I have with her and her body. Only her body. For the rest of time.
“Come for me, Winnie,” I say, exhales harried and the plea strong. It’s been a couple days since we’ve had sex and the buildup and anticipation has been at a fever pitch up until this moment.
Her hands fist in my hair. “Yeah,” she says, throaty. When we dated, she would beg me for this, implore me to take her. It took me a while to give in because I knew how it would end. When you’re a messed-up man, grace in crazy amounts is terrifying. That’s what my wife is. The scent of her perfume laced with her skin makes my mouth water and my balls tingle. “Come with me,” she orders, bringing my face to hers. I kiss her as a reply. She moves against me, grinding her hips in a circle.
I explode inside of her when I feel her grip my shaft, a flowing squeeze that is a pat on the back and also fucking bliss at the same time. Her tongue slips against mine as our kiss ends and lips part. I look into her eyes as I catch my breath. There aren’t things I can compare sex with Windsor to. There never has been. That’s the crux of it. From the very first time when she attacked me in red lingerie. I was done for.
“I missed you,” she says as I pick her up and set her down on the kitchen floor.
I sigh. “Since when? Two days ago?”
“Since always. When you’re not inside me, I want you inside me.”
The delicate balance of feeling the same exact way and needing to live a normal life. “I love you.”
She readjusts her panties to cover herself. “Those are your three words, huh?”
“Always,” I say, grinning.
“Deal.”
She takes my hand and we grab our clothes off the floor, open the windows, and stand on the threshold, where the glass should be, looking out into the ocean. She slips her skirt on and whispers, “Life is going by so fast, Mav.”
After I pull on my jeans, I wrap her in my arms. “Only if you’re doing it right.”
Her phone chimes from the foyer. “That’s probably Morg telling me they’re on their way back early.” Steve and Morganna have their only son, Rocco today, too, so they’re outnumbered. Something they aren’t used to dealing with.
“Or Gretchen telling you what she thinks you should do with the rooms.”
I toss around the idea that her work is calling, and give a few more unreasonable explanations for her phone to be ringing. Sighing she slips around me to head toward her bag in the Butler’s pantry off the back of the kitchen which connects to the garages. I remain standing on the threshold, gazing at the skyline. Windsor calls for me to open the gate because Morg is here with the kids. There’s a touchscreen panel that controls everything in the entire house on a wall in the foyer. I tap the button to open the gate and unlock the front door.
Windsor fusses with her hair. “No one will know what we just did,” I say, peering over her shoulder to where a sliver of the kitchen is visible. “They’ll assume, but you know, they won’t actually know.”
She’s giving me her lecture face when Marley blows through the front door, chattering on about a panda duvet, a bobo tea cup clutched in one hand and her iPhone in the other. She’s only ten, but she begged me for a phone to film YouTube videos, promising me a lucrative business endeavor in unpackaging toys. Mostly, it was me buying her toys “for her channel” and her playing with them. Luke walks in next, a moody fourteen-year-old who is a bit more teen angst than he is straight and narrow.
He mutters something that resembles “Hey Dad.” As he walks past to the exact spot Windsor and I were just standing. On second thought, he probably said “so bad” because everything these days is awful when you’re a teen and can’t drive yet.
Morganna and Steve walk in with Rocco last and begin the house tour. Steve gives me knuckles as he brushes by. Morganna will give herself the tour. She has never needed permission for anything. Steve follows behind, happy to be in her proximity. Sort of the way it’s always been. He’s the Yin to her Yang. Windsor and Marley call out to Morganna from the kid’s bedroom wing, ostensibly to show them exactly