Retrieval

by Aly Martinez

  “Take off your bra, baby,” he ordered, giving my hair a gentle pull and adding another finger.

  “Oh God,” I cried at the beautiful bite at my scalp.

  “Off,” he repeated, guiding my mouth back to his.

  As his tongue stroked mine, I obeyed and unclasped the back of my bra, allowing it to fall from my arms.

  I groaned in remorse when his hand left my hair, but then I groaned for a different reason as it landed on my breast. I rolled my shoulders back to encourage him to take more. I didn’t have the biggest breasts, and truth be told, they’d been fuller when we’d first met, but his large hand more than covered all of me. Yet, if there was even a millimeter he wasn’t touching, I wanted him to find it.

  His hand disappeared from between my legs at the same time he released my mouth and roughly pushed me to the bed. I went down easily, knowing what was next: Roman’s order of operation.

  First, he stripped my panties down my legs.

  Second, he stripped his jeans down his legs and palmed his heavy cock as he stepped out of them.

  Third, my personal favorite part, he dropped to his knees and sealed his hungry mouth over my clit.

  A strangled cry escaped my lips, the pressure climbing high within me.

  Fourth, one arm snaked up my chest, gripping my breast and sending the perfect balance of pain and pleasure searing through me.

  And, lastly, when I was perilously close to falling over the edge, he thrust two fingers deep, coaxing the orgasm from the inside.

  “Roman!” I moaned, fisting his hair as I rode my release out against his mouth.

  When I stopped pulsing around his fingers, he lifted his head and rose to his feet.

  “Back up,” he ordered, prowling toward me, his hand glistening with my release as it pumped his cock.

  Still in a post-orgasm high, I sluggishly shimmied up the bed, dropping my legs open as he followed me up on his knees.

  Using my thighs, he stopped my ascent and dragged me back toward him. “Far enough.”

  “Condom,” I breathed as he hovered over me.

  His response was fast and final. “No.”

  “But—” I started.

  He cut me off. “I’m not using a fucking condom with my wife.”

  “I’m not—”

  “I swear to God, Elisabeth. Do not fucking finish that sentence.”

  And then the most incredible thing happened.

  For the first time since Roman Leblanc had come back into my life, I didn’t argue.

  “I’m clean,” I whispered.

  “I know you are, baby, and so am I, okay?” he said, positioning himself at my opening.

  “Okay.” My eyes fluttered closed with anticipation.

  And then he drove in with a gentle dominance that spurred orgasm number two to mercilessly rear up. The feeling of finally being full again overwhelmed me. My body shook as I fought a second release back. I wanted to ride it out with him, but emotions were scrambling my resolve, leaving me unable to hold back.

  “Roman,” I whispered, a single tear escaping the corner of my eye.

  All at once, his arms slid under me and lifted me so he was on his knees, our chests smashed together, and my face tucked into his neck. “Shhh. Stay with me.”

  I folded my legs around his back while he used his upper-body strength to lift me up and down, setting a relentless rhythm that would have us both finishing in seconds rather than minutes.

  I finally lost the battle and came as he speared into me, his arms squeezing me painfully tight. His speed increased, and then he planted himself to the hilt, groaning, “Lis,” as he emptied inside me.

  I clung to his shoulders as he lowered me back down to the mattress, our connection remaining until he shifted to my side. He was still holding me, but the loss was staggering.

  He gathered me in his arms, tucked my face back into his neck, and brushed the hair off my neck.

  We sat in silence for somewhere between a second and a century, his fingers lazily drawing patterns on my shoulder, before I finally found the courage to confess, “I miss you.”

  He sighed. “You have no idea.”

  My heart wrenched, and I couldn’t keep the ache from my voice as I asked, “What happened to us?”

  His arms spasmed around me, and then he kissed me hard on the top of my head, letting it linger for so long that I wasn’t sure he was going to reply.

  But, when he finally did, I still wasn’t ready for the answer.

  “Do you remember the lamb gyro?”

  I stopped breathing, and he must have taken that as confirmation.

  “Well, this time, I really fucked up. I actually lost you, and now, I’m lying here, praying that you’ll let me fix it. Otherwise, I’m gonna look like a real ass when I propose tomorrow night and you say no.”

  A sound registering between a laugh and a sob came out, and I hugged him tight. “Please don’t.”

  “I won’t,” he promised. “But you have to understand I will eventually.”

  “Roman,” I pleaded.

  “I can fix this,” he declared.

  “Stop.”

  “I can fix us,” he swore.

  “Please, stop.”

  “I can fix us.”

  “Hush.” I kissed his chest.

  “I will fix us, Elisabeth,” he vowed. “Mark my words. I will not spend my life without you.”

  How do you argue with that?

  “Okay,” I agreed, completely unconvinced.

  The sun had barely set when his body slacked under my cheek. “Okay,” he repeated.

  Minutes later, Roman fell asleep.

  I listened to his breathing even out until I eventually followed him into dreamland.

  And, in my dreamland, he was always there.

  Even when he wasn’t.

  I woke up alone, just as I had every morning since she’d left. The hollow ache in my chest was my only company. I rolled to the side to check my alarm clock, and then my mind finally woke, too.

