28. Avery #2
“Is there a way it’s supposed to feel? Because I know you’re mine, and I’m yours.
I know when I’m on stage with you, I never want to leave.
And even when I tried to hate you, love lived in the back of my mind.
My life was fine without you, but that was torture because how could I settle for fine after I had you?
I want whatever this is. Even if it’s broken, we’ll fix it. ”
I’ve loved him even as time made us who we are. As we bent and warped and broke. He was always there. This patient man who never gave up on me, even when I tried to give up on him.
I tried to put him in the past and move on, but that effort was doomed to fail. The past lives in us, brought us here in a tide that threatened to drown us. But we found the shore and finally stepped foot on dry land.
He lifts my hand and presses a kiss on the palm.
“I don’t think we were broken. Just a little out of tune.
We turned the wrong direction, and it took us time to find our way back.
And the music is just as sweet. I love you, Avery, and it’s okay if you’re not ready to say it, but I need you to know that I do, that I always have. ”
“I always knew,” I say. “I love you.”
He pulls back and studies my face, my hand still in his. “What does this mean? What’s next?”
“Throw away the papers.”
“I already did.” Of course he did.
“I should have seen that coming,” A light laugh escapes me. “You have my past, have my future too. How does that sound?”
“Perfect.” His mouth is soft against mine, sealing the agreement.
After a long moment, we pull away.
“Lydia and Derek want us to tell everyone that it was a whirlwind romance. That we suddenly realized our feelings for each other and eloped during one of the tour stops,” I say, relaying what I learned while he was away getting food and hair dye.
“Smart. The truth would be rough,” he says, lightening reality.
Every relationship either of us have ever had would be scrutinized. Wes has already survived years of it. But as a woman, I’m not sure if my career would be safe if it came down to it. Not if I wanted to continue to have a career.
They can’t take me as I am. Not like he does.
“And if we’re doing this for real, we should probably get rings.”
“Got yours right here.” He laughs, plucking at the ring hanging around his neck. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that since the day I married you fifteen years ago. So when I found this ring, I had to buy it even though I knew there was a chance you’d never accept it.”
“When?”
“Paris. There was this shop we stopped at, and I had to buy it. I know it isn’t traditional, but I couldn’t pass it up.” He twists his chain, unclasping it and slipping the ring free.
My left hand trembles as he slides it on. I examine the delicate engraved vintage gold setting and the ruby and diamond stones.
I never want to take it off.
For a decade he’s worn this. Hoping. Waiting.
A little while later when his phone timer goes off, I turn on the shower.
Without having to ask, Wes follows me in.
His fingers glide through my hair. I moan, leaning into his touch, arching my back in satisfaction.
As diligently as he worked the color into my hair, he rinses it out.
Streams of red flow down my body, over the swell of my breasts and curves of my hips, before swirling down the drain.
We’ve been naked together plenty over the last few weeks. But something has shifted. There are no walls left to hide behind. No lies I insist on telling myself.
And then there’s the truth. This isn’t ending. We have time to savor each other without worrying. Wes skates his fingers over my neck, down between the valley of my chest, the soft swell of my stomach.
There’s an intense appreciation in the act. A sculptor admiring a complete piece of art.
“Does the view live up to expectations?”
“Red has always been my favorite color. Looks good all over you.” He turns me so I’m facing the tiled wall. “Here.” His hand trails down my stomach. “Here.” The feather light touch continues to the crease of my thigh, which causes me to rub them together against my building need.
“Touch me. Please.” My back arches with need as I shift to redirect his path.
“Fuck. I like that. Hearing how much my wife wants me.” He brushes the pad of his thumb over my clit. The resulting jolt of pleasure causes my hips to buck.
“So much. I want you so much. Please,” I beg.
A finger runs along my slit. Teasing.
His breath brushes against my neck. “I waited so long for you, why should I give you everything you want right away?” He thrusts a finger into my pussy, working in and out.
“I want you.” He plants a soft kiss on my shoulder.
“I want you at every fucking angle. I know you every other way, but I’ve only dreamed of being buried inside you.
But the first time I fuck you it’s going to be with you spread out on the bed and I’m going to take my time. ”
I whine in protest, swiveling my hips.
“Don’t worry, you’re not leaving this shower until you come.”
Another finger dips inside me. I throw my head against his shoulder.
He pulls out of me, and my gaze follows as his slick fingers slip past his lips. His rumble of pleasure vibrates through me. Reaching past me, he frees the showerhead and adjusts the water pressure then tilts it over my pussy.
One of his hands massages my breast while the other holds the showerhead. It doesn’t take long for me to come, I’m all but overwhelmed with sensations. He holds me through it, so I don’t collapse on the hard shower floor.
Tenderly, he takes me into his arms, carries me out, and sets me on the sink. He wraps me in one towel and dries my hair with the other, peppering my neck and chest with kisses as he works.
Once satisfied, he picks me up again, this time going to the bedroom. I lie back as he places me on the edge of the mattress. My towel slips open with the movement and I make no move to close it again.
Wes’s hands smooth up my thighs. A low hum buzzes through me. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.
“Don’t you want to fuck your wife?” I intend for it to come out teasing, but it’s a desperate question. But then remember the weight of this moment, and everything that’s led to it. “Yes, Wes. I’m ready.”
Instead of getting closer he walks to the dresser. The condom wrapper crinkles as he tears it open. I enjoy the show as he slides it onto his length. Ready, he guides my thighs apart and steps between them.
The head of his dick slips against me at first, as he coats himself in my wetness, before pushing inside of me. Centuries seem to pass as he gives me each inch.
Finally, with a snap of his hips, he’s seated fully inside me. I claw at his arm as I adjust, tilting my hips.
“Why did you stop?” My voice has risen to a desperate whine.
“I’m looking at you, all full of me,” he says. Reverently, he traces a line from the valley of my breast, down my stomach, landing on my clit where he presses a lazy circle, brushing where our bodies connect. “Fuck you look so beautiful like this.”
He starts to thrust, slowly at first before picking up his pace, to a brutal rhythm. A hand lands on my stomach, just above my pubic bone, and a delicious wave of pleasure radiates from the spot. A bead of sweat falls on my chest as he pants.
“It’s so good. You make me feel…”
And that’s really it. He makes me feel . Good. Safe. Present. Fully seen, yet not exposed.
He’s seen me angry, broken, and now writhing beneath him, and he doesn’t blink or turn away. He’s never wanted to change me or warp me into something sweeter.
The knowledge frees something deep in me that builds, adding to the sensations sparking all across my body, and an orgasm crashes through me like a wave of ecstasy.
He follows soon after. Spent.
That night we lie together, and I keep holding my ring to the sconce above the bed, examining how it catches the light. I still can’t believe he’s held on it for so long, since the first time we tried and failed.