CHAPTER THREE
Blair
Even with my newfound resolve, I could still be weak. Scott and I had always been very physical, and I couldn’t turn off my desire like a switch. When he’d woken me up with his head between my legs? I’d given in immediately.
Because the sex was never a problem between us. I knew that. As his talented mouth suckled my clit, I bucked against him.
“Oh God, babe,” I cried out. “Right there. Right fucking there. Please don’t stop,” I gasped out as he ate, licked, and sucked me.
I stifled my cry as I came, legs shaking, the waves of my climax washing over me.
My hands shook as I held his head there, not letting him move until he’d fully satisfied me.
Not that he was trying to leave. Scott would spend hours eating me out if I let him. And sometimes I did. But not on early fall mornings when I had six kids to get ready and out the door for school.
“Fuck,” he moaned as he entered me, and I cried out. He always felt so good inside me. He started moving slowly, sensually, staring at me the whole time. “I love to see your beautiful face when you come,” he murmured in a low, sexy voice. His brown eyes were almost black with lust.
“You’re going to have to work fast,” I gasped out, breathing hard. “The kids will be knocking on the door any second.”
“I want to go slow,” he said, and I felt hypnotized by his soulful eyes.
I knew I’d married a good-looking man. And I also knew he was just getting better looking with age.
He’d always had a terrific body, but he’d gotten even more cut, his muscles more defined over the years.
I was hopelessly, shamelessly attracted to him.
The kind of attraction that still made me want to rip his clothes off and go at it wherever we were, public or not.
And I was so not that girl. I was normally such a rule follower.
But sleeping with my husband? All bets were off.
We made love all the time, much more often than it seemed like my friends and their husbands did. The sex was amazing.
Too bad it was the only part of my marriage that was working.
“I want to make love to you.”
I glanced over at the clock. “There’s no time for that,” I hissed.
He winked at me. “Then I guess I’ll just have to fuck you then.”
I made a little sound and felt myself grow wetter around him. He knew I loved it when he talked dirty to me. “You’d better hurry.” I tried to sound authoritative, but it came out more like breathy encouragement.
He still moved slowly. In and out, he moved his hips in a restrained rhythm.
He looked down and watched where the two of us met.
“Jesus,” he whispered, aware of the children starting to move around on the floor below, “watching your pussy take my cock is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. It drives me fucking crazy.”
With that, he lost his restraint. He sped up, his hips slamming into me as I gasped in quiet delight.
I threw my head back as he rubbed the spot inside me that made me go insane.
Then he dropped down and suckled a nipple.
“Fucking you is the best thing in the world,” he moaned out, driving into me harder and harder.
“Take it, baby. Take this fucking cock.”
“I’m about to come,” I whispered. “Please…”
He knew what to do. As he pushed into me even harder, he moved one hand to flick my clit and the other to cover my mouth.
Which was good, because a moment later I screamed out my pleasure. When I was finished, I hurriedly reached up and covered his mouth. He arched back as he came hard inside me, and it was difficult to keep his throaty shout restrained.
We moved together a short while longer before he collapsed beside me. He pulled me on top of him, kissing me passionately. I couldn’t help but respond. But when he moved his hand down and began working me again, I managed to pull back.
“We can’t,” I said, rolling off him. “I’ve got to go get the kids ready. I can’t be late again. I swear that damn attendance lady hates me.”
He gave me a cocky half grin. “I bet I could make you come again in less than two minutes.”
God. That sounded really good. I gave in, starting to move my hips in time with his finger thrusts.
“Ouch!” a cry came from the other side of the door.
“You’re taking up too much room,” a little voice hissed.
“Let me go in first,” said another.
“The door is locked, genius,” Sutton, our oldest, said sarcastically.
Scott and I froze, then he reluctantly withdrew his fingers. I rolled off him, and he leaned down over me briefly. He gave me a hard quick kiss. “To be continued,” he said, and then got up to stride towards the bathroom for a shower.
I hurried to throw my robe on and tie it tightly around me before opening the door. “Good morning, my little sunshines,” I said, hoping that their relative quiet would last a while.
It did not.
“Sean is wearing my shoes,” Spencer complained.
