Seven Year Itch Book 4
Jennifer Foor
Betas: Kayla, Kristy, Amanda, Emma, David, Catherine
Thank you for taking the time to read Because. Like the rest of the series, these books are based on true events.
This book is a written act of fiction. Any places, characters, or similarities are purely coincidence. If certain places or characters are referenced it is for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This book is not allowed to be offered for sale, discounted, or free on any sites not authorized by the author. This book may only be distributed by Jennifer Foor, the owner and Author of this series.
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Chapter 1
His luscious lips course over mine ever so gently while lingering hands find the places he knows so well. He’s thirsty for this kiss, hungry to please me until the pain and worry has subsided. He’s determined, his mission clear and redundant. He knows what needs to be done to reassure my fears. He’s skilled like that, only displaying his knowledge when it counts the most. In a way I’m envious of this. I wish I could solve all my problems with physical actions, rather than fall victim to my own uncertainties.
I lift my hands and graze them over his hard biceps. My nails dig into the skin, gratifying me more than he could begin to imagine. I want him to hurt, and since I can’t make it happen on an emotional level, I’ll settle for the pain. My own face is soiled in tears, but soon they’ll be forgotten, at least temporarily. Like a depraved savage I accept this act of passion, because it is the only type of distraction powerful enough to relieve the constant ache I’m burdened with.
The stoke of his tongue glides over my lips, giving me every reason to part them. He suckles on the lower one, his hot bourbon filled breath a constant reminder of another reason this was happening. Our quarrelsome relationship is like fire to gasoline. On a cold winter’s night where the snow covers everything in its path, we’re protected, but like every hot summer the match is always waiting to ignite.
In this situation his petulant attitude isn’t relevant. I can overlook his actions for my own personal needs. We are beyond talking, or trying to come to a solution. There would be no common ground – there never was. Brandon always got what he wanted, even when he knew damn well it would break me to pieces.
There was a time where the man in front of me was everything I thought I wanted. He’d always been handsome, his light hazel eyes alluring me from across the lunchroom back in high school. His body was more stacked than the other guys our age. It was obvious he was physically fit, even if you didn’t know he was on the football, lacrosse and wrestling teams. He was popular and full of himself, which was what drew me to do whatever necessary to capture his attention, including putting out early on in the relationship. I wanted to be the only girl on his radar and I succeeded. We were just kids, still too naïve to consider the consequences of unprotected sex. Back then he was the bad boy every girl wants the challenge of taming. He was known for being a player, having his choice of females lining up for the chance. I didn’t know any better. I used what little I knew about sex and jumped at the opportunity to date the sexiest guy in my graduating class.
Then we got pregnant.
Seven years later I’m married to someone I love with my whole heart, but also loath at the same time.
With each of his kisses giving me moments to rationalize about what was about to take place, I knew I had to push the pain aside and enjoy what little pleasure he was offering.
It wasn’t like I’d lose myself if I fell into this bought of frolicking. I deserved restitution for what this man put me through day in and day out. I was his puppet, the one person he chose to walk all over in order to feel empowered. By day he might take me for granted, the grieving wife no one seemed to believe, but every so often he’d come to me, determined to remind me of the reasons why I couldn’t be without him. My boastful husband allured me with years worth of practiced charm. With one kiss I was already fighting a losing battle. Mind over matter. Pain v/s pleasure. Which would you choose?
Lost in another tender kiss, I felt my only article of clothing being removed. My white cotton panties I’d just managed to put on after a long hot shower to relieve my latest anxiety attack. He backed me up against the bathroom vanity, the cold marble top giving me a chill starting at my ass. Then his hands were there, cupping each cheek and protecting them from the hard service beneath me. Drunk off the idea of being in this predicament, I reach my arms under his and lift them onto each shoulder. It gave me an advantage to keep him close so our make out session wouldn’t end prematurely. Times like this were hard to come by. We weren’t used to having moments where we could sneak off and have sex, not with a seven year old running around with some kind of special radar that could detect any type of physical contact between her father and myself. It never failed. The moment we would touch she’d somehow come out of nowhere and intervene.
“We don’t have much time,” Brandon managed to say in between hungry kisses. “I’m going to fuck you in here so she can’t interrupt.”
Normally I’d be against locking the door to keep our daughter away, but I knew I needed to be selfish sometimes. For most of the day I’d been a nervous wreck, so naturally any reprieve was a good thing. I nod and pull him hard against my body, wrapping my legs around his waist to assure his position. “We’ll have to be quiet.”
Brandon stuck out his tongue and teased my mouth with it. Soft prickles shot to each of my limbs, especially my cold, exposed hardened nipples, which happened to be rubbing over his firm chest. I expect him to lift me onto the sink and spread my legs. Sex with my husband is never passionate or gentle. We don’t have time for romance, and he wasn’t the type of man to want to make any for it. When Brandon wanted sex he’d come for it, and we’d fuck. I was settled on the fact that making love only happened once in a blue moon, and I was beginning to believe it wasn’t going to happen again until Hell froze over.
