Commitment

by Golland, K. M.

  Which he did.

  “I haven’t seen that … that—achoo. That nightie for years.”

  “Yeah, well, I thought I’d wear something different to bed.”

  He smiled, his eyes sparkling before turning intense. Really intense. “Mm … well, it’s perfect,” he said, trailing his finger along my collarbone and pulling the covers down. “Sleek, shiny, delicate and dangerous.” Dangerous? Whaaa? What’s dangerous? My nightie?

  His stare intensified, as if he were Superman and using x-ray vision to see inside my head. Or perhaps there really was a stray hair on my chin. Holy Shit! I’ll need to search for it tomorrow.

  I covered my face with my hand. I also sneezed.

  Twice.

  “Oh for the love of fuck-this.” I grouched and reached down, wrestling the nightie up and over my head before screwing it into a ball and tossing it across the room.

  “What’d you do that for? It looked good … I mean sexy. Fuck! I mean you looked fuckin’ hot.”

  He was acting a little weird. Then again, so was I.

  “Thanks, but it was what was making us sneeze. It was full of dust. I should’ve wash—”

  Before I could finish what I was saying he launched his lips onto mine, his kiss unapologetic. It took me by surprise and I shrieked, but the familiarity of his warm body and the touch of his hand to the side of my head, down my cheek and on my breast, shifted my focus to what I was feeling under the very tips of his fingers. I also immediately recalled what Alexis had said earlier in the evening.

  “Really feel him when he touches you. Really feel him when you touch him. Focus on you and him and nothing else.”

  So that was exactly what I did. I concentrated on the slide of his tongue against mine, the scratch of his stubble on my skin, his hot breath — that smelled of liquorice, which meant he’d eaten some of my chocolate bullets while I was in the shower — the cheeky bastard.

  I wanted to call him out on it but fought the urge, refusing to be distracted and resuming my concentration, homing in on his erection tickling my hip and how the pressure of his hand kneading my breast was increasing quite fast, bordering painful and—

  “I want to eat your pussy,” he barked out, releasing his hand.

  I swallowed the, “Ow fuck!” I’d been mere seconds from yelling and choked on the sentence he’d yelled instead. “Dean I—”

  “I’m thirsty for your sweet juices. I want to drink them.” His mouth moved lower, his lips trailing down my neck. I’m sorry … you’re thirsty for what?

  My eyes bugged, unsure as to what he expected to drink down there; honey tea, apple juice … soda, because it sure as hell wasn’t going to be anything sweet or juicy like that.

  I squirmed and clasped his head, stopping him from going any lower than my chest. “Dean wait.”

  He looked up, his eyes heavy with desire, the heat in them cooling when he noticed my reluctance. Their change from hot to cold immediately stirred regret in the pit of my stomach, and I wished I hadn’t said anything. I wanted his dark, dilated desire to return. Don’t stop him, Tash. He wants it. You want it. You shaved. You feel sexy. He thinks you’re sexy. You ARE sexy. Let him drink.

  He hung his head and began to roll off me, so I did the first thing that came to mind and dropped my hand between my legs, sliding my finger in and out and then shoving it in his mouth.

  This time it was Dean who choked and his eyes that bugged.

  “Sweet enough?” I asked, biting my lip.

  His heat returned.

  His desire burned.

  And not a second later, his lips were tasting what he’d craved.

  * * *

  Three real orgasms in less than twenty-four hours. If that weren’t a newsworthy headline, I didn’t know what was.

  I still couldn’t believe it, but the truth was in the clenching of my thighs. It had been a couple of days since Dean had shaped my mouth in an O when he’d pounded me from behind during make-up sex, when he’d drunk my — oh my God, I can’t even say it — juices, and afterward when he’d drilled into me while saying shit he’d never said before, shit like, “can you taste yourself when I kiss you?”, “that’s my big cock between your legs”, and “you like it hard, you dirty girl”. Dirty girl? It wasn’t long ago that he called me middle-aged, and now I’m a girl … and a dirty one?

