Chapter 9 Hot
Hot
Aaron
I puttered around the kitchen, cleaning up the last of our breakfast while Nadine showered. A marked peace, one I’d been missing for far too long, settled over me.
It helped that my email had been blessedly quiet for almost four weeks which was the last time I heard from her. Dozens of times I wanted to reach out to her, equally motivated by guilt and empathy, but I was the last person who could offer her comfort.
Four weeks.
I drew in a hopeful breath. That had to mean something. Maybe she was ready to move on and forgive me my part in the whole mess. Maybe then I could forgive myself.
Spending time up at the cabin, just me and Nadine, away from the demands of our life, I saw my wife more clearly than I had in a long time.
And I wasn’t even sure what I saw.
Determination and decisiveness were two of her greatest strengths. She was a person who knew what she wanted and made a plan to get it. But now, like an unfocused photograph, her edges were out of focus, and she lacked clarity.
How long had she been lost?
Wrapped up in my own drama, I failed to catch the clues.
Around the time she decided to stay home with the kids, she also took over the bulk of responsibility in raising them.
It wasn’t that I did less than I did before, it was just that she started doing more.
Getting involved in committees at school, ensuring homework was finished before I got home from work so we could have family time in the evening, scheduling their activities and ours around a timetable that existed only in her head.
Or in that ancient day timer she still carted around everywhere she went.
I put the juice and leftover bacon in the fridge, already planning for sandwiches for lunch before turning to the dishes in the sink.
She had no dreams? How could that be possible?
This was the same woman who stood up to her parents to follow her passion, worked her way up from the bottom at the most upscale restaurant in our area, won an internship in Paris, which she completed while pregnant with Brandon, and came back to a huge promotion.
Did she still use her skills at home? Of course. Dinner was always a treat. The cakes and pastries she made were second to none. And her bread? To die for. Not that anyone would know considering she only baked for the family.
Did she regret moving away from her passion?
By the end, she had hated the hours. Hated being away from the kids and me. But in order to be with us on our schedules, she gave up what had once been her dream. If I changed my hours, changed my job, could she pursue hers? Would she want that?
I finished drying our dishes, tossed the dishtowel on the counter, and jogged to the bedroom. Rounding the corner, I came to an abrupt halt, a startled laugh bursting from my lips. “What are you doing?”
She lifted her head off the bed where she lay star-fished, naked, and uttered one word. “Hot.”
“You’re hot?” I laughed, my eyes running up and down the body that so generously gave and gave and gave until the pleasure brought me to my knees. The room was far from hot, it fairly bordered on outright chilly.
Her tight, pink nipples agreed with me.
I wagged my eyebrows. “I love menopause.”
She snorted out a laugh and dropped her head back on the mattress.
Crossing to the window, I cracked it open to allow some of the frigid air inside, then sat on the side of the bed.
I traced the curve of her hip with my palm. “Hi, sweetheart,” I murmured.
She offered a faint smile, a denial of the tear that eased almost apologetically from the corner of her eye.
Dropping my gaze to her belly, I traced the stretchmarks made by my children. “You’re beautiful, Dini.”
She audibly gulped. “I don’t feel beautiful.”
“Then your feelings are lying to you,” I murmured. Shifting to lie on my side, I trapped one of her arms beneath my torso.
Propped up on my elbow, I lightly ran my hand over the silky terrain of her body.
The dip at her waist, not as pronounced as it once was, but equally as alluring.
The swell of her breast, erupting in goosebumps under my fingers.
The plump curve of her hip that begged to be squeezed.
If menopause meant more naked Nadine, I was totally on board. “I like seeing you like this.”
“I’m fat.”
My eyebrows flew together as my eyes snapped to hers. “Do not talk about my body like that.”
“It’s my body.”
I raised my eyebrows in mock challenge. “You gave it to me a long time ago. It’s mine. And I’m keeping it,” I teased.
“You don’t understand,” she moaned, throwing her free arm over her eyes.
“So, explain.”
She dropped her arm and waved her hand over her lower body. “It’s not working right.”
“What do you mean?” I smoothed my hand over the softness of her belly.
“It’s not, ugh, I hate this.”
My hand stilled, and I met her eyes. “Hate what?” I jiggled the soft flesh under my palm. “Tell me.”
She mumbled, “Sex is not as comfortable as it should be.”
I drew back slightly, alarmed. “What? Did I hurt you?” We’d made love twice in the past week and she’d said nothing.
She shook her head. “No. Not really. It’s just that I’m not,” she pressed her lips tight before continuing, “getting wet enough.”
Not really?
“You need more foreplay?” How could I not feel the difference?
She shook her head, her eyes glossy. “No. You’re perfect. It’s me who’s broken.”
“Aw, baby.” My heart ached for her. Dipping my head, I pressed a kiss to her forehead, the tip of her nose, her pert little chin. “You’re half-right. I am perfect,” I teased, “but you are far from broken.”
“I need lube,” she burst out.
Lube? Suddenly, I got it. For a smart guy, I was thicker than a plank. Dryness. That’s what she meant by broken. “That’s fine, we’ll get lube.”
“It doesn’t bother you? That my body is changing?”
I shook my head, holding her wary gaze. “It bothers me that it’s bothering you. It bothers me that you’re uncomfortable. I never want sex to be less than wonderful for you.”
I cupped her perfect breast in my hand and flicked her nipple with my thumb, satisfied to see her lids droop. “But this body fulfils my every fantasy. With all the changes it’s gone through over the years we’ve been together, I’ve never once lost my fascination with it.”