I watch him sink down to his knees until he’s face to face with my exposed, starved pussy. My chest is heaving faster as he narrows in on my most private of areas. The whiskers of his chin hair graze over my sensitive skin. He does it again, this time his hazel eyes watch for my reaction. I take my hand and dig it into his thick dark hair. This is the type of attention I always receive when he wants to do something I don’t agree with. At times like this, his affection is copious and appreciative, but also with malice. He is doing this for one reason alone, and it isn’t out of the goodness of his heart.
My husband needs to go to school for how to treat a woman. He thinks sexual rewards were some kind of bonus package only needed to buy a night out with his friends.
Who thinks like that?
With him nibbling at the base of my pussy, about to go at it until I’m unable to control myself, I’m not about to complain or do anything to cause him to stop. This is something I not only desire, but desperately require. Hell-bent on taking advantage of the situation, I keep my mouth shut while his tongue flicks at my clit. My body jerks, my hand holding onto his hair so he won’t pull away. Two fingers rub my wetness over my lower lips before they plunge inside of me. He keeps at it, licking my bud in a circular pattern while swift movements soothe my welcoming walls. While trying to watch him work, I catch my tits bo
bbing around, my nipples are so hard they could shatter glass. I suck on my bottom lip until I can taste the blood filling inside of it, then bite down. I’m close.
Like electricity flowing through a cord, I feel my body responding to such actions. Every inch of me has awakened. No longer do our problems matter. I’m taken back by his attempt to please me, no matter his reason. When wild sensations rip me apart, I cling to his scalp, my hips lifting as the orgasm takes control.
Within seconds I’m a puddle of mush. I lay there in front of him, my body shakes profusely.
He pushes away from me to fetch a wet towel from the tile floor, spreading it out while motioning for me. “Turn around and get on your knees, babe. I’ll get behind you so I can come all over that fat ass. I’m so fucking turned on I’m about to blow my load.”
I used to be offended when he said that to me. His crude words were what drove me to take extremes to lose the baby weight at first. I tried starving myself. I stuck my finger down my throat for months. Then I decided nothing was going to work if I didn’t stick to something permanently. Let’s face it, I’d never been a supermodel. My mom is a full-figured woman. Even my dad is stocky. Having big bones was in my blood. Brandon knew this when he married me. It wasn’t like I’d kept it a secret. I’d even joked about it with him when we were in high school, asking if he’d still love me if I gained weight and lost all attractiveness. Back then he’d reassured me, telling me he’d never let it happen anyway. He said I was his beautiful china doll. He used to say I had the most beautiful face he’d ever seen. He’d stare into, what he called, his favorite gray eyes and promise nothing could make him stop loving me. He’d even reassured me I was still attractive when I cut off my long brown locks for a pixie cut after I’d first discovered I was with child.
Pregnancy screwed me up. I gained sixty seven pounds while I was carrying our daughter. I stopped wearing makeup, and basically let myself go. It wasn’t like it was intentional. I was too caught up in becoming a mother to realize what was happening to me. My priorities had shifted, and for a while I was preparing for motherhood instead of worrying about what I looked like each day.
After delivery, I lost eighteen pounds. Since then I’ve struggled to get back to my original size, and through trials of desperate attempts at anything that could possibly work I’ve lost myself in an ocean of low self-esteem.
Brandon always says when he talks about my fat ass he means it in a sexy way. I’ve never been an expert on dirty talk, but I am pretty certain there are other things he could suggest instead. Even so, I did as I was told, settled on any touch being better than none at all. As my knees hit the floor something inside of me snapped. I have no idea what got into me. One second I’m content and the next I’m flying off the deep end. Maybe it’s because I’m tired of his head games. Perhaps I’m finally sick of feeling degraded. Its possible I have finally reached my lowest of lows. Despite not knowing what would happen, I flip over and take ahold of his erect cock. My teeth grit together as words begin to escape me. “I’m not a fucking dog, Brandon. If you can’t look me in the eyes and want every part of me then it’s not happening at all. I’m done being your shit bag.”
He leans back, sitting on his legs while still kneeling. His arms cross over his chest as he smirks. I could tell he wants to laugh. He doesn’t believe I have the power to take control. “You’re going to pull this after what I just gave you?”
“You act like it was some duty. You made me come. Big freaking deal. You’ve had over seven years to practice. I’m not a job for you. I’m your wife. I’m supposed to be your best friend. Giving me pleasure shouldn’t be some difficult task.”
He chuckles and shakes his head, his curled face lets me know he isn’t pleased. “Yeah right. A friend.” He can’t contain himself. “You’re the last person I’d ever call a friend. You nag me worse than my mother. You tell me what I can and can’t do. If you wanted to be my friend you’d get off my damn back and let me breathe. You keep saying I’m the bad guy, but you’re the one bitching. I haven’t changed a damn bit. It’s you. You’re not the person I married. I don’t know what the hell happened to her.”