“What does it even matter?” Sutton snarked. “You’re twins. And you have the same pair of shoes, stupid. Just wear his.” She tossed her thick, wavy brown hair over her shoulder.
Sammy sucked in a breath, his eyes going wide. “Sutton said the ‘s’ word,” he said in awe. “She has to use the swear jar, right?” He looked excited by the prospect. He was six, fascinated by everything his older siblings did, and tried to emulate everything about them.
“Stupid isn’t the ‘s’ word, silly,” Selene, a fifth grader, said, flipping her blonde braid and rolling her big blue eyes.
Neither Scott nor I knew what to do with Selene.
She was completely different from us physically and always stood out in the Christmas cards we sent each year. She looked like she had to be adopted.
In fact, people just assumed she was adopted. But she wasn’t. With her coloring, her matter-of-fact personality, and her unbelievable athletic prowess, I also wondered where she’d come from. But the C-section scar I had proved she was ours.
Well… it proved I’d had a baby that day. You’d think after already having four kids that I would never need a C-section, but I had. On baby number five.
“Then what is?” Sammy asked, enthralled.
“Shit. It’s shit,” Selene said.
Sammy gasped so hard I thought he would faint. “Oh my gosh!” he breathed. “That. Is. One. Of. The. Big. Ones.”
I had to force myself not to laugh.
“It is,” Selene agreed nodding. She glanced at Sophia, our seventh grader. “You’re not wearing that to school, are you? It makes you look like a dumpling with legs.”
Sophia immediately burst into tears, and I winced. She was our most sensitive child. And our sweetest.
But the very bulky hoodie she was wearing with shorts did make her look like a dumpling with legs.
That was the thing about Selene. She never said these things to be mean; she was just being honest. We’d even had her evaluated for any kind of neurodivergence at a teacher’s suggestion—after she’d told one of her classmates that nobody wanted to play with him on the playground because he passed gas too much.
She suggested his parents buy him Gas-X the next time they went to the store.
When we’d asked her about it, she’d just shrugged. “It worked. He quit pooting all the time and now he’s one of the most popular kids in our class.” She’d looked at us then. “I don’t see what the big deal is. It was true. He even thanked me later.”
The doctor had said Selene was fine, just truthful and very blunt. I was an extreme sugar-coater. In other words, I could find the bright side of any terrible situation. Some might call it toxic positivity; I chose to believe it was just optimism on steroids.
Then there was Scott. He was socially awkward and didn’t like talking to people at all. He only did at work—he was a dentist with his own practice—because he had to. He really had to push himself out of his comfort zone to socialize.
Between the two of our personalities, Selene leaned more towards being like Scott.
That didn’t quite fit, though, because she really enjoyed talking to everyone and thrived socially.
Everyone liked her; they just knew not to ask her opinion on something if they didn’t want to hear a brutally honest answer.
Still, I sometimes wondered if there’d been a mix-up at the hospital. If somewhere in Indigo Falls, Georgia, there was a family of tall, blonde, athletic, and Viking-like people who had one inexplicable dark haired, dark-eyed bookish child who they didn’t understand at all.
But I loved her with my whole heart. I loved all six of my children to pieces. I’d never understood how much a person could love another human being until the doctor laid Sutton in my arms fifteen years ago.
Being a mom was my favorite thing. Which was good, because I’d never finished my degree in interior design and architecture. I’d left college when I was nineteen. Scott and I got married quickly that year, because we’d found out I was pregnant with Sutton.
I blamed our extreme sex drive. The number of times we’d been so overcome with lust that we forgot to use a condom was… ridiculous. And probably why we had six kids.
But after I’d gotten pregnant with Sammy, Scott and I agreed that I should get my tubes tied during the C-section the doctors insisted I have since I’d had one with Selene.
I looked around at my little flock of children for just a moment before I sprang into action.
“Selene, you owe a dollar to the swear jar. Sammy, forget you ever heard the ‘s’ word she just taught you.”
“Oh, she didn’t teach it to me. I’ve heard that one plenty from S…”
I didn’t know which of my children taught him the word since all their names started with ‘s.’ But Sutton was the first to clap a hand over his mouth and drag him away, so my bet was on her.
“Let’s go help Mom make breakfast,” she said, grinning back at the twins. I had a feeling they probably used the ‘s’ word a lot, too.