Chapter Forty-Four
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Lydia’s head stirs on her pillow. Her phone is ringing for the second time on the bedside table, and I lie next to her, waiting to see what she’ll do. I’ve been awake for a while, but haven’t gotten out of bed yet. I wanted to see if she woke on her own. And what might happen after that. It’s the first Saturday in longer than I can remember that she hasn’t set an alarm. I’ve never felt invited to just linger like this before. But for the first time, that’s exactly what I want to do.
Or it was until her phone rang.
Reflexively, her hand darts out of the covers, and she answers.
“Scarlet?” her voice is groggy and sleep-laden. “What’s going on?”
I roll my eyes. We returned to Denver ten days ago to find Scarlet begging for her job back. Something about making up with her boyfriend and not leaving her cat. I thought Lydia should tell her to go brush up her résumé. She is a constant source of drama. Instead, she consulted Henry, gave her a raise, and made her a manager.
I climb out of bed—to get us both coffee, I tell myself—keeping my back to her as I abandon the sheets and resignedly pull on underwear. I shuffle slowly down the hall, but I’m still listening.
“It actually caught fire?” Lydia’s voice rises with concern.
My shoulders slump. Heartthrob jumps up from his bed, following me toward the kitchen as soon as he realizes I’m going in the direction of breakfast. I switch on the coffeepot, stir up his food, then step out onto our little patio while he eats. It’s gorgeous out. Still cool because it’s early, but the birds are singing, flowers are coming up everywhere, and even the trees have started leafing out. I’m reluctant to go back in. I start itching to go for a run.
Heartthrob’s face appears at the door, and I let him out to do his thing, making my way back in when I smell the fresh-brewed coffee. I pull a couple of mugs from the cabinet and strain to listen. I can hear Lydia thumping around in our room, probably rushing to get dressed.
She blusters into the kitchen behind me as I pour the coffee, and I wonder vaguely if I should’ve put hers in a travel mug. I’m trying hard to accept the choice she’s made, so I just focus on what I’m doing.
“Yes,” she says, apparently still coaching Scarlet over the phone. “Well, if that didn’t work, you could try removing the filter and letting it cool for a while first.”
I glance at the clock, gritting my teeth. Scarlet has barely been at work an hour and she’s already managed to come up with some emergency. Heartthrob whines at the door, and I sip my coffee, laying out my jogging route in my head as Lydia lets him in.
“Okay, but this is why I gave you a raise,” she says in a different tone. “You’re the manager. You know what to do. You can handle this.”
Wait. What?
I turn, forgetting my running plans as my eyes land on her. The phone is to her ear, but she isn’t dressed, ready to grab her keys and head out the door like I expected. Quite the opposite. She stands in front of me in her robe, hair down, keenly eyeing my coffee.
“Great. I’m glad you spoke with Dave. That was exactly the right thing to do. If what he suggests doesn’t work, then we’ll have him take it for repair.” Her voice is calm, authoritative, as I hand her a steaming mug. “You’ve got this, Scar. I know it isn’t ideal, but I have faith in you.”
Lydia lowers herself to a chair and takes a sip. The robe parts when she crosses her legs, revealing such an expanse of her smooth, bare legs that I suspect she might not have any clothes on underneath.
My mouth goes dry .
“Okay. Keep me posted,” she says, and then she ends the call and looks up at me.
I clear my throat, still trying to catch up to what’s happening. Or maybe what isn’t happening. I know what to expect when Lydia pulls away and throws herself into work. I’m not as sure what to do now.
“That old stand dryer is having electrical problems,” she huffs.
I had guessed that was the issue. I know exactly which one she means. There are three stand dryers at Ooh La Pooch—like a tall hair dryer on wheels—used mostly to fluff up and straighten dog fur. But that one was bought secondhand when she opened the shop and has always had issues.
“Do you want me to go in and look at it?” I offer, letting my gaze drift up her bare legs, my imagination dipping beneath the edge of her robe.
She shakes her head. “Scarlet’s got it. If it keeps having problems, we’ll have Dave take a look on Tuesday.”
My gaze shifts to her face, searching for any sign of anxiety or insincerity. Some hint that she’d rather go to her business than stay here, at home with me. But her eyes are calm. Present. Even her posture seems relaxed. She and Henry spent all last week in meetings, hashing out efficiencies and putting systems in place so Lydia wouldn’t have to rush in for every little thing—there’ll be some true emergencies for sure, but not as many—I guess I have been holding my breath waiting to see if their plans actually work.
