Chapter 13
Ace
Veronica’s on my fucking nerves again today.
So Raya’s text came through at the perfect time, buzzing in my desk drawer while I’m staring at a spreadsheet that refuses to reconcile.
Wifey
I RSVP’d yes to your mom’s holiday dinner
I read it twice.
And relief floods through me at the words on my screen.
Thanks babe. ILY so much
Unfortunately, the happiness I feel doesn’t last long, because here comes Veronica again, breezing into my office, smelling all good, looking annoying as fuck.
"I have a new set of requests from the home office."
And then I'm forced to spend the next two hours going line by line through expense reports, Osha reports, and inspection findings.
By the time we're done, I lowkey wanna drive her to meet Raya my damn self.
I pull up to Shakers a little after six, ready to drown my fucking sorrows. I feel like a pussy for needing a drink after a hard day, especially given the fact that my father raised me to deal with my problems head on, not slink off to a bar to lick my wounds.
Oh well.
It is what it is.
I slide onto a stool and order an old fashioned. My eyes shift up at the flat-screen behind the bar, my head shaking when a player fumbles at the six-yard line.
Almost had it.
The smoky drink goes down smooth with just enough burn to make my eyes water. The glass sweats against my palm. I’m debating on another when a group of men takes the stools a few feet away. They look tired, but they’re talking loud.
“Man, I swear to God I’m dreading that shit,” one of them is saying.
“Same. It’s a whole fuckin’ circus at my house, man. My in-laws are in town, too. I’m cooked.”
The oldest one laughs. “I’ma see if they’ll let me sleep here.”
“Nah, look at this shit,” the first one says, holding up his phone. “Read it.”
“How she too tired to cook? Don’t she stay home all day?”
“Now you see what I’m dealing with,” he says with a shake of his head.
Now, I freely acknowledge I’ve only been married a few months and am still deep in the throes of the honeymoon phase, I suppose, but all I can think is, if it’s that serious, why not take your bitch ass by Boston Market on the way home and grab some takeout so homegirl can get a break?
And if your in-laws are irritating, drink your beers at home to tune their asses out so your wife isn’t bearing the burden all by herself.
I don’t know, man. Listening to that sad group of grizzled old husbands, I have to wonder—is it inevitable, the way men start prolonging their time away from home?
Staying a little late at a job they don’t even like…
taking the scenic route…making extraneous stops…
sitting in the car in the garage playing on their phone, promising themselves just one more song. ..
That last one was my father’s move.
I pray to God I never feel like that.
Right now, at least, it’s the opposite for me. The idea of home, where my wife is, doesn’t weigh on me at all. It pulls me.
I finish my drink, leave cash on the bar, and let the thought of her pull me all the way home. I smile like a goofy when I see her car in the garage. There’s a little pep in my step when I enter the house, especially when the smell of dinner hits me.
I can’t place the meal, but I know garlic and onion when I smell them.
I toe my shoes off, drop my keys on the hall table, and make my way to the kitchen where my wife stands at the stove in a grey t-shirt and nothing else, her back to me, her hair piled on top of her head.
She’s swaying a little as she stirs, completely at ease in my space.
I remember the first time she cooked for me. It was only the second or third time we’d met up, and I remember being slightly disturbed by how comfortable she was in my home. She laid claim to my shit early on and never really left. Even when she wasn’t physically here, she was present.
“Hey, baby. I’m home,” I say softly so I don’t scare her.
She turns slightly, smiling. “Hey, you. Dinner in thirty.”
I shrug, but she doesn’t see it. Even though I’m hungry, food can wait. There’s something more pressing for me than whatever’s simmering in that pot. I watch her, waiting for my moment, and as soon as she puts the lid on the pot and turns the dial down low, I make my move.
I slide in behind her, close enough to feel her warmth and smell her skin. A light kiss to the side of her neck, then a gentle suck. I feel her breathe in. I feel her head tilt. I hear a soft sound leave her, shivering when it moves straight through me.
I follow her lead, breathing deep as my blood rushes violently.
The brick in my slacks presses against the top of her ass. My hands move to her waist. After one deliberate nudge with my pelvis, just to say hi, I turn her around to face me, warmed by the fire smoldering in her eyes.
I pray she never stops looking at me like this.
My eyes drift shut when our lips touch. Hers are warm and pillowy soft, but they stand up tough against my aggressive kisses, opening wide when I thrust my tongue inside her mouth.
Whatever this is, I’ve been holding it in all day. My body is ready to unleash it all, and I know my wife can take it. She always does. She’s taking my kisses, my hands pawing her, squeezing her, pulling her close, pressing her body against mine until I feel the air rush out of her.
She never tells me no.
Her hands grip my shirt, then drop to my belt. She fumbles with the buckle while I walk her backwards toward the table.
My tongue swirls around her mouth, dancing against hers.
The jangling of my belt reaches my ears over the static in my brain.
Now she has her hand in my underwear. I groan when her fingers brush my dick, and I honestly, truly wanna break her in half right now.
But I keep the beast at bay. Instead, I break the kiss and grab the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head and tossing it to the side.
I take a small step back so I can see the body I claimed as mine. I stare at my breasts, my nipples, my curvy waist and fleshy hips. Strong thighs. Pretty toes painted pink. All mine. Every last fucking inch.