“Stop being like this. I only want what is best for our family. You’re the one who wanted to get married in the first place. I didn’t hold a gun to your head.” I was fully aware we were both standing in the bathroom naked. If someone was peeping through the windows they were probably laughing their asses off. This was how we fought on a daily basis. Neither one of us could accept we both had equal responsibility for our marriage issues. “No one will love you like I do, Bran. Why can’t you see that? I’m not your enemy. I just want to be your equal. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
He takes a few steps and grabs his pants off the floor, holding them as he speaks. “I’m not doing this with you tonight. I’ve got places to be.”
“Like strip clubs?”
“There you go again, always assuming I’m a piece of shit.”
“No, I just know how you and your friends are. They’d be happy if we broke up. They want you to have your freedom. I’m not an idiot. They don’t care about breaking up our family.” I was getting choked up. “I want you to stay home with us. For me. Please. I’m asking you this one time. Don’t be mad. Stop fighting with me over it. Let’s hang out together. We can get a movie or play with Aberdeen.”
“I already told my friends I’m going out. It’s a done deal.”
I cross my arms, feeling defeated. “Fine. If you walk out that door I’m packing your shit and driving it to your mother’s house.” It was something I always said as a last resort.
This amuses him. “Bullshit. You don’t have anything without me. I pay the bills. I give you the money that puts food on the table. I’m the one who pays when you want to eat out. You’d lose it all without me.”
“Don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”
“Maybe I do. I’m sick of you always trying to be right about everything. You won’t let me do what I want. You have no trust for me whatsoever. I work fifty hours a week so you can have a nice house. All you do is complain.”
“It’s your job as my husband to take care of me, as I do for you. I give ninety percent and you give ten, if that.”
“That’s hilarious. You assume you have it all figured out.” He rubs his face. “I never wanted this. You trapped me when you got pregnant, but I’ve never blamed you, not once.” His hands wave around in my direction. Immediately I feel wretched, like I’m just a fat piece of shit he can’t stand being married to. “You think I can’t get something better?” This was a common threat. When I complain this was what he always throws in my face. “I don’t have to be here, Shay. You’re lucky I’ve stuck around this long.”
Call it a gut reaction, or maybe the fact that he is glutton for punishment, but my knee jerks, driving force right between his legs. Never in my life have I ever heard of someone getting kicked where the sun doesn’t shine while they are erect. I watch my tough husband collapse onto the floor in excruciating pain. With my hands coming up to shield my amusement, I feel a sting come back to my eyes. Inflicting pain on him wasn’t my goal. I don’t want violence to take control of the situation. “Shit. Bran, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.”
He shoves me away. “Get the fuck off of me. What the hell, Shayla?”
A short cackle leaks from my lips. “You wouldn’t have gotten kicked if you weren’t being a dick. All I’ve ever asked is for you to love me. Is it that hard? Do you have any idea how it feels to hear you say those things to me?”
“Quit your griping. I’m the one on the floor, probably sterile now. Damn woman. I’m dying here, and you’re still blabbing about what you want. Just shut the fuck up already.”
I reach for him again, unable to give up trying. “Are you okay?”
“I will be once I’m away from you.”
I pull my legs up to my chest and begin to cry as I watch him sit up straight and slow his breathing. “I
think you should stay home tonight. I might have caused internal injuries.”
“I think you should suck my dick, but you’d probably screw that up too.” He promptly stands. “You’re lucky if I come home at all after the shit you just pulled. Do me a favor. Don’t do that shit you always do. I’m putting my phone on silent this time. Oh, and I’m not driving, so don’t even consider getting in the car to hunt me down. I’m meeting Toby and we’re leaving my car at his house. I’m not letting you embarrass me again in front of the guys. I’m still hearing shit about it.”
“Please don’t go. Don’t leave mad.”
“Mad?” His eyes are filled with anger and nothing else. “You just kicked me in the balls when I was about to fuck you. You’ve given me shit about going out for a week. I’m tired of this. You’re not my mother. Get that through your damn head.”
“I never said I was.”
“Yeah, you don’t have to say it. I’ve never been punished more than this shamble of a marriage. I’ll see you when I see you.” I don’t follow him when he exits the room. It would only make him more angry. I’ve given it my best shot to keep him home, and failed like every other time.
Twenty minutes later I hear the sound of his Mustang firing up and the gravel kicking as the tires maneuver out of the driveway. The sound of feet let me know my daughter is coming. It isn’t like her to take an evening nap, but she’d been at T-ball practice and it wore her out. I wipe my eyes and do my best to recover from my latest bought of tears to reassure her nothing is wrong. This is my life. No matter how hard I try to turn away, I know I’d never be able to let go. Too much is at stake, and losing everything I care about isn’t an option.
Chapter 2
Before I continue with my story I think it’s safe to admit I’ve always been a romantic, seemly decided on finding Mr. Right while I was young and living out the rest of my life happy and in love.
Because (Seven Year Itch #4) Page 1
