tears with the palm of her hand. “I’m so tired of crying. Of feeling sad and overwhelmed and exhausted.”
The sadness in her voice nearly brings about my own tears.
Rather than answer her with more words of understanding and praise, I hand her the box of pizza. “Eat yourself to sleep.”
She gives me a tight-lipped smile but a small laugh breaks free. “You always have thought food fixes everything.”
“I sound like an Italian grandmother now.”
“You may as well be. Sad? Eat. Happy? Eat. Tired? Eat. Excited? Eat. Hor…” She clears her throat and her cheeks turn a bright shade of pink.
“Go on,” I say in a teasing voice. “What is it you were about to say?”
“Oh, shut up,” she says before shoving a piece of pizza into her mouth and chewing dramatically.
“That’s right. Eat so you don’t have to tell me what you were about to say.”
She covers her mouth as she laughs. But I’m grateful for the distraction. My words seem to have settled and where moments ago she was saddened, she now seems to be more relaxed. I know the pain of the last few months won’t just disappear. For either of us. But, I see the possibility of moving forward. Maybe she needed this break down today in order to do just that. The pain of losing Chris will never be gone but maybe some of that pain can be used to help us heal together.
Together, we go through our options on Netflix and settle on a series based on books about the Highlanders and time travel. It’s confusing as fuck at first but then it becomes entirely uncomfortable as the husband goes down on his wife. I shift on the couch when all I can think about is me doing the same to Addy.
Her eyes are glued to the television as if she’s engrossed in what’s on the screen. I don’t blame her. A show that I expected to be all about history is shockingly sexual. And apparently what she just about said, if you’re horny, eat, is a good plan because the two of us are demolishing a large pizza as we continue through the episodes, only breaking to get more water and a bag of buttery pretzels. Attempting to eat away my desire for her probably isn’t the best plan, but she seems to be doing the same.
Which begs the question, does she want me the same way as I want her? Or is it just simply a case of being turned on from binge watching a program that shows others having sex. Damn, it’s hot in here. This show, for as grotesque as it can be, is also hot. Neither of us can stop watching, not that I want to. The scenes are so hot they may as well be having real sex. It’s hard to believe they’re not having sex for how real it seems. Maybe that’s just because I’ve had a dry spell of so long, that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have a woman wrapped around me.
Next to me, Addy suddenly jumps up and mumbles something about needing more water and rushes into the kitchen. I take the time alone to adjust my hardening dick, pushing it down so it’s not so obvious in these damn thin shorts. I’m about to look like a teenager with a tent in his shorts if I don’t calm down my raging hormones.
I hear her turn on the faucet for thirty seconds. That’s right. I count it out, hoping that the mundane activity will help me get control of my hormones. It doesn’t help. Not a single bit.
I’ve never wanted her so badly and that’s saying a lot — because there have been countless moments where I’ve imagined taking her from every single angle and position I can think up, of which there are many.
When she comes back, she looks no less flushed when she hands me a fresh glass of ice water, which I thank her for and suck down as if I’ve not drank for weeks. The cold liquid slides down my throat and I welcome it, hoping it tames the flames building inside me. I notice she has moisture gathered on her neck as if she splashed water on herself and I look down at the water in my hand but don’t hide my smirk.
She takes a deep breath and sits down a little farther away from me this time, turning off the TV. “You said you wanted to show