“Thanks for the coffee.” She shifts forward, giving me a view straight down the front of her robe.
Our eyes meet, and she smiles. The corner of my mouth rises slowly in response as my eyes trace the outline of her breasts. She is definitely naked under there, and it seems clear she wants me to know. I swallow hard. I had slipped into boxer briefs when I got up, but that’s all, so the fact that I’ve noticed is also hard to miss.
“What do you want to do today?” I ask in a low voice. As obvious as my desire is, I need more confirmation that she’s on board. That she’s not just teasing me, even unintentionally.
Her cheeks turn pink as she follows my gaze down, and briefly, maybe reflexively, she goes to pull the robe closed and tighten the belt. But as I watch, her hands go still and drop again. She leaves the fabric open, sliding her fingers along the underside of one partially exposed breast instead.
“I thought we could stay in this morning,” she says quietly. “Maybe...go for a picnic or something this afternoon?”
I set my empty mug by the sink and stalk toward her. “That sounds nice.”
Her phone is still in her hand, and she pauses a moment to tap something out on the screen. I wait, watching a small smile play at her lips as she slips it into her robe pocket. “Maybe we can talk about vacation plans,” she continues. “Or even what to do with our home office.”
I raise one eyebrow. She’s moving on a bunch of things at once, and while I’m enthusiastic, I’m still feeling cautious.
“How about our plans for right now,” I say, offering a hand and pulling her out of the chair, running my lips along the edge of her jaw.
She gives a little shiver, then tugs me down the hall toward our bedroom. She starts pulling at the knot in her belt, but I push her hands out of the way, feeling more assured about what’s going to happen. As we enter our room, a last tug on the loose knot makes the two sides of the robe fall open. I trace my hands up to her shoulders, slipping the fabric down her arms and letting it drop to the floor until she’s standing nude and perfect—stunning—in front of me. She moves shyly, instinctively, to cover herself, but I reach out, taking each of her hands in mine. We stand connected like this, and I can’t bring myself to pull away. In part because of the energy now coursing between us, but also selfishly, because with her hands trapped in mine, I can admire each gentle curve of her nakedness longer.
Eventually I guide her down to the bed, laying kisses along her skin. This is where I used to cut to the chase when I could sense she wanted it to be over. When I didn’t know what else to do. But now my mind swims with everything I’ve learned—from reading and podcasts, from Lydia herself.
I don’t think I know my own body very well.
Would you like to ?
Yes . . . I think I would.
So, I go to work. Tracing along the insides of her arms and thighs with just the warmth of my breath. Exploring the soft skin of her wrists and the back of her neck with my lips. Running my tongue along the rim of her belly button. It takes a little while, but her response becomes evident in the little sounds she makes, the way her breathing changes, and how she arches her back.
Once she seems greedy for every small touch, I let my hands move toward her breasts. Cupping them, lightly squeezing, tracing along the outside, but avoiding her nipples. The small sounds she started making become more like little moans, her hands reaching for the sheets at her sides. Finally, I let my thumb barely brush her left nipple, and she gasps. Gently, I come at it again, lightly playing and pinching until it becomes tight and hard. Then I move over to her right side, using my tongue to coax the other one out where I can play with it too. The way she showed me when we got back to Denver.
As I work every erogenous zone I have learned about, her fingers weave into my hair, grasp my neck and shoulders, and trace down along my arms. She seems to be reaching for something she can’t quite find, which charges me with energy because I think I know what it is, and it’s something I’m pretty sure I can give. I raise my gaze to hers, and I’m met with such a sincere level of lust it’s everything I can do not to consume her right then.
I lift her lightly, positioning her higher against the pillows to make sure she’s comfortable, but as I do, my forgotten phone pings and lights up on the duvet next to us. Lydia glances over at it, and I grab the device, my stomach sinking at the notification she had to have seen on the lock screen.
You have 1 unread message on Unmatched
My lip curls. I’d forgotten all about the stupid app after re-installing it to send my awkward slew of desperate messages. It hadn’t crossed my mind once since Lydia showed up in Dallas in the flesh.
“I... sorry. I’m done with this,” I say in a stilted voice, tapping the screen to delete the app immediately.
