by Vivian Ward
We did that for a while—only using sex to procreate when her body temperature was optimal, indicating she was ovulating—but that became too frustrating. I’d walk around the house for weeks at a time with blue balls, thinking of how I’d love to bury myself inside her while her firm, round ass wiggled in him my hands. As both of our frustration grew, for various reasons, everything started to feel more like a chore in the bedroom. I got tired of walking around sexually frustrated and jacked off in the shower. She’d probably kill me if she knew but a man is only human. What else was I supposed to do?
Finally, she went to her doctor for a check-up and to discuss our inability to get pregnant. Her physician suggested that I get tested or said to toss the ovulation kits out the window for a while to breathe new life back into the bedroom and to try again like we did in the beginning.
No matter how much I try not to think about it, I find myself wondering things during sex like, “Is she ovulating?” Or “Will this be it?” In the past, all I could think about was how good it felt to be inside her and how much I wanted her.
Her light footsteps quietly pad across the bedroom floor until she slips inside the master bath. Lying still, I hear use the toilet before the faucet turns on for several minutes. I know she’s in there freshening up, but I continue to keep my eyes closed and keep listening.
I hear the bathroom light switch flip off before she opens the door and she tiptoes to the bed, sliding in next to me. Her body curls up to mine and her sweet scent fills my nostrils, it’s a mix of flowers and mint.
“Babe?” She whispers. “Are you awake?”
Her tiny fingertips traipse from my wrist to my shoulder. My body involuntarily responds to her touch, goosebumps erupting all over my skin, my cock stirring to life, but my mind won’t allow me to verbalize a response.
“Babe,” her minty breath tickles my ear. “I’m home,” she hums.
Her long, wispy hair brushes my shoulder as she scoots closer to me. I can feel her bare breasts pressing against my back and it makes my cock ache to be inside her but, still, I pretend to be asleep.
Knowing that her attempts are futile, she huffs before rolling onto her side of the bed and flops back on her pillow. We silently feel each other’s disappointment but tonight isn’t the night.
I don’t know if we’ll ever make love on the right night.
A few moments go by before she wraps herself in the blankets and picks up her phone. It doesn’t take long before I hear her keypad clicking away and I know that she’s texting. It doesn’t take a genius to know who she’s texting. It’s him.
It’s always him.
Harley.
It doesn’t bother me, though. He consoles her when I can’t, or don’t know how. The two of them have grown close over the last few months. I know that they try to keep it to themselves but I can see things that they don’t think I can. I’d be an idiot not to see the connection that they have.
At first, I thought Jules was being a good wife and an even better friend. She was there for Harley when he was at his worst. Losing those kids tore him up and, somehow, even with everything we were going through, she could be there for him—to listen and talk to when things were hard.
The more time passed, the more reliant she began to grow on him, too. I suppose I have myself to blame for that. For a long time, I was emotionally unavailable to her and that’s when he stepped in. I was grateful for that.
Truly, I was.
At first.
But now I worry that the gap between them is closing up while the gap between us seems to grow further apart. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Jules, but I know that I’m not ready to find out.
About a half hour passes before she lies her phone on the stand beside the bed and it’s only minutes later that I hear a loud sigh pass through her perfect lips. Within minutes, I know she’s asleep and wrap her in my arms and hold her because I miss her.
Chapter 3
Jules
When I wake up in the late morning, I know that he left for work hours ago. It sucks that our schedules are somewhat opposite of each other because it always means waking up to a cold bed without him in it.
I face his side of the bed and run my hand over his empty spot, wishing he were still here and that’s when I see a handwritten note sitting on his nightstand. Leaning across the bed, I reach over and pick it up.
Jules,
Sorry I missed you last night. I tried waiting up but was too tired. Let me make it up to you this weekend.
—Rocco—
His note makes me smile. He’s a man of few words but he always knows exactly what to say. Scrambling over to my side of the bed, I pick up my phone to text him but I see that he messaged me this morning before he left for work.
There’s an emoji of an angel (me) and a devil (him). It’s our dirty little symbol that we like to tease each other with, and it never gets old.
Rocco was always an All-American bad boy doing bad things. He’s been in some trouble, but he was smart enough to pull in the other direction and now he’s a successful business owner of his own company, Custom Construction Co, or CCC. My husband’s a hard worker and prides himself in what he does, and I’m very proud of him. I’ve never met a man who works quite as hard as him, except for Harley.
The two of them have been friends since before I ever met either one of them, and I’ll never forget the first time we met. I was 22-years-old and had been working here for about eight months.
It was an ordinary night, in the middle of February, and I was standing behind the bar, polishing glasses. The two of them walked in and plopped down on the stools right across from where I was standing. They looked like they were up to something and knowing them, they most likely were. There was something about Rocco and I couldn’t stop staring at him.
He had that look. You know the one. The bad boy look with the chiseled face, the messy brown hair that always looks like he just had some hot alley sex, and the most piercing emerald eyes I’d ever seen. As sexy as his eyes were, his rigid biceps demanded my attention. They still do. He has a very strong body because he’s always done physical work and he likes to look good, so he’s particular about what he puts into his body. He should’ve been a model or a body builder but he likes to get his hands dirty and believes in a hard days work.