  I was at home.

  And not the piece-of-shit garage apartment I’d rented from an elderly couple when we’d first split.

  I was home.

  The room was dark, but the clock on her nightstand read only nine p.m. I couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour or two.

  The day came back in a rush.

  Heath Light

  Walter Noir.

  Clare.

  Dread soured my gut.

  And then…

  Elisabeth.

  Elisabeth.

  Elisabeth.

  My cock stirred to life as a smile split my mouth.

  I scrubbed my hands over my face and pushed myself from the bed. The light in the bathroom was off, so I knew she had to be downstairs.

  I dragged my jeans on, leaving my shirt discarded on the bedroom floor, then set about finding her.

  The stairs of the old house creaked as I quietly made my way down. I froze in the middle when I heard her whispering in the kitchen.

  “Because I’m freaking the fuck out!” she said quietly.

  I could see her lower body pacing around the kitchen, the hem of a blue, silk nightgown brushing the tops of her thighs. It didn’t appear that anyone else was in the house, so she had to have been on the phone.

  I sank down to my ass and stayed out of sight. It was a familiar position for me. I’d done it numerous times in the six months after we’d lost Tripp. But, back then, it wasn’t out of curiosity; it was out of desperation. I spent hours sitting on that step, listening to her laugh on the phone with one of her friends. She didn’t laugh anymore back then—at least, not with me. I knew that, as soon as I hit the bottom step, she’d hang up and fall back into the pits of despair.

  She needed the laughs. And my soul needed to hear her have them.

  So, every Saturday morning before I darted off to work in an effort to create a way that I hoped would buy her smile back, I fed like a leech on the soft giggles that were
no longer mine. And, when she’d finally hang up, I’d draw in a breath, walk the rest of the way down, and watch her smile slide away.

  And then, like the coward I’d been, I’d leave.

  Today would be different.

  Tomorrow would be different.

  Forever would be different.

  She could fight me all she wanted. She could vent and freak the fuck out to whoever she was on the phone with. But, when I hit the bottom stair, I would not be leaving.

  Ever.

  I’d lived that life for two years, and I was done with it.

  “He said he’s checking back in. What does that even mean?” she whispered. “He doesn’t just get to waltz back into my life and decide he’s ready to start over. I’m pretty sure I get a say in this, too.” She paused. “Oh, shut up! Sex is sex. It’s totally different.”

  I bit my knuckle to stifle my laugh.

  “He’s an attractive man. I’m a woman with needs. And let’s be honest—his cock is huge.” I heard her giggle. “Then, if you don’t want to hear about it, Kristen, don’t bring up sex in the first place.”

  Dear Lord, it was Kristen. The good news was I knew she’d have my back. The bad news was I was starving, the smell of meat cooking was wafting up the stairs, and a conversation between those two could easily last all night.

  Standing, I made my decision and then jogged down the last few stairs.

  She was facing me with terrified eyes as I rounded the banister.

  “Hey,” I said, raking a hand through my hair to get it out of my face, throwing an ab curl and a bicep flex in for good measure.

  Clutching the phone at her ear, she stared at my chest and bit her bottom lip.

  When I smirked, I swear to God the woman squeaked.

  “Kristen, I have to go.” She didn’t say goodbye before hanging up.

  My smile grew.

  “Hey,” she said, dropping the phone to the counter. Her eyes once again flashed down to my chest. “Do you…uh…need to borrow a T-shirt?”

  I shook my head. “Nah. I’ve got clothes in my bag.”

  “Right,” she said stiffly. Giving me her back, she turned toward the oven. “I…um…don’t have an assistant to call for dinner delivery, so I made some burgers. You hungry? They’re still warm. I was gonna come wake you up in a minute.” She pulled a cookie sheet out of the oven and placed it on top of the stove.

  Half of the pan was covered with my favorite seasoned sweet potato fries, and the other side had two handmade beef patties.

  I snagged a fry, popped it in my mouth, then spoke around it. “Was this before or after you told Kristen about my huge cock?”

  Her back shot ramrod straight. “I…don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Chuckling, I slid a hand around to her stomach from behind and placed a kiss at the curve of her neck. “Fine. But you wanna tell me why you’re freaking the fuck out?”

  She sighed, her chin falling to her chest, her hand lifting to cover mine. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re half naked in my kitchen right now after we had mind-blowing sex and where I confessed I miss you and you swore you were going to eventually propose again?”

  “Mmm.” I hooked my arm over her chest and pulled her flush against my front. “Yeah, but I said I missed you, too. And that I was gonna fix us. And then you made me burgers in a little, blue nightgown.”

  “I’m serious, Roman. This is too much. Combined with the embryo thing, I can’t handle this right now. We need to slow down.”

  I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with her sweet, floral scent, then kissed the other side of her neck. “How long did I wait the first time?”

  She tried to step out of my grasp as she huffed, “This isn’t the first time anymore.”

  “No. But, baby, you have to understand—we’re creeping on two days since I got you back. This is me taking it slow.”

  “Roman, please. You can’t fix years’ worth of problems in minutes. I need time.”

