Chapter 18
Evan
I wake up just after seven on Sunday morning. My most important task for the day: to buy new detergent and rewash Jane’s clothes.
I can’t believe I didn’t at least check with her when I bought different detergent. I feel like a clueless, incompetent husband, and I never want to be one of those.
Yeah, you’re an idiot.
I try to shut up that voice in my head. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes. It’s fine. But I hate that I made Jane uncomfortable and she started freaking out.
I’m oddly touched that she lets herself freak out in front of me now. She doesn’t normally do that with her friends, and I’m sure she doesn’t do it with her family.
I still want to give her father a piece of my mind. It’s rare for me to feel anger toward someone—and I’ve never even met him. Usually, my anger is directed inward. But he didn’t show up to his daughter’s wedding. The bar is so low. I think I may have apologized more for doing laundry incorrectly than he apologized for missing the wedding.
I’m filled with restless energy. I feel the need to do something with it, but as I sit up, Jane pulls me back down. I roll over to face her. She has a little sleep in her eyes and her hair is mussed—I think she looks lovely.
“Morning,” she mumbles.
I’m overwhelmed by feelings that I don’t want to think about too much. I’m afraid to put them into words. She strokes her hand down my side, and I start to get hard.
“Not itchy this morning?” I ask.
“Nope.”
When she puts her hand on my inner thigh, I spring into action. I don’t need to take off my glasses because I didn’t even have a chance to put them on. I lean forward and kiss her; her body molds itself against mine.
For a split second, I feel like I’m watching this unfold from a distance. Because it’s difficult to believe this is actually happening to me . How did I get so lucky?
She flips us over, and once she’s seated on top of me, she whips her shirt over her head, and I cup her breasts. She dips her head to claim my mouth, then shifts her lips to my neck, moving down to my nipple next. She takes it into her mouth and nibbles lightly.
“Do you like that?” she asks.
“Yes,” I groan.
She does it to the other nipple, then reaches between my legs and strokes behind my balls; I arch against her. She keeps moving down my body, licking a trail to my bellybutton; my skin feels cooler in the wake of her tongue. All my attention is focused on where she’s touching me—and where she just touched.
I slide my hand through her hair, careful not to tug because I know she doesn’t like that. She, however, scrapes her fingernails down my lower back, then lifts my hips toward her mouth as she takes my cock between her lips.
In an instant, I’m completely hard.
Jane sucks me nearly to the base before releasing me with a pop. She gives me a few tugs and laps up my precum. I groan both at the sensation as well as the image of her bent over me, her tongue peeking out from between her lips. She’s gorgeous. Her brows are drawn together, as though she’s concentrating very hard on her task.
Needing to touch her, I sit up. She releases me again, and I turn her onto her back and slip my fingers between her legs. She’s incredibly wet for me, and I add to her wetness by giving her a long, slow lick. I make sure I’m not too forceful on her clit; she doesn’t like that. I curve one finger toward me as I lick her gently. She makes a sound I can’t describe in the back of her throat, and I can feel her flex her legs. She doesn’t allow many people to see her like this, and I can’t help feeling special.
Spurred on by her soft sounds, I pick up my pace, and she grips the sheets. I glance up at her pretty parted lips and move my hand in the way she seems to like the best. She comes undone, clenching around my finger.
Afterward, she lies limp in bed, and for a moment, I wonder if this is it for her. If so, that’s okay. I can get myself off, and it won’t take long. But then she pushes me onto my stomach and lies on top of me. She rolls her hips against mine, pressing me against the bed, and it feels so good to be underneath her like this. She reaches for my cock and starts jerking me off, and I lift my hips to give her better access. Her other hand moves to my ass. She gives me a light smack.
“Harder?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Please.”
Her next smack is a little harder, enough to make it sting for a few seconds. The sort of sting that can make you forget, however briefly, about everything—especially when your wife is jacking you off at the same time. I thrust against her hand, against the mattress, not really thinking about what I’m doing, just needing to move. She spanks me again, and I swear I’m about to lose my mind. She leans forward and nibbles on my earlobe, the slightest brush of teeth against my skin. Pulling my hair, she turns my head to the side, and my lips immediately find hers. We kiss urgently. I want to live in this moment forever, but I also want to…
“I’m almost…” I begin.
I’m not sure if I expect her to turn me over so I don’t make a mess of the bed, but she doesn’t, and I’m beyond caring. How can I? All that matters is her touch, her quickening pace on my cock.
She slaps my ass one more time and… God . I jerk against her hand and come on the sheets with a satisfied growl, pouring out everything I can’t put into words.
Gentler now, she rolls me onto my back and lies next to me.
“Was that good?” she asks.
I laugh because it seems like such a ridiculous question, and I’m sometimes giggly after an orgasm anyway. But perhaps she really is unsure. “It was great. Luckily, I was planning to do laundry today.”
She chuckles. “I was trying to…the way you said…”
My brain isn’t working well right now, but I kiss her cheek reassuringly. I’m not unaccustomed to a partner wanting to make me feel good, yet something about her earnestness and shyness and vulnerability makes my chest squeeze. Makes this feel a little different. We lie there in post-orgasmic bliss for a while.
