Epilogue #5
So many nights, on that phone, I heard that same sound, wanting to believe he wanted me, but believing it was impossible.
“Yes,” I told him, feeling my breathing get faster, more shallow.
“Are you wet for me?” he asked. “Run your fingers down your pussy for me,” he demanded.
My hand slid down my body, going into pajama pants I’d put on after my shower at five p.m. because I knew there was no chance I was going out, slipping under my panties, hearing the catch in my breath as my finger moved over my clit, already swollen, already aching.
“Wet, right?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Finger-fuck yourself for me,” he demanded, reaching to undo his jeans, reaching inside to pull out his cock, already hard and straining, making the pressure on my lower stomach start to ache as my fingers slid inside myself on a low moan.
A sexy, familiar rumbling noise worked through Rush’s chest as he started stroking himself.
“You want my cock, don’t you?” he asked.
“Yes,” I moaned.
“Yes, what?” he demanded.
“Yes, please,” I told him, watching as his head finally swiveled in my direction, eyelids heavy, eyes hungry.
“Then come over here and ride me,” he demanded, ending the call, tossing it toward the coffee table where it bounced off and hit the carpet, completely forgotten as I dropped my phone into the laundry basket and made my way toward him, stopping in front of him on the couch.
His hands moved to my hips, slowly drawing down my pants, my panties, going slowly, like we had all the time in the world, like my body wasn’t begging for release.
Once I stepped out of the feet, his hands slid around, cupping my ass, drawing me closer as he leaned up, pushing his face between my thighs, running his tongue up my cleft, making my thighs tremble as he found my clit, started working it in soft, slow circles, driving me up.
His hand slipped from my ass, going between us, two fingers thrusting inside me, turning, raking over my G-spot, making my hands slap down on his shoulders so I could keep my balance as he kept working me, kept building the pressure.
But pulling away at the last possible moment, refusing to let me come.
“Rush,” I whined, as he tilted his head up to look at me.
“If you’re going to come, baby,” he said, sitting back, “I want it to be around my cock,” he told me, grabbing his cock at the base and waiting for me to move onto the couch, to straddle him, to lower my hips down.
Every ounce of my body wanted me to slam down, to ride him hard and fast and put an end to the ache inside.
But I took a deep breath, sealing my lips to his, then slowly sliding down his length, feeling him stretch me, settle deep. My hips did a little circle, feeling that much-missed fullness, the friction that promised amazing things.
“I missed this,” Rush told me, his hand brushing my hair off my shoulder, his hand settling on the side of my neck as he started to thrust gently upward.
“Me too,” I agreed.
“Thank God I haven’t lost my touch with that phone,” he added, eyes dancing, smirk very self-satisfied.
“Mmm,” I agreed, rolling my hips as he kept doing those perfect little thrusts, driving me up slowly.
“Missed my cock, huh, baby?” he asked, thrusting a little harder, a little deeper.
“Yes,” I moaned, my breathing getting shallower, my muscles tensing.
“You want to come?” he asked, his hand sliding between us, working my clit.
“Yes,” I whimpered, feeling myself getting close.
“Yes, what?” he asked, smile devilish.
“Yes, please,” I moaned.
He thrust harder, faster, his finger working my clit, driving me to that edge, then throwing me over.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned as my orgasm slammed through my system, walls clenching around him, feeling his body jerk as he came with me.
I collapsed forward, pressing my face into his neck, trying to calm my breathing as the aftershocks started.
“You know… in a couple years… those kids are going to be in college,” he said, making me push back, looking down at him, my brows furrowed.
“So we can do it anytime and anywhere?” I asked, trying to get on his wavelength.
“Well, yes. Abso-fucking-lutely. That goes without saying. But if we need to make some extra cash, it’s good to know my phone sex game hasn’t gotten rusty,” he said, smiling at me.
“Nuh-uh,” I said, shaking my head, running my finger across his lower lip. “This mouth is all mine,” I told him.
“Well, when you’re right, you’re right,” he agreed, sealing his lips to mine, kissing me until my lips felt tingly. “Hey, you know what I am thinking?” he asked, making a laugh bubble up and burst out.
Because I did.
Of course, I did.
Some things never changed.
His dirty mouth.
And his hungry stomach.
“Crêpes,” I said, sitting back to look down at him.
“Does my woman know me, or what?” he said, grinning.
“You’re lucky I love you,” I told him, taking a deep breath, climbing off of him.
“Don’t I know it,” he agreed, grabbing me, pulling me back over his lap for one last kiss. “Now, I was thinking… marshmallow fluff and peanut butter,” he said as soon as his lips left mine.
So then I got up and made my man his disgusting marshmallow fluff and peanut butter crêpes, then sat down on the couch while he ate, reading my book with a delicious little ache between my thighs.
It wasn’t a grand life.
Neither of us wanted that.
But it was ours.
And it was its own little version of perfect.
“Oh shit,” Rush said when we both saw the headlights coming up the driveway.
His hand grabbed mine, dragging me through the house and up the stairs, doing a nearly-naked dash all the way to our bedroom where we fell into quiet laughs as we heard Fee and Hunter bringing the kids home.
“Why are Mom’s clothes here?” Elle, our middle, asked.
There was a short pause before we heard Fee’s clear voice up the stairs.
“It seems like your dad was giving your mom the weather report,” she called, making me press my hand over my mouth to stifle my surprised giggle.
Oh, yes.
Some things changed.
But the best things didn’t.
Our love.
Our family.
And Fiona Mallick’s euphemism game.