Chapter 6 The Good Ol’ Days We Never Had #2
We leave the kids at the party on some made-up lie that we had to get something from the house, and the second that door crashes shut, the pair of us are all over each other in the dark.
His broad football shoulder pads must be doing something deep to me, because the only clothing I rip off his body are his cleats and his pants.
I lie over him on the couch, pressing my lips to his with a force that surprises us both.
I don’t know if I’ve ever tasted him this strongly before.
Gripped his body this tightly.
Wanted him so badly.
It’s like the horniest, hungriest version of my teenage self is bursting out of my soul to reclaim those high school jock fantasies I never lived—or dared to admit I even had.
I reach between his legs and find my man hard and throbbing. That’s the thing about Tanner: he’s ready to go, any time of day or night. The more I massage him, the deeper our kissing grows until it feels downright frantic.
I pull away. Tanner’s eye-black is smeared across his cheek. “I am so fuckin’ into this.”
“I’m just happy we can be as loud as we want for the first time in over a year,” he groans back, out of breath.
I yank him off his back and sit him up, earning a deliciously deep grunt from him, surprised by my strength, most likely. Then I slide down between his legs, kneeling on the hard floor in front of him and wrapping my mouth around his cock.
You’d think we’ve never done this before, the way he throws his head back and moans so deep, the fucking house trembles.
I cling to the sides of his ass cheeks, even buried in the couch as they are, and bob my head up and down on his dick. His fingers weave themselves into my hair and cling, guiding me.
I know he’s a goofy sweetheart most hours of the day, but when it comes to sexy times, he becomes a beast who won’t shy away from grabbing my hair and using his muscle.
And goddamn, if it doesn’t drive me crazy.
He sure takes advantage of our increased noise real estate, as his breaths grow vocal and begin to fill every corner of the room.
It turns me on so much that I’m to blame for that.
The couch isn’t the only place we murder with our horniness.
The kitchen counter where I have slapped many a pound of dough is now slapped with my bare ass as Tanner drops me onto it, then returns the favor I so generously gave him.
I lean back so far, my elbow knocks about four things off the counter.
My chef pants are down to my ankles and he’s going to town on my cock with his reprehensibly talented mouth, one hand pressing me down to the counter, the other stroking me each time his head comes up.
And now it’s my loud ass who’s filling the house whether I try to or not.
Is this what we needed?
Permission to be ourselves again?
To be as loud as we want again?
To be free?
The floor of the living room is the last place we defile, as I lie atop my husband, both of us naked and sweaty now, and we make love with a passion I’m not sure even our original wedding night could compare to.
In so many ways, I’m floating in the stars and can’t imagine ever coming down again.
But I’m also literally on the floor with my husband, as grounded as one can get without having sex in the grass (which I’ve tried and don’t recommend during the hot-as-balls summer).
And the closer we get to the edge together, the more my thoughts race away from me.
How good Tanner has been lately. How I can’t even remember the last argument we had.
How it feels like all the problems I thought were big seem so small and faraway now—like that marshmallow nightstand we use as a reading table, still missing a drawer, staring back at me like an ill-timed thought—as I fly over the edge and empty myself in Tanner with jolts of pleasure shock-waving through my sweaty body.
He finishes, too, just after me, and then there we lie, two men on the floor of our house, a naked pastry chef and zombie football player with half his makeup smeared across his face and the other half probably somewhere on me or the floor.
The world comes back to us one breath at a time.
Our kids in the main house, hopefully still playing and having fun with the others around their ages.
Our parents, drinking cups of spiked punch.
Everything that was so far away while we were having sex, now gently growing closer again.
“You’re so beautiful, Billy,” says my husband.
Crying.
I sit up and peer down at him with a start. “Tanner?” His tears draw black, wiggly zombie lines down his cheeks. He never cries. “I didn’t realize you were upset. Did I—?”
“I’m n-not. Th-These are …” He wipes his eyes. The messy smudges grow messier. “… h-h-happy tears, babe. Really happy.”
“Crying after sex is never a happy thing.”
“It is tonight.” His wet, sparkling eyes meet mine in the warm semidarkness. He reaches for my face, caressing it. “I love you so much, I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”
“Of course.”
“Even in our bad times. Even when we’re not right. I always, always love you. For better or worse, right?”
“Sickness and in health, yeah, yeah, babe, I know. You’re …” Suddenly I’m stifling a laugh, coming out of nowhere. “You’re such an ugly crier. It’s so adorable.”
“What? No, I’m not!”
“You totally are.” I can’t hold back, the chuckles taking ahold of me, and now I’m crying with laughter. “I hope this isn’t our new thing, crying after sex.”
“I’m a hot crier! I look beautiful when I cry, dang it!”
I shut him up with a kiss.
Which ends abruptly upon hearing the heavy footfalls of our kids approaching on the front porch.
I don’t think Tanner or I have moved so fast in our lives.
The second that front door opens, our bedroom door shuts with our naked asses behind it, and the next instant, the living room lights are on and bright, and our boys are in front of their video games, laughing and keeping their Halloween party going, completely oblivious to us.
And behind this closed bedroom door, Tanner and I stare at each other, out of breath.
Just like two teenagers who were almost caught making out and hid in the janitor closet, a teacher walking by on the hunt for a suspicious sound they heard.
The two of us hiding in the dark.
The sweat of our pleasures still glistening on our faces.
“I … I would have been your boyfriend,” says Tanner.
“In a heartbeat. I would have taken you to all the dances. To prom and to every homecomin’.
Pulled you away from that awkward spot you’d hug near the punch with your friends.
Brought you out to the dance floor to shake your ass with me, ignoring the football gang gawkin’ at us.
Taken you home for the weekend. Cuddlin’ with your cute self in my childhood bedroom.
You’d have been my fuckin’ treasure, Billy. ”
My heart beats deeply, staring into his eyes.
Imagining that alternate version of our teenage years.
I can feel it in my bones so potently, we might as well have lived it.
“You still make me feel like one,” I say right back to him, to my man. “Every day.”
Through the window, in the ghostly darkness outside, a wind picks up, tossing the trees and the leaves. I’d give anything for this moment with my husband to last forever.
To forget I ever said anything that one night.
To just accept a piece of furniture.
And its cursed drawer.
To ignore this feeling in the deepest pit of my stomach that something very bad is on its way, something that no amount of love for my husband can stop.