29. Chapter 29
Talmage
M ackenzie looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks, and I feel like it’s my fault.
I dimmed the bright light in her eyes. She doesn’t even look at me anymore.
I hurt her.
And I hate myself for it.
My parents are proud of me, though. Whatever was straining our relationship is fixed and everything is back to normal.
Was it worth it?
I don’t know.
I’ve kept my distance from Mack. It’s more difficult than I thought it would be, but I was stupid because we run in the same circles. We have the same extracurriculars.
And apparently we have the perfect height difference for dance numbers because I keep getting paired with her.
Every time, she looks like she would rather jump off the stage.
I don’t blame her .
I keep telling myself this will all get better—easier.
Hopefully, I’ll believe it soon.
Before I’m even fully awake, I know something is off.
I’m too warm and sticky.
Sticky?
Oh no.
My eyes shoot open. Mack’s got her front pressed up against my side, her large breasts pinning my left hand to my body, one of her hands on my chest.
I can’t even appreciate the feel of her hand on me because I’m embarrassed. I can feel myself throbbing beneath the blanket. I’m just glad her hand is nowhere near it.
I reach under the covers to tuck my dick into my waistband, and I’m met with the somewhat familiar, sticky sensation of my cum seeping through my underwear.
I had a wet dream in Mack’s bed.
And I’m still hard.
This has never happened before. I’ve had morning wood, sure, but I’ve never had a wet dream and woken up with an erection at the same time.
Shit. This is so embarrassing. She’s going to know as soon as I sit up what happened. She’s going to think I’m a pervert .
I went to sleep already half-aroused from the flush on Mack’s chest when I came out of the shower. It reminded me of the way the woman’s skin in the video flushed with pleasure.
That led to a very vivid dream once I fell asleep. The dream comes back to me in flashes. Mack on top of me, my face cradled between her thick thighs, Mack’s mouth around my—
Mack shifts and sighs as her eyes flutter open. She gives me a sleepy smile so stunning the urge to kiss her overpowers the feeling of embarrassment.
“Good morning,” I rasp.
She blinks, looks down at where her hand is, and shuffles to sit up. “Good morning, I’m so sorry if I infringed on your space last night. I-I didn’t mean to.”
“I’ll never complain about cuddling with my wife. Maybe next time I can get my arm out from between us, though,” I joke, shaking my half-asleep hand.
“I’m not usually a cuddler,” she mumbles.
“I know. We’ve shared a bed for almost a month, and we’ve only ended up pressed together a few times—”
“We have?!”
I chuckle at the way her voice rises in surprise, about to sit up until I remember my predicament. Luckily, since we’re in the basement, there’s not much light in the room, so hopefully she won’t notice.
“Not often. I don’t know who scoots which way, but we’ve ended up cuddling a few times. I thought you knew but didn’t want to acknowledge it, so I never brought it up. Like I said, though, I’ll never complain about getting to cuddle you. ”
Mack sighs. “Why are you so sweet to me?” Then, she straightens her spine like she didn’t mean to say it.
“Because I care about you, Mack,” I answer, even though I don’t think she’s actually looking for one. It barely scratches the surface of how I feel about her, but I know I need to tread lightly. We’re making slow progress, and I don’t want her to retreat because I can’t keep my mouth shut.
Mack gets out of bed and turns on the bedroom light, both of us blinking to adjust to the change. She comes back and sits cross-legged on the bed facing me.
I sit up, too, because her face looks serious. Unfortunately, I momentarily forget about my sticky situation, and the blanket falls, revealing the wetness seeping through my light gray boxer briefs, and the outline of my erection.
“I didn’t pee my pants, I swear,” I blurt out as Mack’s gaze lands on the mess.
Her nose scrunches. “I didn’t think you did. Is that…?” Her eyes widen.
“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck, my entire body heating with shame.
“You’re still hard,” she whispers, something akin to awe in her tone.
“Yeah, this has never happened before.” Why are you telling her this?
Mack’s eyes are still locked on my groin, her gaze curious and… heated? My length twitches, excited by her perusal.
“Mack, if you keep looking at it like that, I’m going to have an even bigger mess to clean up,” I whisper .
Mack's eyes shoot to mine, and she licks her lips slowly.
My eyes trace the movement, desperate for it to be my tongue. Morning breath be damned. I’d kiss her after she ate an entire bulb of garlic if it meant feeling her lips on mine again.
“You think you can come just from me looking at it?” she rasps.
“Yes,” I answer honestly. Logistically, I don’t know how it would work, but I’m so keyed up, and I want her so severely, I think it could happen.
“Do you want me to leave so you can take care of it?”