  But she’d had two fucking years of time. I wasn’t waiting even a minute longer. My life was with her. It always had been. It always would be.

  I released her long enough to step in front of her. Then I shoved my hands under her arms and lifted her to sit on the counter beside the stove. Parting her legs, I stepped between them, resting my hands on her bare thighs and announced, “Shit went down today. And I really need to fill you in, but I need your head straight on where we are before we can move forward to that.”

  “What went down today?” she asked, worry flashing over her face.

  “Your head straight on what’s happening between us yet?”

  She scoffed. “No. But at least I’d know what shit went down today and won’t be lost on both accounts.”

  I bent at the knees so we were eye level and said, “Let’s get you straight. Then we’ll talk about the shit.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Money has made you bossy.”

  “No. Living without you has made me realize that time’s wasting. And I’m done watching the clock.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but I silenced her with a kiss.

  Her mouth was stiff at first, but it was Elisabeth. She soon became pliable.

  And then she came alive.

  Her arms wrapped around my neck, bringing me closer. I forced myself away when I felt the tip of her tongue touch my bottom lip.

  I had minutes.

  Not years—which is what it was going to take if her tongue entered the equation.

  “I got out of the military because it wasn’t ever going to provide me with the life I wanted for myself. I was a single, twenty-seven-year-old guy, and I wasn’t getting any younger. When my time came up, the decision was easy. Between deployments, I had saved up around a hundred grand, so I moved home and dropped it all in a little building in downtown Atlanta in order to open Leblanc Consulting. I made twenty-two thousand dollars that first year. It was a fucking joke. But I had no doubt it could have been a success with time.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I know all of this, Roman.”

  And she did.

  But she didn’t know the whys of my decisions back then—the same whys that had led me to make the decisions that had ultimately ruined us.

  “When I met you, my entire world changed in one night. You were the best thing that had ever happened to me. But Leblanc Consulting wasn’t going to enable me to give you everything I wanted to. I literally went from the bachelor life to a family man over night. You needed insurance, food, a house, and clothes. So I sold the building, took that entry-level corporate job in the city, put down a chunk of money on this house, finally bought you a diamond a quarter the size of the one I wanted, and then I made a life with you.”

  Betrayal sparkled in her deep-green eyes. “You told me you wanted that job in the city. You told me Leblanc Consulting was failing and you needed an out.”

  “I needed you to be happy.”

  “What?” Her voice broke as though I’d maimed her.

  I quickly assured, “And I have never once regretted that decision. Because part of me giving you those things that made you happy made me happy. Watching you fall asleep with a smile on your face in a life I made for us was the most gratifying thing I’d ever done.”

  She stared at me in disbelief, her head shaking as she said, “Roman, I wasn’t falling asleep with a smile on my face because of the life you made for us. I was falling asleep with a smile on my face because I was doing it next to you.”

  “Right. And I got that even back then, baby. But, for a man, it’s different. I can’t expect you to understand, but I’m asking you to accept it. For a man, success is measured by your ability to provide a good life for your family. It doesn’t have to be money, just a quality of life where your wife can fall asleep with a smile and doing it saying she’s happy just to be doing it with you.”

  I thought she understood what I was saying when she stared at me for several beats without a response.

 
This was Elisabeth though.

  I should have known better.

  “Yeah. That makes no sense,” she said. “This is why men get a bad rap. Y’all do stupid shit then try to justify it by saying crap like, ‘For a man, it’s different.’ Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but if a man is kind, loving, respectful, makes a woman laugh, knows how to open the pickle jar, and change a flat tire, we really don’t need much else. If I needed insurance, food, a house, or clothes, I would get off my ass, get a job, and get that stuff myself. What I can’t get on my own is a good, kind, loving, respectful man who makes me laugh, knows how to open a pickle jar, and change a flat tire.” She glared at me with an arched eyebrow.

  I grinned and added. “With a huge cock.”

  She shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt. But I could still make do if you didn’t.”

  I threw my head back and laughed. God, I’d missed her.

  Her fingers traced over my abs as she giggled right along with me.

  When I finally sobered, I pressed a closed-mouth, but no less deep, kiss to her smart-ass mouth. Then I got serious again.

  I didn’t want to do it.

  What I really wanted to do was take a shower, drink a fucking beer, eat a homemade burger that was currently getting cold, then go to bed and make love to my wife before she fell asleep with a smile on her face, content to be doing it next to me.

  But, again…I had minutes.

  And years to make up for.

  Palming each side of her face, I tipped my forehead to hers and got to it. “Lis, I spent my whole life thinking that, if you wanted something, you work hard and make it happen. And then, one day, I had to face the harsh reality that some things were out of my reach no matter how hard I tried. I couldn’t give you a family, and it was the first time I ever felt like I’d failed you.”

  “Roman,” she gasped, but I kept talking.

  “It was a such a basic biological function, and I just couldn’t do it. Do you have any idea how hard it was as a man to, month after month, watch the woman you wanted to give the world fall apart over pregnancy tests that just wouldn’t turn positive? And then the miscarriages.” I cleared my throat when a thick, gritty knot took up root.

  “Roman,” she breathed regretfully. “We both—”