Chapter 30
Ryan
“You look incredible,” I breathed, taking in the sight of Melanie in the red dress that looked as if it had been made just with her in mind.
I’d tried to convince her to splurge on herself and buy something new for our dinner at Kirby’s – no special occasion, just one of our newly re-established weekly date nights – but she’d insisted on wearing the one she’d bought for our anniversary three years ago.
Looking at her now, I couldn’t argue with her decision.
The low neckline showed off a hint of cleavage that made me want to investigate the shadowed valley with my tongue.
My cock twitched behind the zipper of my suit pants as she turned and bent down to retrieve her shoes from the rack in the closet – black high heels that made me want to fuck her in those, and nothing else.
My gaze zeroed in on her ass as she stood up, holding onto the closet door to slip into first one shoe, and then the other. The fabric clung to her curves like a lover, and my fingers itched with the need to cup her ass the way the dress did.
“Fuck me,” I muttered under my breath, but Melanie heard me and tossed me a flirty grin.
“That’s the plan, Mr. Davenport.”
I reached for her, but she held out a hand and pressed it against my chest.
“Dinner first,” she teased, “then dessert.”
I cocked a brow, then gave her thorough once-over, lingering on all of my favorite spots. She flushed under my perusal, but didn’t drop her gaze, and I was thrilled to see another sign that my wife’s confidence was returning more every day.
The past month hadn’t been all sunshine and roses.
We’d hit a major bump when I’d pulled her onto my lap one night a week or so after she’d moved back home.
I had made a comment about how sexy she looked grinding on top of me in her pretty blue thong.
She’d frozen, and I’d instantly realized how badly I’d fucked up.
She had slid off my lap and reached for the sheet to cover herself. The sight of her – face pale, eyes haunted, curled in on herself as if hiding away – had me wanting to rip out my own tongue and beat myself with it.
Melanie often wore thongs and had done so for years, and the comment, or some variation of it, was something I’d said many times. Not however, a little over two months after another woman, in another thong, had been doing the very same thing on my lap.
I’d tried to comfort her, but she’d just shaken her head. “Give me a minute, please,” she’d whispered brokenly, then tugged the sheet loose to wrap it around her shoulders as she got out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom.
By the time she came out, eyes swollen from the tears she’d shed, I’d just about torn my hair out in frustration at having said something so fucking thoughtless. I’d apologized and held her close until we both felt that we could breathe again without breaking.
When we’d talked it over with Kim at our session two days later, she’d suggested that maybe it had been the combination of mentioning the thong during what was essentially a lap dance that was the trigger.
“But I don’t blame Ryan for the lap dance,” Mel had protested. “If anything, I feel that he was taken advantage of, being touched without his consent.”
I still wasn’t sure I was comfortable with her assessment, but I was working on it.
I hadn’t wanted the lap dance, but I didn’t want to label myself a victim either.
I knew it was a double standard, because that’s exactly what I would have thought had the gender roles been reversed.
Still, I was having trouble with the idea of myself in that role.
Melanie told me that it was macho bullshit the last time I’d said it, so I was working on revising my viewpoint.
“It doesn’t have anything to do with blame, necessarily,” Kim pointed out.
“It could be that this simply reminded you of the incident, which then reminded you that he broke his promise by being in a strip club, which then made you feel incredibly vulnerable – and perhaps even not emotionally safe – in that moment. Triggers aren’t always rational.
If they were, they would be easier to deal with. ”
She’d suggested immersion therapy, which involved us basically recreating the trauma with a different, safer outcome.
“The idea is that repeated exposure lessens the impact of the trauma to your system. You place yourself in that position – literally in this case – and remain there for as long as you can, with Ryan reassuring you that he loves you, and wants only you. Your mind will hopefully desensitize itself to the trigger as feelings of safety and security increase. Then, you try it again and again, ideally staying there for a little longer each time until you are comfortable and it’s an enjoyable experience again. ”
She’d cautioned us that it doesn’t always work, and that we might have to avoid that position in the future, even though it was one that had brought Mel immense pleasure in the past.