Now that I've seen, I must feel. I push her hand away and pull my dick out. I ain’t trying to be rude, it’s just that I can’t wait much longer.
She knows me, so she turns, places her hands on the table, and rearranges her body, transforming into exactly what I need at this particular moment in time.
She’s bent perfectly. Arched expertly. But I drop to my knees, because before I get what I need, I have to give her what she needs. That’s how this marriage thing works, after all.
After I snatch them panties down, I stare.
The view is amazing from where I am, but it doesn’t satisfy me.
I grab her, roughly I think, spreading her cheeks until I see exactly what I’m looking for.
My mouth waters at the sight of her little bud, but I’ll get to that in a minute.
First, I lick her inner thighs, lapping up every drop of her essence.
She always leaks like this for me. Then, I lick my way up her crack until I get to her ass hole.
I tongue kiss that little motherfucker, because there ain’t a single inch of my wife that’s off limits to me.
I ain’t scared of none of it. And I don’t stop until her voice cracks and her knees start to buckle.
Time to bring it home.
My nose replaces my tongue, which moves to her clit and massages her exactly how I know she likes it.
I moan with her—she likes that, too—and lick and suck until her body goes stiff.
As soon as she screams, I get up and slide inside her so I can feel for myself how hard she came.
I don’t even move, I just experience it, all the pulses and flutters and contractions. Jesus.
God did His big one when he invented this shit.
“Fuuuuck,” she whines.
Mm hm. I’m moving now. Stroking my pussy. I don’t even ask no more, because I don’t have to; I know this water tight, ocean wet pussy is mine. And because my wife loves me, she gives it to me whenever the fuck I want it, and she takes my dick no matter how I give it.
I’m so fucking lucky.
I suppose my luck ran out last night, though. I hate that it popped into my head at this amazing moment, but I guess it’s related. The one time she told me no. The one thing she won’t give me, at least right now.
Funny thing is, I don’t even want it that bad in the practical sense. I can wait for a baby. That’s not a problem. I just don’t like knowing I can have her pussy but not her womb.
I sound like a caveman.
“I love you,” I murmur, because maybe that’ll get that shit out my head. But it’s too late. It’s embedded in my brain.
I wanna get her pregnant.
“I love you, too,” she moans.
I open my eyes. Maybe if I focus on her body, my mind will do me the favor of shutting the fuck up.
There they are. Pretty, round, brown. I grab her cheeks so hard, she cries out. Now I’m fucking her harder so her moans will drown out my thoughts. The ripples. Yes. I watch her ass jiggle. It moves like water. So fucking sexy.
Whap!
I know I hit her hard, because my palm is stinging. But she takes it, because she loves me.
Whap!
I slap the other cheek, and she takes it again. Like a good girl.
But I don’t know if that’s true.
A good girl would let me plant my seed.
Fuck.
Where did that even come from?
I’ve spent my entire sex life avoiding pregnancy. Elijah, may he rest in eternal peace, was an accident.
This right here? The way I’m feeling? The thoughts in my head?
Something must have possessed me.
“I love the way you take this dick,” I say, because it’s true. She takes it so fucking well.
Why won’t she take my seed, though?
She moans back, “I love the way you give it to me.”
I know. I can tell. That pussy is responsive as fuck. No complaints whatsoever.
But—
“Pussy so wet.”
I always say that. Because it’s always true.
But I’m still trying to distract myself.
Because now, in my mind’s eye, I can see my sperm.
They’re swimming. Traveling. Searching. Trying to find that egg.
And then they spot it, big and round and profound as the moon.
They swim faster, and now my whole lower body is tingling.
It’s scary how fucking good this shit feels.
And then I see one of my swimmers pull ahead.
The fastest one. He's determined, and I’m about to cum thinking about him. What the fuck.
I stroke her harder and faster. She’s getting louder, and so am I, and I barely recognize the sounds coming out of me, but she likes it, because she keeps saying Yes!, and she’s doing that thing where she squeezes her walls around me. Not that she needs to. I’m right at the edge.
Now I see it, even clearer now, like fuckin' IMAX clear…my guy is digging in, wriggling his way into her egg, and there! He’s in, and nature has its way, and cells divide, and my heart is pounding, and she’s throwing it back, and my body locks up, and I’m moaning, and I’m cumming, and I’ve never cum this hard in my life, and it feels better than anything in heaven or on earth, and fuck, I really, really wanna get her ass pregnant. I need to.
It’s biology.
It’s evolution.
It’s my right as her husband.
Right?
Or maybe, hopefully, this is just some kinky shit I can think about when I’m fucking her, and it’ll go away after I nut, and everything will be normal again.
My forehead comes to rest on her back. My breathing is slowing, but my heart is still racing. That shit was intense.
“What got into you?” she asks, the tiniest hint of teasing in her voice.
“I missed you,” I say, and it’s true. “And I appreciate you for earlier. For accepting my mother’s invitation. That made me happy.”
“Good.”
That’s true, too. But it’s not the whole truth. I don’t think I can tell her the whole truth.
I lift my head slightly to kiss her back, my mind wandering all the way to the safe deposit box where I keep the placebo pills Tori gave me. But I don’t need those anymore. I trust Raya now. Completely. I won’t be using them.
Unless she gives me a reason to.