Chapter 21
AYLA
Oh God.
I stare up at my husband.
Yes, he’s still my husband. I tried to think of him as my ex, referred to him as my ex, but we are still married, legally and…
emotionally. We made mistakes. Can we fix them?
I don’t know. But I want to try. Because I’m not over him, either.
I have to admit to myself that he is what I want most of all in this world.
I never really let you go.
My eyes sting, even as my body still vibrates with pleasure.
I reach up to slide my hand around the back of his head. “I never really wanted you to.”
He closes his eyes, looking almost pained. I slide my hands along the side of his neck, comb the hair at the back of his head, then hold his face as he leans down to kiss me. I’m still weak and reeling from that orgasm and his mouth on mine is beautiful and right.
This is so filthy but so pure. Carson and I learned each other’s bodies over the years, learned what the other likes and needs, what turns us on (and off) and maybe because it’s familiar, it could be routine. Ordinary.
But it’s not. It’s incredible.
He lowers himself to his elbows and slides his hands into my hair as our mouths meld. His cock is between us, thick and hot.
“Fuck me. Please.”
He groans and rises onto his knees. I watch him grip his cock as he circles the head around my opening, slicking up my juices, and then so gently, he pushes inside. All the air leaves my lungs. I’m tender and sensitive and I feel myself throb around him.
“Take it all, angel.”
“Yes.” I pull my knees back and tilt my pelvis, my chin going up.
He takes my hands in his and pins me to the mattress, staring down at me.
“That’s it. So gorgeous and tight.”
He rocks his hips against me, stroking deep inside me, then out. And again.
I can’t stop the noises that fall from my lips, the almost painful joy of it as he fucks into me, making me delirious. He lets go of my hand, slides his palm under my head and holds me there while he kisses me.
He hooks his arms beneath my knees and lowers his body to mine, kissing and nipping the side of my neck, licking a trail over my jaw, kissing my mouth. He teases my mouth open and licks inside and kisses me and kisses me. I strain toward him with every cell in my body.
When he lifts his mouth, I drag my eyelids open, breathing fast.
He goes up onto his knees, his strong, muscled body in front of me.
I reach out to trail admiring fingertips over his pecs and down his abs to the line of hair beneath his navel, studying where we’re joined.
He sucks in a sharp breath and moves, pushing into me so deep, sliding out.
I hold my legs back as he moves faster, harder, deeper.
He covers one of my breasts, gripping it as his motion shakes the bed, shakes my body.
I’m still so sensitive inside and he’s stroking over nerve endings and twisting up new curls of pleasure that build and tighten.
He lets out an immense groan and says, “Oh fuck yeah. You feel so good.”
“Yes… so good…”
He takes hold of my ankles, holding my legs up and back, and his abs contract as he drives into me, eyes blazing, his face fierce but also loving. I’m nearly bent in half and I love it. I cover my mouth with my hands and give myself over to the sensation.
He finds my clit and circles it with wet fingertips.
“Yes… I need that… right there…”
“Wanna make you come. Make you feel good.”
“Yes… don’t stop…”
I was already so close and I shudder violently as my orgasm surges through me, wave after wave of exquisite pleasure. He comes then, too, shouting, groaning, pouring himself into me in long, hot throbs.
He stays inside me, rolling us to our sides, both of us panting, hearts hammering.
I think we both drift off to sleep for a while. When I wake up, he’s still inside me. Cock-warming. I love it. It’s so intimate and close. I trail my fingertips up his back and he stirs.
“You okay, angel?” He kisses my hair.
“I’m so good.”
“Yeah. Me too. Want me to pull out?”
“In a minute.” I give his cock a squeeze and he grunts. I smile.
“Now this is why I married you.”
I choke on a laugh. Always the smartass comments in bed. Easier for him than trying to say how he feels.
But then he adds, “I’ve missed you so bad, Ayla. So bad.”
My heart balloons in my chest, almost into my throat. I give a tiny nod against him and manage to squeak out, “Me, too.”
He caresses my shoulder and arm. “How about we get through this weekend and then when we’re home, we can talk.”
“Okay. When do you play next?”
“Monday night.”
“Geez. Okay.”
I want to talk. I know we have to. But right now, things feel… perfect. And I guess I still feel a tiny niggle of doubt and a shred of fear about what could happen.
We snuggle quietly, my head tucked beneath his chin. Then I say, “Nobody asked us about Kane.”
His body tenses minutely, but I feel it. “You mean here? Your family?”
“Yeah.”
“They’re probably uncomfortable. People don’t know what to say or do. They’re afraid of how we might react.”