Luckily, Kim had been wrong about that. Two nights ago, after three weeks of trying the immersion therapy, Melanie had climbed into bed wearing a brand new, silky black thong, and had straddled my lap as I sat with my back propped against the headboard.
She’d teased me, grinding her pussy over my rock hard dick until I’d been leaking pre-cum everywhere.
I’d cupped her breasts and sucked on her pert nipples as she’d thrown her head back and moaned, circling her hips and digging her fingernails into my shoulders as she’d come.
While her body was still shaking, I’d lifted her off me just enough to rip the thong from her body and had thrust inside the only heaven I would likely ever know.
Her pussy had clenched around me like a warm, velvet fist as I’d gripped her bare ass and pumped up into her.
She rode me until we both came in an explosion of want and need that stole the breath from our lungs, leaving us collapsed on the bed in a satisfied, but exhausted heap of naked limbs.
“You owe me a new thong,” Melanie had teased after we’d sufficiently recovered and headed for the shower. She’d scooped up the torn scrap of fabric from the floor where I’d thrown it and twirled it around her finger before flinging it at me and dashing into the bathroom with a giggle.
I’d chased her, of course, and round two, with her on her knees in front of me as the water pulsated around us, had gone a long way toward healing my stupid blow job blunder from months ago, too.
She’d told Kim about the breakthrough in our session yesterday, minus all the salacious details, of course.
“How are you two feeling about the foundation of your marriage now?”
“It’s solid again,” Melanie had answered, reaching across the small couch to take my hand.
“And it’s going to stay that way. I’m an expert on foundations, after all” I joked, and then added ruefully, “and I’ve pulled my head out of my ass.” Kim and Mel had both laughed at that.
“So, Melanie, you’ve found your voice again. Ryan, you’ve found yourself again. Now, it’s time to rebuild, strengthening your marriage with renewed connection and ongoing respect and communication. I’ll be here as much or as little as you need me in the future.”
“As an engineer, I’m a stickler for periodic inspections during the building process, so if Melanie agrees, I’d like to continue at least monthly check-ins for now.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Mel said, and we scheduled our next session for four weeks out.
Before we left, Kim had told us that she’d had a feeling at our first joint appointment that we would be able to make it work. I raised my brows at that, because I’d been feeling pretty damned hopeless that day.
A smile broke out across her face as she’d motioned to the couch.
“When couples walk into this room for the first time, they tend to choose the spot that they’ll sit in for every session thereafter.
When they choose to sit on the couch together, I consider that to be an excellent sign.
It’s those who can’t even share a space like that who worry me. ”
Now, looking at my wife – and thank God, I was still able to call her that – I was immensely grateful not only for Kim’s guidance, but for Melanie’s incredible resilience and capacity to forgive.
I cupped Melanie’s chin and bent my head to press a gentle kiss on her upturned lips.
“Let’s go have dinner then, because I’m craving some sweetness.”
I shot her a wink, and her whiskey-colored eyes widened in delight.
Later that night, as Melanie screamed my name, I lapped up every bit of sweetness she gave me. “Best dessert ever,” I murmured as I pressed a kiss to the inside of her quivering thighs.
I sat back on my haunches and stared at her lying there, beautifully and utterly debauched.
She flashed me a seductive smile as she reached for my straining erection, urging me to move up to straddle her chest. She spent the next several minutes blowing my mind – and my cock – then cupped her tits and pressed them together as I fucked the soft mounds.
It didn’t take long for me to come all over her, and she held my gaze steadily as she swiped her fingertip through my cum and circled one pert nipple.
Her eyes fluttered shut at the sensation she created, and I took over then, rubbing it into her skin, marking her as mine.
When both breasts were coated, I plucked her nipples, which were diamond hard points under my fingers.
I twisted them ever so gently, then tugged. Hard.
Melanie arched her back off the bed as she came one last time, and the sound of her screaming my name was music to my ears.
The next night, I was cleaning up the last of the dinner dishes while Melanie went into the living room to search for a movie for us to watch.
“Ryan!”
An entirely different kind of scream than I was used to – this one filled with panic – had me tossing the dishtowel on the counter and running from the kitchen, only to find Melanie staring at the television in shock.