  He’d been acting so strange. I had no idea what had gotten into him, but, strangely enough, I kinda liked it. It wasn’t predicable, the norm, or boring. It was exciting in an odd way.

  The day after my orgasm trifecta, I’d been proud of myself and called Lexi. I’d told her about shaving, letting him go down on me, and wearing lace and perfume — sans the dust and fiery riverdance. She’d been equally proud and told me to keep fighting the pleasure block and focus on what makes me bold, happy and confident, because the more I did the more Dean and I would benefit. So I’d tried, but like most things, especially new things, they needed work.

  I hadn’t worked at it yesterday.

  I’d slipped back into my old habits and lost the plot because the house was a mess and no one but me seemed to give a shit. Granted, the boys never gave a shit about the cleanliness of their surroundings, and Dean had actually tidied up. I just hadn’t noticed at the time because I was a tad flustered, and because his level of tidy wasn’t my level of tidy.

  It wasn’t until after he’d gone to bed and the house was quiet that I realised the small, inconspicuous things he’d done and not mentioned to me, things like changed the light in my rangehood, stopped the squeak of the laundry door, and sorted the block on my Netflix account.

  We’d gone to bed, talking but not really, and I’d woken up feeling miserable and guilty. It was such a horrible contrast to what I’d felt less than twenty-four hours beforehand. So I’d decided that, after dropping the boys off at school, I would make it up to him.

  Lunch date.

  His work.

  Today was my rostered day off, so my plan was to surprise visit him. It was something I hadn’t done in years, something he would never see coming, something spontaneous.

  * * *

  Parking outside his building and reaching over to the passenger seat, I picked up the calico shopping bag that held three roast chicken and salad rolls, a bottle of wine, and a packet of chocolate bullets before exiting the car.

  As I entered the front reception, Val — the firm’s receptionist of nearly twenty years — greeted me from behind the counter. “Tash! How wonderful to see you. I almost didn’t recognise you with short hair.”

  “Hi, Val. Yeah, it’s a been a while.”

  “It has.” Her bright pink lipstick highlighted her warm, inviting smile, and her mousey-brown shoulder-length hair was secured away from her face with bobbypins. “So how are you and the boys?”

  “Good. They’re growing so fast. Too fast. William will be taller than me in no time.”

  She pushed her glasses along the bridge of her nose. “Takes after his dad then?”

  “Sure does. Speaking of his dad, is Dean in?”

  “Yes, of course. Would you like me to buzz him?” She picked up her phone, ready to inform him of my arrival.

  I held up my hand. “No no. He doesn’t know I’m coming. I want to make it a surprise.”

  “Ahhh … I see. Go straight through, then. You know where he is.”

  “Thanks, Val. It was lovely to see you again.”

  “You too.” She stood up and opened the door behind her reception counter, granting me access to the room just outside Dean’s office. It was where I expected to see Hillary, Dean’s bubbly, hardworking secretary, but she wasn’t at her desk. Hmm … maybe she’s at lunch already?

  Shrugging, excitement increased my pace as I walked to his door and, just as I was about to knock and turn the handle, it opened instead.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Hillary said, wrapping her arms around Dean.

  He rubbed her back, soothingly, and replied wit, “Th
e feeling’s mutual, Hill,” at the exact same moment his eyes widened with shock and landed on mine.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dean

  As I comforted Hill and rubbed her back, I was seething. Screaming bloody murder. Bullshit she tripped down her front steps and hurt her hip. I didn’t buy that for second. Her inability to look me in the eye when she’d fed me her lie-ridden story over lunch was proof enough, but for her sake I’d pretended to accept what she’d said. She was fragile and close to breaking and opening up to me, and I wasn’t about to push her that extra little bit. Instead, I’d be there for her when she did break, and I would rip her scumbag boyfriend a new one at the same time.

  Looking up as I opened my office door, my eyes landed on my wife. I blinked, surprised, thinking for a second that I’d imagined her standing there — she hadn’t made an appearance at work for years. A long flowery dress covered her body, and her hair was tucked neatly behind her ears. My eyes weren’t playing tricks on me; she was definitely there looking as beautiful as the day I’d met her, except she took a step back, tilted her head and returned my smile in an odd way.

