over his cock.
Sweat beads at the nape of my neck while I drive my body higher and higher. I throw my head back when I feel the swelling of his cock inside of me, and I grind down harder. My movements grow more rigid as I reach my peak, and when he cums, I slip off the cliff’s edge and explode in mid-air as I fall wildly out of control. Sparks of fire shoot through me, leaving a sizzle in their wake as I ride out my orgasm.
Never opening my eyes, I drop my head down to his chest, and with a deep breath, I take in the scent of my husband—a stranger no more.
He wraps his arms around me, both our bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. “That was unexpected,” he murmurs on staggered breaths. “What came over you?”
Through my pants and heavily beating heart, I finally open my eyes and look into his sated ones. “I don’t know. It’s been a while for us . . . I guess I needed that more than I thought.”
Landon rolls us over onto our sides and kisses my damp forehead. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted lately.”
“Don’t be. I understand.”
“I love you most and more,” he tells me when he tucks my head under his chin.
Nuzzling into his chest, I breathe in his scent once more. “I love you too.”
Four days ago, I called Alec for the first time. I thought it would be weird, but just like our private message conversations, it felt effortless. So much so, that we wound up talking on the phone that first day for nearly five hours straight. Needless to say, I haven’t been getting much writing done because we’ve been talking on the phone every day since.
I’ve found myself opening up to him more quickly than I do most people when striking up friendships. But we only communicate through text and phone calls, so all we have are words to fill our time. It’s inevitable that we would learn about each other faster than if we were spending time together in person. Not that he hasn’t asked, but I always decline, mostly because I’ve created myself as a lie. Not entirely though. I guess the only real lies are that I’m single with no kids. Everything else I’ve told him has been factual. But those two details aren’t minor—they’re the monumental threads that weave soul to flesh and make me who I am. It’s not like I lied about something trivial and meaningless, and for that fact, I just don’t feel like there is any point in taking this any further than our texts and phone calls.
In the past week, I’ve learned about his family and upbringing. He’s shared stories of growing up the youngest among three brothers who are now all married with children, all of which still live nearby. The adoration he has for his nieces and nephews is apparent in the way he speaks of them, and I don’t doubt that he wishes to have children of his own. He also shared with me how the death of his father a few years back forever changed the dynamics of his family.
I too opened up to him about my family. The divorce of my parents when I was only three years old, my older brother marrying and starting a new life with his wife, and the isolation I’ve always felt. He knows my family is distant, that aside from holidays and birthdays, there’s no real communication between us. To my surprise, I even found myself telling him something I never talk to anyone about. I got swept away in the ease of our conversation and told him about the day my mother died. I couldn’t remember the last time I had talked about her to anyone, but for some reason I told Alec.
“She died in the morning and no one even bothered to tell me,” I weep.
“No one told you?”
“No. It was evening, and I had dropped by the house to visit her. The street was lined with cars. Everyone knew . . . everyone but me.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-two,” I respond. “I was her only daughter and no one gave a shit about me to tell me when they had told everyone else. I’ll never forgive my family for that.”
“You shouldn’t. They don’t deserve your forgiveness. What they did was fucked up and you have every right to hate them,” he insists fervently.
He sat there on the phone with me