Rocco kept trying to get my number but I knew—or at least I thought I knew—that he was a player. I refused to give it to him but he kept coming back, night after night for almost two weeks, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Finally, I decided to tease him and see if he’d play along. I started playing a game with him and would only give him one number at a time.
It took him almost two weeks to get my full number and I honestly didn’t think he was keeping track of them. He’d been coming in almost every night for an entire month by this point. I figured he’d just keep asking me out until I finally said yes. But then one night, he came and sat down at the bar, right next to the register just like he did most nights.
We started making small talk and he said, “What does a guy have to do to get a date around here?”
I shrugged and said, “I don’t know but maybe he should do something flattering before asking.”
A few seconds later, my phone lit up on the counter beside me with a strange number that I didn’t recognize. After unlocking my screen, I opened the text and read the message: “Hey Jules, ever been to heaven before? I’m gonna take you there tonight.”
Confused, I looked up at him and his movie star smile flashed before me as he nodded in my direction. Butterflies flipped in my stomach as my pupils dilated. I clicked my phone off and tried to hide the smile that had already spread ear-to-ear. “You’re clever, aren’t you?” I asked, leaning across the counter to show off the cleavage from my low-cut tank top.
“Yeah,” he took a gulp of his beer. “I am.”
It was that instant when I realized he’d been collecting the numbers I’d given him each night, and that made
his sext message (yes, I said sext message) even hotter. But I composed myself and told him that he’d have to take me on an actual date before he could even think about trying to take me to heaven.
Smiling at his emoji symbols, I eagerly reply to his text.
J: Hey babe, I read your note. I can’t wait to see what you have planned this weekend. xx
As soon as I hit send, I see little bubbles appear next to his name, indicating that he’s replying. Impatiently, I await his response, grinning like a school girl.
R: Yeah? Planning on a hot date?
Instead of responding with words, I open the camera on my phone and point it at my chest. I’m still wearing the little blue tank top that I worked in last night. I hit the record button and slowly lower one of the spaghetti straps from my shoulders, allowing the top to fall just enough to expose plenty of cleavage.
Rubbing my breasts through my shirt, I do a slow strip tease with my top until I’m wearing only my bra and hit send. A few moments go by before the little bubbles appear on the screen again, and I know he’s watched it.
R: Seriously? That’s all you’re going to send? You’re such a tease!
I miss this, his playfulness. We used to do things like this all the time but things have been so tense lately that it seems like we’re always so serious.
I like this, so I decide to keep playing along.
J: If you want to see more, you’re going to have to buy me a steak first.
I insert the angel emoji and hit send.
R: We’ll see. I’ve gotten a lot more for a lot less.
A giggle escapes my throat because I know it’s true. It reminds me of when we first started dating. I tried so hard to be good on our first date—and I was, but it was hard!
He took me out to dinner, to a little Italian restaurant on The Hill, before we headed to the movies. I remember what we saw, but I couldn’t tell you what happened because we were too busy making out the entire show. I didn’t know what happened in 10 Things I Hate About You until we watched it again a year later.
I didn’t want to be that girl, the one who fucks on the first date because I didn’t want to ruin our relationship before it even got started.
That would be no good.
Instead, our entire second date was spent in his bedroom. Neither of us planned it that way, but that’s what happened. There was something about him, about us.
You always hear people say that when you know, you know, and with him, I knew. There was no doubt in my mind that Rocco was, and is, the one for me. When we met, it was like two old souls, reuniting, coming together as one again.
It sounds cheesy and cliché, but it’s one hundred percent true. There was never a doubt in my mind that he was the one for me but now, I’m not so sure. We’ve drifted so far apart that I don’t know what could bring us back together.
That’s why I can’t understand how the walls of our marriage seem to be crumbling around us. I ask myself over and over, “What happened?”
But I think we both know.
Sometimes I wonder if starting a family is really worth it. A baby shouldn’t define our relationship, yet, somehow it is.
Humming as I polish the beer steins behind the counter, I can hardly wait until this weekend. Normally, I dread the weekends because the bar’s always so busy but I couldn’t care less how busy or slow it is.
My baby is taking me out!
“You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Harley says as he makes his customer’s drinks.
I can’t stop myself from smiling. “I am! Rocco’s taking me out this weekend and I’m so excited. We haven’t been out in ages.”
With our schedules so different, we don’t get much time to do things together and when one of us does have a bit of time off, we’re usually too tired.
But this weekend, the carnival is coming and he knows how much I love visiting all of the booths and riding the rides. He likes to go for the music, food, and beer. I’m a big kid at heart and will never get tired of going to them. We haven’t gone the past few years because of the weather or work but come rain or shine, nothing is stopping me from spending a day with my man this weekend.
“That’s cool,” he says. “Where are you guys off to, any place special?”