  Realisation hit me instantly, and I quickly shrugged out of Hill’s grip, smiling albeit awkwardly. “Tash! What are you doing here?”

  Hillary dropped her arms and spun to face Tash. “Oh, H … Hi, Tash. It’s so good to see you. It’s been so long. Wow! You look amazing. I love your hair. It really suits you,” she babbled, fidgeting and smiling just as awkwardly as I had. “Right, I’ll just get back to work and leave you guys to it. Is there anything you need?”

  Tash didn’t say anything at first and reached into her shopping bag, pulling out what looked like a salad roll wrapped in plastic. “I made you lunch, Hillary. I hope you like roast chicken.”

  Hillary glanced my way, and my stomach theoretically plummeted to the ground. “Oh … thanks, but I just ate—”

  “You made us lunch, love?” I asked, interrupting Hill’s unnecessary honesty. “Looks delicious.”

  “Yeah, I did. I made myself something too.” Tash lifted her hand, offering the roll to Hillary for a second time.

  “Thank you,” Hill said, sheepishly accepting it. “That was very kind of you.”

  “That’s me. Super kind.” She gave Hill the thumbs up, but I knew my wife … her thumbs-up was nothing but a sarcastic digit.

  The atmosphere surrounding the three of us all of a sudden turned thick with get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here. There was absolutely no reason for it, so I stepped backward into my office and gestured Tash to follow me inside. “Come on in, love. I’m starving,” I lied — Hill and I had just eaten.

  Tash brushed past me, plonked her shopping bag on my desk with a thud, and sniffed the air. “You sure ‘bout that? Smells like you’ve already had something to eat.”

  “It wasn’t much,” I said, softly, stepping up behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist. “This is a nice surprise.”

  She scoffed, although I wasn’t sure she meant me to hear it, because she turned in my arms and placed a quick kiss on my cheek before attempting to free herself from my hold. No fucking way. I knew why she was pissed and it wasn’t warranted.

  Tightening my grip around her, I pressed our bodies together and kissed her lips, hard. “I’m glad you’re here,” I mumbled against her mouth.

  “Really?” she mumbled back.

  My lips trailed to her cheek, to the bridge of her nose, and then to her forehead. “Of course.”

  She nodded but there was sadness in her eyes and I hated it.

  “Don’t give me that look, Tash. It’s just Hill.”

  “I know who your secretary is.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her smartarse retort. “It was just a hug. Her boyfriend is physically hurting her. I’m trying to get her to open up and admit it. You know she’s like a baby sister to me.”

  Tash’s eyes widened. “What? What do you mean he’s physically hurting her? And if she hasn’t admitted it, how do you even know that’s what he’s doing? And who is ‘he’ by the way?”

  I let go of her and walked around my desk to take a seat. Tash did the same and started emptying the bag she’d bought with her.

  “It’s a long story,” I sighed.

  She handed me a roll. “I’m listening.”

  “Okay, I noticed a few weeks ago that she was acting … I don’t know, different.”

  “What do you mean ‘different’?” Tash dug deeper into the bag and pulled out a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  “I can’t believe you’re here and that you’ve done …” I gestured to the food and drink, “all of this.”

  She shrugged, blushed, and poked her hair behind her ears, and if she wasn’t the most adorable thing with her new short haircut, I didn’t know what was. Don’t get me wrong, I missed her long hair and wanted it back, but for now I didn’t mind the change. It really did suit her.

  Reaching into the bag yet again, she pulled out a packet of chocolate bullets and tossed them at me. “Those are for fixing my Netflix and rangehood, Oh, and the laundry door.” She winked. “Also, you can stop eating mine now.”

  I caught the packet and laughed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes you do. Now, back to Hillary. How was she different?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Quiet. Distant. Preoccupied.”

  “Okay, but that’s not exactly cause for concern.” Tash poured a glass of wine, took a sip, and then passed it to me.

  “Thanks, love. Look, I know it’s no real cause for concern, but I just have a gut feeling something isn’t right. She’s not normally so withdrawn and sulky.”