“Just so know,” I say, “I have no intention of sleeping with anyone else, now that we’ve…” I gesture between us. “And yes, I’m sure.” I’m unable to explain exactly what I feel, but I know that much is true. I only want her.
She responds with a kiss and jumps in the shower. I strip the bed before making coffee.
When she comes downstairs and sees Watson wearing my apron, she laughs, but when she looks at me over her mug and smiles, I know she’s thinking of what we did earlier.
Jane’s laundry is redone and folded by early afternoon, and I hope I’ve made it clear that it’s a mistake I’ll never make again. Though I do errantly think that if she couldn’t wear clothes, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
I do more chores after lunch, then we watch TV before getting ready for our night out.
“Do you want me to do your makeup again?” she asks as we reach the top of the stairs, about to head to our separate bedrooms.
“If you’d like to,” I say.
She nods. “It’s kinda fun to do stuff I’m not interested in wearing myself.”
I put on a silk shirt and knock on her door. It feels like the right thing to do even if I saw her naked this morning.
“Come in,” she says.
Jane is wearing dark jeans, paired with a cream-colored sleeveless shirt, a contrast to the black clothes she usually favors for going out. When she beckons me in and turns around, I see that the shirt is mostly backless, aside from a big bow just above her ass.
God, she’s gorgeous.
“Is it too much?” she asks, worrying her red lip.
“Definitely not. It looks great.” I mime undoing the bow, which earns me a fond eye roll.
She follows me to the en suite. “Tell me what you want.”
I gesture to the makeup and show her a few pictures on my phone. She immediately gets to work. She starts with the pink and blue eyeshadow before moving to the eyeliner. I focus on her slightly parted lips and intent gaze as she glams me up.
“Do you like it?” she asks. “I think it’s pretty.”
I’m not sure how she knew that was the word I wanted to hear today, but it is.
“I love it,” I tell her, just like I did last time.
But this time, I press a kiss to her cheek afterward.
It takes a long time to get to downtown Toronto, and when we finally arrive at the queer-owned Italian restaurant on Queen West, we’re almost ten minutes late. We’re immediately shown to our table on the small back patio, which I requested when I made the reservation.
“Evan!” says Lyla, our server, as she pours our water. “You haven’t been here in ages.”
“I got married and moved to Richmond Hill.”
It’s nice to be back downtown—I’ve missed it. But I don’t feel the need to come here all the time. I like our house with its backyard.
“Congratulations,” she says. “You look great.”
“Thanks. This is my wife, Jane.”
Lyla tells us about the daily specials, but since I don’t eat here often anymore, I decide to go with my usual: linguine with clams. Jane selects the calamari, at my recommendation, as well as a glass of wine, and we choose the carpaccio to start. There have been some small changes to the menu in the past year, but all the things I like best are still available.
Yet as we wait for our food, I think of the fact that I’ve been on dates here before. It feels wrong that this isn’t a special place just for me and Jane.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Just thinking about the dates I’ve taken to this restaurant.” I grimace. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. I know you dated other people before we got married.”
“Still, it feels weird.” I chuckle awkwardly. “And weirder to bring it up.”
She shrugs. “I want to go to the places you like. Actually…” She looks around. “I’m pretty sure you took me here once before. A long time ago, before the pandemic. In winter, maybe? It wasn’t nice enough to sit on the patio.”
A vague memory comes to mind. “With Lana and Camila?”
“Yeah. When they first started dating but weren’t ready to tell anyone, so they pretended nothing was happening.”
“And we spoke afterward and agreed something was definitely happening?”
“They were holding hands under the table,” Jane says.
I place my hand on her knee. She puts her hand on top of mine, and we smile dopily at each other.
What is this?
Well, it’s pretty clear that I’m falling in love with someone, yet again. That’s the problem with me: I’ve fallen in love many times, with many different kinds of people, and it’s never worked out.
But I think of her touching up my eyeshadow, pulling my hair as she lies on top of me and jerks me off…and I wonder how I can help it. I didn’t expect this to happen. I’d known Jane for a long time; I thought I knew what our marriage would be like. But somehow, everything has changed.
The real problem is that now, there’s so much more to lose, yet that doesn’t mean this time will be different.
In most of my relationships, I was the one who was dumped. Someone found me lacking. What will she find lacking about me?
Or maybe she’s not falling for me the way I’m falling for her. I don’t think that’s true, after everything that has happened between us now, but I’ve been wrong before. And if I’m wrong and I say something, it will be more than a little awkward.
Fortunately, our food starts arriving, and I try to focus on the taste and smells, losing myself in the sensory experience so I can stop myself from spiraling. When Jane heads to the washroom before dessert, I stare at the bow on the back of her shirt and imagine undoing it.
And many hours later—after we walk around downtown at night and head back to Richmond Hill—I untie that bow, and the shirt falls to the floor in my room.
The next day is a holiday Monday. Jane decides she still wants to work out. When I come downstairs to start the coffee, I notice Watson has stolen the shirt that I wore last night, and I laugh.
And when Jane joins me for coffee outside, I point to Watson and ask what he’s doing.
“Why would I have any idea?” she asks.
The way she says it, with a completely straight face, not even a hint of a smile…yeah, I’m in deep trouble.