No! I want to whine. Please don’t leave me this way. Help me, touch me, kiss me, love me. Let me worship you. Teach me how to make you feel good. I’d happily walk around with an erection all day if it means I know what it feels like to please you.
But she said she doesn’t want to get attached. She doesn’t want to make things harder than they need to be, and I’m not going to push it just because I want her more than I need air.
“It’ll go away on its own, but I should get cleaned up and change the sheets,” I admit sheepishly.
“Right.” She shakes her head and gets off the bed. “I’m just going to brush my teeth. Then I’ll go get breakfast started, and you can… take care of that.” She rushes into the bathroom before I can respond. I wait for her to come out and head upstairs before I move.
Gingerly, I get out of bed and use a washcloth to clean myself before slipping on a new pair of underwear and some basketball shorts. I brush my teeth and splash my face with cold water before combing my mustache .
Then, I strip the bed and toss the sheets into the basket, before remaking it with clean sheets.
This morning gave me a bit of whiplash, and I need to make sure my head is on right before I go upstairs and see my wife again.
Does she want me? Her reaction seemed like she did, but I don’t know. I can’t read her as well as I’d like to.
I want her to want me.
She was opening up to me, but one wrong move could have her shutting down again, and I don’t want that.
My feelings for her are growing and expanding in my chest, and eventually they’ll have to be let out, or I’ll explode.
As I make my way to the stairs, the melody of a song floats down, and I pause halfway through my ascent to listen to Taylor Swift’s voice singing about feeling guilty for things she hasn’t done. I’ve never paid much attention to the lyrics, but for some reason, it makes me pause.
Chills run up and down my arms as I keep listening to her sing about bed sheets being ablaze and screaming someone’s name.
About the way he holds her being what’s actually holy.
Why do I suddenly feel like crying? This song, the lyrics, are saying things I haven’t been able to put into words. Feeling guilty for something I haven’t even done, for touching someone I’ve never touched in a sexual way.
As I reach the top of the stairs, I find Mack bobbing her head to the beat and flipping pancakes.
The blinds are open, the early morning sun shining through and casting her in an angelic glow. She’s so beautiful my breath hitches, and a rightness settles in my chest.
This. This is what I've been waiting forever for. Casual mornings with the love of my life.
Tell her now.
Oh, how I want to. I want to wrap her in my arms and tell her this is real for me. This is what I want. The forever I’m choosing is with her, and I hope she’ll choose me, too.
The song changes, and my heart rate speeds up as I recognize the guitar string intro immediately, even though it’s a song I actively avoided for years because it brings me too much pain.
Mack’s back stiffens, and she reaches for her phone—
“Please don’t,” I blurt out, startling her.
“Jesus H. Christ, Talmage! I didn’t even hear you come up.” Her hand slaps her chest in shock.
“I’m sorry.” I wish my ankle wasn’t hurting so I could walk faster, but I hobble in her direction anyway. “But please don’t change the song,” I whisper.
“I don’t listen to this song anymore,” she admits quietly.
“Why?”
She swallows and shakes her head. “I just… can’t.”
“Don’t shut me out, tell me why. Please. ”
Her eyes search my face, for what, I don’t know. But eventually, she turns back to the griddle, and I assume she’s not going to answer.
“I haven’t listened to it since you broke up with me. I tried to, but it brought me to tears every time. I can’t bring myself to block it from my app, but… I skip it every time,” she admits softly while she plates the pancakes and some bacon.
She still skips it fourteen years later? Maybe Mack’s feelings aren’t gone like I thought, not if the pain is still real. If she’d moved on, she would be able to listen to it no problem. If she didn’t have feelings for me, the song wouldn’t bring her such pain.
I step beside her and put my hand on her arm to grab her attention. Her head tilts up to look at me, and the emotions swirling around her green eyes make me want to fall to my knees.
Fourteen years later, but the pain I caused her still exists—still hurts —and it makes me feel like shit.
“Mack, I—”
“I hope you made chocolate chip!” Kinsley’s voice interrupts what I was about to say—about to confess.
Probably for the best. Mack deserves more than a hasty kitchen confession. She deserves the grandest of grand gestures. A romance-novel-worthy moment, and I intend to give it to her.
I step away from Mack and let her put the plates in front of her sisters. “Of course I made chocolate chip,” she deadpans.
The girls inhale their pancakes and bacon, then Mack slips on her shoes and a sweatshirt, and the three of them leave so the twins aren’t late for school.
I take care of the dishes, grateful for the silence to think about what I’m going to do. I have fourteen years’ worth of romance to make up for.
But first, I need a favor from Lizzie.