  “Still … I don’t think that’s sufficient evidence,” she mumbled.

  “Okay, well, on Friday, when she was in the loo and I was standing by her desk, her phone vibrated with a message. I couldn’t help it and read what I could see.”

  “You what?” she exclaimed, a piece of chicken leaving her mouth and landing on a client’s ASIC report. “Shit! Sorry.” She leaned forward, picked it up, and put it back in her mouth then wiped the report clean with her sleeve. “I hope that’s not important.”

  It kinda was, but I dismissed her concern. “Na, don’t worry about it. Anyway, I didn’t pick up Hill’s phone and go through it. I just read what popped up on the screen. It was a message from her new boyfriend, Robbie, and he was apologising for saying something real fucking horrible to her.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. Something about her arse. Whatever it was, it was enough to make her cry, which was why she went to the loo.”

  “That’s horrible, but where does the ‘physically hurt her’ bit come into play?”

  “I took her to lunch that day, when I realised how upset she was. I thought maybe she’d confide in me.”

  “Did she?”

  “Yeah, a little. She mentioned that this Robbie guy was never happy. Never liked anything she did for him. She basically said, in so many words, that he had a temper and snapped at her a lot.” I gulped my wine. “He’s not good news. I just know it.”

  “From what you’ve said, I agree. But that doesn’t mean he’s physically hurting her.”

  “Did you notice her limping before?”

  She shook her head. “No. Why? What happened?”

  “Said she fell down her front steps and hurt her hip.” I shook my head, adamantly. “I’m not buying it.”

  “Why not? Falling down steps is a thing, you know?”

  I raised my eyebrow at her. “She couldn’t look me in the eye when she was dishing out the story of how it happened, love.”

  “Maybe she was just embarrassed, or felt like a clumsy idiot?”

  “Naaaa.” I shoved my roll into my mouth and took a big bite. “E’s ying.”

  “What?”

  “She’s lying,” I repeated, swallowing my mouthful. “I know she’s hiding something. I can just tell.”

  Eying me over the ri
m of her glass, Tash took a long sip of her wine. “Maybe she is, maybe she’s not. It’s none of your business, though.”

  “So, what … am I just supposed to sit back and let her get beaten up?”

  “No. That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is you have no proof of what’s happening.”

  I leaned my chair back and crossed my leg, resting my foot on my knee. “Then I’ll get proof.”

  “How,” she asked, pulling a bit of chicken out of her roll and dangling it above her mouth before dropping it.

  “I’ll keep encouraging her to open up to me. Make her feel safe, all big brother-like.”

  “And then what … you’ll find where he lives and beat the crap out of him?”

  The idea had definitely crossed my mind. What I wouldn’t give to go a few rounds with the little fucker if he was, in fact, hurting Hill in any way.

  “Possibly, yes.”

  Tash stopped eating and pierced me with her eyes, a warning as such.

  “Okay. I’d protect her. I’d report him to the police, help her get rid of him … that sort of thing.”

  Silence settled in the space between us until she finished her roll, rubbed her hands together, and picked up her wine. “You’re a good man, oh husband of mine. It’s one of the things I love most about you, but …” she said tipping her glass and emptying it down her throat. “Just be careful, okay? There could be a whole lot more at stake than you realise.”

  * * *

  I was buzzing after Tash left the office. Things between us were great. Yeah, they were up and down, as per usual, but still great. More than great. Our marriage of late seemed to be a whole lot of new and old all rolled into one. Familiar but different. Unexpected but comfortable. And I wandered if it was all due to Bryce’s advice, and if it were, where the fuck had he been for the past ten years of my life.

  Ever since chatting to him and Derek at Thomas’s birthday party, I’d viewed my role of husband in the bedroom differently. I’d accepted that, yes, I was and should be the pants wearer, and that Tash, although sexy, beautiful and breathtaking in my eyes, needed me to convince her of the same thing. She needed my actions to mirror my thoughts. And, in the bedroom, my thoughts were filthy, sweet, a hell of a lot dirty, and nothing but love.