“He’s taking me to the carnival at Arnold Park. It’s going to be a lot of fun this year because they have over 50 new vendors since they’ve expanded the park.”
“Oh, yeah? I’m taking Emma there on Saturday,” he says.
Emma is his new girlfriend. I’m not sure if I like her because I don’t know much about her but I don’t think he’ll ever find a woman good enough for him—at least, in my eyes. They’ve been dating for a short while but he has yet to fully bring her around. I haven’t decided if it’s because he doesn’t want to bring her around or if it’s because she’s not very social.
“That’s cool. What time are you guys going?”
“We were talking about getting there around noon. How about you guys?”
“Same,” I say. “Maybe the four of us can hang out. You know Rocco only goes for the funnel cake and beer, but I like to visit the booths and ride everything.”
A dirty grin spreads across his face when I say I like to ride everything and I can’t help but laugh at my poor choice of words when I realize why he’s smirking.
“Oh, shut up!” I toss the damp towel at him. “Such a perv!”
“Hey,” he laughs. “You’re the one who said you like to ride everything. I’m just making conversation.”
“Mhmm,” I smile. “Sure you are. By the way, that table over there looks like they could use some refills.”
I text Rocco to let him know that I’m thinking about him and to tell him that I’m counting down the hours until our date starts.
J: Just wanted to let you know that I was thinking about you and I can’t wait for this weekend. xx
R: Me either, babe. I miss you.
My heart skips a beat when I read his reply. Again, he might not say much but he always knows just what to say. Before I can reply, a large group enters the bar and immediately starts asking for drinks. Judging by their loud, obnoxious voices, this isn’t the first bar they’ve been to tonight. I click my phone off and get busy taking care of their requests. By the time I have a free minute to finally reply to him, it’s almost closing time. There’s no point in messaging him now since he’s probably asleep. So much for being flirtatious, I guess.
Chapter 4
Rocco
I love watching Jules get ready for our dates. She always makes such a fuss over herself even though I think she’s perfect just the way she is.
“Are you almost ready?” She calls from the bathroom.
I’m lazily stretched out across the bed and have been for over a half hour. “I’m ready. I took my shower this morning, so we can go whenever you’re ready, babe.”
Leaning out of the bathroom, she peeks around the door way. “I’ll only be a few more minutes,” she smiles.
I know she’s lying. It’s never a few minutes. We’ve been married long enough that I know a few minutes really translates to, ‘I’ll be ready in about a half hour’. But I don’t mind and I never rush her. Instead, I tell her to take her time and she does.
Her long, brown hair cascades over her shoulders, framing her face like a brunette goddess. My eyes wander to the tight tank top she’s wearing. It’s low-cut, in the shape of a V, and shows off her cleavage. She leans closer to the mirror, her mouth in the shape of an O, as she brushes mascara onto her lashes. I grow tired of watching her apply makeup so I let my eyes wander down her body.
Her tank top is short, barely meeting the top of her blue jean shorts, showing off a bit of her stomach. Her shorts are so short that they barely cover her ass cheeks. She’s all legs and thighs, and I can’t help but think of all the naughty things I’d like to do to my wife.
Climbing off the mattress, I make my way into the bathroom. Her arms are above her head as she styles her
hair, teasing it and combing it. I desperately want her.
“Come here, beautiful,” I say, grabbing her wrists, pulling them behind her back. “Let me taste you.”
Planting my lips firmly on her neck, I taste the sweetness of her soft skin and my lips crave more. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve had her. Eager to indulge, my large hands strengthen the grip on her wrists and pull her body closer to mine as I begin to suck and bite the tender flesh of her collarbone.
“Mmmm,” her body relaxes against mine. “Baby,” she gasps.
Peering down her cleavage, I can see her nipples harden beneath her tiny tank top. My dick instantly becomes hard and I have to have her. Shower be damned, and I don’t care if we start our afternoon late, I’m taking my wife.
Swooping her up, a giggle escapes her plump lips, but it’s quickly muffled by my mouth as I swallow her laughter when I press my lips against hers, sealing our kiss. Growling into her mouth as she moans, I lay her on the bed, and we stay like that.
Just kissing.
Making out.
Feeling and touching.
My hands wander her curvy body and, instead of trying to hide from me like she sometimes does, she allows me to see her, to watch her.
The bright, fuzzy rays of the late morning sun bathes her skin and, despite its warmth, tiny goosebumps quickly skate across her flesh. I allow my fingers to caress her smooth exterior as my eyes remain glued to her movements, the way she responds to my touch.
My mouth is firmly planted near her ear, allowing her to feel the warmth of my breath as my hands squeeze her breasts. They’re firm and fill my hands perfectly. Her nipples are still hard and, every so often, I pinch them.
Hard.
A whimper slips past her sweet lips but I ignore it and begin heading south because I’m just getting warmed up, and she’s going to be making a lot more sounds before we’re finished. My tongue creates a path starting at her throat that trails over her breasts, down her stomach and doesn’t stop until I reach her denim shorts.