“You’re okay with using lube?” she asked hesitantly. “It’s not a turn-off?”
I grinned, ready to take her out of her dark. “Are you kidding? The last time we used lube—"
She slapped a hand over my mouth, her dancing eyes tapping out a warning. “We do not speak about that.”
“Dirty, filthy, girl,” I teased as she flushed crimson. “If you give a man a bottle of lube, he’s going to think about going there.”
“So long as his dick doesn’t follow,” she answered drily.
Laughing out loud, I rolled to cover her.
With my palms cupping the sides of her head, my thumbs brushed the hair back from her temples.
“Okay, Dini-baby. I’m going to eat you, you’re going to swallow my cock like the very good girl you are, and then I’m going to eat you slow and sweet until you come all over my face. Again. You with me?”
“I’m with you, Aaron,” she agreed, her voice husky. “I’m always with you.”
My love for her squeezed my heart. “That you are.” I needed to do a better job being there for her.
Touching my mouth to hers, I remembered the first time I kissed her. She wasn’t my first kiss, but I’d had no experience to speak of. How I’d fumbled that first kiss. I’d made it up to her over the years. We’d learned together. There was a sweetness to that, an openness to explore.
And we had.
I knew her mouth better than my own.
Knew how to make her open to me, how to make her moan.
This woman owned me.
My heart. My soul. My mind. My strength. Everything I was, everything I did, all that I’d ever be, was hers. And hers alone.
I moved down her body, fitted myself between her thighs, and sucked her little clit into my mouth.
Her thighs slammed shut around my head, her hips jerking away from me.
Her sweet body told me exactly what she needed, and how she needed it. It always had.
I gentled my tongue.
Her thighs softened, opened wide as her hips rocked, offering me her sweet pussy.
I traced the contours of her sex, delving inside, laving the fat labia that swelled so sweetly around my buried cock when we made love. I sucked the plumpness into my mouth before circling that tiny, hidden, knot of ecstasy.
The broken sounds falling from her lips, her shaking thighs, her fingers knotting in what was left of my hair became my GPS, directing me to go harder, faster, softer, deeper. I thought I knew the way, but I hadn’t noticed the change in terrain.
I was listening now.
I listened when she pressed against the top of my head, her hips burrowing into the mattress.
I listened when she spread her thighs wide, tilting her hips into my mouth.
I listened when her heels dug into the mattress, when her back bowed off the bed, when her neck arched, her head flew back, and she moaned my name.
Nothing sweeter than the sound, still somewhat startled after all these years, of her gasps as she came.
I kissed my way back up her body and covered her mouth with my own.
“You taste that, Nadine?”
“Yes,” she muttered thickly.
“That,” I pulled her bottom lip between my teeth, “that is my favorite food.”
Her lips smiled under mine.
She was back to her sweet self.
My hips rolled, thrusting my erection against her thigh.
“Time for me to get mine?” she murmured.
Easing away from her with one last kiss to the bow of her lips, I tossed a pillow off the side of the bed.
“Hit the floor, babycakes.”
Laughing, she knelt on the pillow. No sooner had I stood up than she latched onto my dick.
“Fuck, Nadine,” I gasped, feeling her chuckle around me.
She eased off but continued to make a meal of me.
I never understood the men who complained that their wives wouldn’t do this for them. They were usually the same men who refused to go down on their wives.
I held her head gently between my palms, desire thrumming through my veins as she looked up at me for just a second before closing her eyes, tilting her head back, and taking me deep.
Satisfaction rolled over me with every sweet swirl of her wicked little tongue.
With her hands braced on my thighs, she pitched forward, offering me an unhindered view of the plump curve of her hips leading to the fucking delicious mounds of her bottom.
My balls tightened.
Even after just coming, she rolled her hips, seeking more.
I tangled my hands in her hair.
Usually, I would hold back my orgasm, intending to draw out as much of the delicious torture her mouth doled out before flipping her onto her back and fucking my cum deep inside her. Joining my body to hers. Giving her me.
But I couldn’t end this inside her and my sweet girl was still hungry.
I tightened my grip on her hair and flexed my hips.
She moaned deep in her throat, and fuck, I loved that sound.
“Nadine,” I warned. “I’m not holding back, baby.”
She shook her head and hollowed her cheeks, her fingers digging into my thighs before trailing around to grip my ass, urging me to move.
I gulped in a stuttered breath as she surged forward, took me deep, and swallowed around my crown.
My head fell back as I locked my knees. My hips jerked of their own volition, the strands of her hair tangled between my fingers, and her satisfied, guttural hum pushed me over the edge as she pressed her nose to my pelvis, sucked my soul from my body, and swallowed my offering.
Loosening my hold, I smoothed my hands over her head.
She drew back and swirled her tongue around the head of my cock, laughing as I hissed out a warning and gripped her hair tightly.
“Now you’re done for, lady,” I warned, hauling her up by her armpits and tossing her onto the bed. “Time for payback.”
“I’m not complaining,” she chuckled.
Swiftly taking my place between her thighs, I slowly and patiently brought her back to the edge before tipping her over, reveling in her soft sighs as she came down.
Crawling back up the bed, I took my wife in my arms and kissed her temple. My wife. My everything.
“We’ll order lube.” There were certain things best left private, and Sage Ridge was a small town. “A whole fucking case of it.”