But before I can confirm, Lydia stops me, covering my hand with hers. I look up at her, heart pounding, hoping the stupid notification hasn’t just ruined everything we’ve been rebuilding.
Her eyes are downcast, but there’s a light blush of color across her cheeks. “Maybe you should check your message first.”
My brows draw together. I search her face, wondering why she would ever suggest it. Until I see her mouth twitch and her eyes flash. I’m not at all sure what’s going on, but this is enough to get me to breathe. Tentatively, I do as she suggests.
LonelyGirl8
I want you to come on my breasts.
I look up, trying to gauge her expression, but she bites her lip, still avoiding my eyes.
“Lydia, what...” I trail off, not sure what to say. What to do. MountainMan3 and LonelyGirl8 had discussed doing exactly that during a period of utter dysfunction. I’m having a hard time resolving this directly from my wife. Her face is so red now I’m not sure how else to reply, so I type.
MountainMan3
Why?
She retrieves her phone from her robe pocket and types back.
LonelyGirl8
You said you’d like it.
MountainMan3
I would, but . . .
I pause, trying to collect myself. To process this whole conversation. But before I can finish my thought, she replies again.
LonelyGirl8
I’d like to find out why.
Now she is looking at me. And it’s my turn to full-body blush.
“I—I don’t know why,” I admit softly, aloud. “When I look at you, at your body, I just...want to.”
She stares at me, tongue tracing over her lips as she types.
LonelyGirl8
Reason enough.
I swallow hard, my erection growing almost painful as her suggestion plays out in my head. I slide one hand around her waist, gripping her ass and squeezing, typing with my other hand.
MountainMan3
Did you really want to be spanked?
The heat in her face shifts to her eyes, pupils widening. She makes a barely perceptible nod, but then looks down quickly.
LonelyGirl8
I’m not sure why I want that either.
I lean down, careful not to force her to look at me, but close enough to whisper in her ear. “Reason enough.”
She sucks in a low breath, then types.
LonelyGirl8
I’m really NOT sure about “butt play.”
Laughter rumbles out of my chest. “Fair,” I say, laying soft kisses on her cheeks. “We can try anything you want. But nothing you aren’t comfortable with.”
She raises the phone to tap out a reply, but this time I stop her, covering her hand with mine.
“Maybe we should move this conversation in person,” I suggest.
Her eyes flicker shyly from me back to the screen.
“I’m glad it’s helped us communicate,” I say, running my fingers lightly along her thigh. “But we don’t really fit the user profile.”
She considers this, then nods, pressing her lips to mine, sweet and soft and warm. She runs her tongue over my lower lip and speaks. “Maybe you’re right. It has been thirty days. ”
“Thirty-two,” I say.
She sits up, pushing me back against the pillows as she rises to her knees and swings a leg over to straddle me. I stare up at her, poised and confident in a way that makes my groin ache. I trace my hands over the curve of her hips, along her tapered waist, and cup her full, round tits.
“Would you say things have improved?” she asks.
“Yes—” I hiss as she positions herself directly over me, sliding her slick, heated center along the shaft of my throbbing cock.
She picks up both our phones, guiding her thumbs over the screens until the delete buttons appear, side by side. Then she hands mine over, and we erase the app together.
“I’ve got my fantasy girl right here,” I say, discarding the phone in the covers.
She leans in to find my lips. “Just call me Mrs. Richie.”
Heat shoots through my groin, and I can’t take it anymore. I grab her hips, holding her still so I can shift my cock into place outside her entrance. Our eyes meet, and she is so clearly aroused, so consumed by a desire I know I put there, I almost lose it. With a single thrust, I plunge deep inside her, wet and hot, and we groan together at the shock of pleasure. Lydia takes a moment to get seated on top of me, and as she starts to move, taking control of her own indulgence, I do lose myself. In her body. In a burst of love tangled up with lust. I used to think they were two separate things, but they’re more entwined than I ever thought. And now, looking up into her face as she takes pleasure from my body, I am certain we both feel it.
Lydia opens her eyes, gazing back at me with newfound heat. “Yeah. I’d say we’re pretty well matched.”
Thank you for reading!
Lydia and Anton’s story continues in:
MISMATCHED
The Unmatched Series, Book 2
Turn the page to read the first chapter, or find the complete book HERE .