“Mmm. Yeah. But… I want them to remember him.”
Carson is silent. “Yeah.”
“He was important to us.”
He nods. “Do you want to talk about him?”
“I do.” I hesitate. “I love talking about him.”
After a pulsing pause, he asks, “Do you want to talk to me about him?”
My heart bumps. “Can I? There were times I felt you didn’t want to talk about him.”
His throat works. “Yeah. That’s probably true.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “I think… I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid… I’d break down. That I’d embarrass myself.”
I close my eyes as a dark swirl of pain washes through me. “Oh.”
“I didn’t want to look weak. I had to stay in control. I thought it was important to stay strong and get on with life.”
“Yes.” I do remember that. “But that meant… I think… that you weren’t really dealing with your grief.”
“I think I dealt with it how I needed to.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Why do you sound like you don’t believe me?”
I lean my head back to look into his face. “Because… I’m afraid you think you’re over it, but… you’re really not.”
We look at each other, a notch between his eyebrows.
Carson is a very private person. He likes to keep things light and fun. He doesn’t like to ask for help and he has a hard time opening up about deeper emotions. I know that about him.
“Tell me what you want to talk about, about Kane.”
Okay. I think. “His smile. I loved his big smile. He was such a happy baby.”
“He was.”
“And his baby laugh. God. There’s nothing better than a baby’s laugh.”
“Yeah.”
“I loved how he’d focus so intently on something we gave him, like a toy. He’d turn it over and over and study it. I could tell he was so smart.”
“Of course he was. He got that from you.”
I snort a small laugh. “I remember how he tried to talk. Those cute little coo sounds he made, then babbles.”
“Dadadada.”
“He did say that before he said, ‘Mamama’. And remember how he would stretch every time we woke him up, when he was swaddled? We’d unwrap him and his little arms would go up over his head and he’d scrunch up his face and it was so adorable.”
Carson is still smiling, but his eyes are shiny.
“I took him to the doctor once, not long before the accident, and the doctor asked him to say, “aah,” so he could see his teeth, and Kane said, “aah,” and opened so wide, and we laughed, and he laughed.”
Carson grins. “You know, when he was a newborn, I… was pretty terrified.”
“So was I.”
We smile tentatively at each other.
“What were you afraid of?” I ask.
“I like to solve problems,” he says. “And it made me crazy that I couldn’t fix a fussy baby. It felt out of control, and I hate feeling out of control.”
“Oh. Yeah.” He does hate that. And I do remember his frustration sometimes.
“I thought I was ready to be a father, because I’d been like a surrogate parent to my sisters, but it was nothing like that.
Holy shit, the pressure. Not only keeping him alive, but knowing that how I interacted with him would influence his development.
Like, one mistake and he could become a serial killer. ”
A laugh breaks free of my throat. “Oh my God.”
“What were you afraid of?”
“Oh my gosh, everything. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to breastfeed, or if I did, how would I know he was eating enough?
I was afraid he’d get sick and I wouldn’t know what to do.
I was afraid he would die in his crib one night.
I was afraid I would do all the wrong things—hold him too much, or not enough, or put too many clothes on him or not enough, or—well, lots of things.
But a lot of that was from postpartum hormones, which I didn’t even realize until so much later.
They can cause anxiety and depression. Worry.
And… I was still breastfeeding Kane when he died.
I still had all those hormones and—” My voice catches.
“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I remember you were still breastfeeding. And how hard that was when he was gone.”
My eyes sting as I remember that phase of our life. On top of my grief… I couldn’t feed my baby. It was agony, mentally and physically. My breasts were engorged and painful. More dropping hormones affected my mood, making me anxious and depressed and weepy all the time.
“Hey.” He touches one corner of my eye. “It’s okay.”
I nod. “I know.” I pull in a breath. “Anyway. We were both afraid. But I knew I was okay because I had you.”
“And I should have known I was okay because I had you. Because you were an amazing mother.”
He kisses my forehead, then my nose, and then, softly, my mouth. My chest is brimming with emotion and I kiss him back, pouring all that emotion into it.
He rolls me to my back, and slips from my body. I’m wet and sticky and I don’t care, because his kisses are making me hot again and I’m emotional.
“Want me to clean you up?” he whispers.
“No. I want you to fuck me again.”
“Yeah.” His cock stirs against my leg and he kisses my throat. “I wanna do that, too.”
* * *
“Aren’t you coming?”
I’m applying lip gloss in front of the mirror in the morning, getting ready for breakfast with Nonna.