God, Dean.”
He gives a muffled laugh and rubs his cock up and down the cleft of my bottom, slipping lower to my sex before sliding back up again. Flames crackle through me, and I can’t prevent a cry of need from escaping my throat. I grip the headboard with both hands as hot sensations sweep up the length of my spine.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” Dean mutters, pushing his finger slowly back and forth inside me. “Spread your legs wider for me, beauty.”
I fumble for another pillow to put beneath me and ease my legs apart. Dean’s finger slides out of me, the movement causing another wave of ripples to course through me. I’m quivering with anticipation and need, perspiration damping my skin, my tight, aching nipples rubbing against the pillow.
I shift, feeling his muscular legs pressing between mine, his broad hand coming down to rest on my lower back. The panties are still tangled around my thighs, the constriction an erotic contrast to the pressure of Dean’s cock nudging at my slit.
“Do it, please,” I gasp. “Oh, Dean, fuck me.”
With a grunt, he pushes forward, gripping my hips. I sink onto his shaft, crying out with pleasure when he fills me, his rigid flesh throbbing against my inner walls. I tighten my hands on the headboard and brace myself, my thighs tensing as he starts fucking me with slow, deep strokes that make my whole body quake with lust.
“Move your pretty ass,” he orders hoarsely, slipping one hand under me to rub my aching clit. “Come on, fuck yourself on me… that’s it…”
I groan, releasing the headboard and resting my cheek against the pillow as I start to thrust myself back onto his shaft. I squeeze my breasts, playing with my nipples, fiery currents shooting like stars through my blood.
Oh God, I could kneel here for hours, letting my husband stroke his cock in and out of me, my body jerking and swaying under him, his flat stomach hitting my ass with a sound like a spank. His fingers tighten on my hips, his breath rasping through the air as our bodies slam together again and again…
“Dean, I’m going to come.” I bite down hard on my lower lip as the spool of lust winds tighter and tighter, pulling me closer to the explosion of bliss I haven’t felt in longer than I care to remember.
But I want to come while looking at my husband, and he wants to watch, because he pulls out of me and eases me around to my back. His expression is rigid with lust and restraint, his eyes smoldering as he rakes his gaze over my sweaty, naked body.
He rubs his hands in circles over my midriff and hips, bending to press warm kisses over my breasts, down my abdomen to circle his tongue around my bellybutton. He slides his hands between my thighs to spread them apart again.
He enters me with one deep plunge, bracing his hands on either side of my head. His thick cock strokes every inner recess of my pussy. A stream of moans spill from my parted lips, my breath scorching my lungs, my whole being straining toward release.
My gaze locks with my husband’s in a fiery heat of urgency and need that belongs to us alone and that we haven’t shared in so long… too long…
“Oh, Dean, it’s going to happen,” I whisper thickly, sliding my hands around to grip his muscular back. “I can feel it… oh, yes…”
Born to be Wi-ild…
The song breaks through my fierce, spinning storm of heat and desire.
Born to be…
My cell phone buzzes on the nightstand. Archer’s ringtone. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to ignore it.
Dean’s breath is hot on my neck, his chest is rubbing against my breasts, his thick cock throbbing inside me… Oh, it’s incredible, powerful and hot, I’m going to come so hard and feel him shoot deep inside me…
The phone keeps ringing, the stupid song a mind-numbing screech of nails on a chalkboard. I don’t need to answer it. I trust Archer implicitly—Nicholas is safe, nothing is wrong…
No! Stop thinking about Archer and Nicholas.
I reach up to grab the headboard, focusing on Dean’s burning gaze, the sweat trickling over his temple, the rigid set of his jaw as he fucks me harder and faster…
Head out on the highway…
“Shit.” I shove him away and grab for the phone.
Dean groans and rolls off me, the sudden loss of his weight leaving me feeling bereft and raw with guilt. I fumble to accept the call, shoving my damp hair away from my face.
“Hello?” I gasp.
“Hey, Liv.”
“What?” I try to control my breathing, my racing pulse. “Is everything… everything all right?”
“Yeah, fine. You sound weird.”
“I’m…” I press a hand to my throat and close my eyes. My heart hammers. “I’m fine.”
“What does he want?” Dean growls, his chest heaving.
“Oh, shit,” Archer mutters. “Uh, sorry, Liv.”
“Never mind.” I close my eyes, not sure if I want to laugh or cry. “Why did you call?”
“Well, I ran into a friend at the park and told him about the chair thing—hope you don’t mind—and he said he knows a guy who owns a used furniture store, if you want a contact for more chairs.”
A bubble of pained laughter rises in my chest. “Sure. That would be great. Thanks.”
“Also, Nicholas just had spaghetti for dinner and asked for a chocolate ice cream, but I wanted to make sure it was okay with you first.”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
“Okay, thanks. Sorry to have bothered you. Really.”
“Not as sorry as I am,” I mutter.
I throw the phone on the nightstand and turn back to Dean, but the air between us has cooled and cracked again, the sharp edge of reality blunting my urgency. I know there’s no way we can get back to where we were now that chairs and chocolate ice cream have invaded my mind.
I flop onto the pillow, my body still aching with the ebbing tide of unfulfilled lust. Dean shoves up from the bed, his skin slick with sweat and his erection still half-hard, and goes into the bathroom.
Now it’s no longer an uncertainty. I definitely want to cry.