Because (Seven Year Itch #4)

by Jennifer Foor

"Ab could wake up any minute." I need an excuse to stop this madness. Why did we always end up in this predicament?

  "She's out cold. Besides, I locked the bathroom door. Come on, Shay. Can you at least pretend you like me? Last night was rough. We need this."

  I try to shove him away. "You might need this, but I don't expect sex to solve my problems. It can only complicate them more.”

  His hands are groping each of my breasts. I’m falling victim to his touch again, this time too drained to fight. His lips find mine. His kiss is hungry, silently making a path for what will come. I’m weak. I can’t stop this from happening because so many parts of me don’t want it to. I need this to remind me there is hope for us. Be that as it may, I know sex has never really been the obstacle. We’re too different people, both stubborn and unwilling to change.

  I bring my hand over his cock and take hold. He’s reluctant to allow me permission after what happened earlier. I hear him suck in a deep breath and stare into my eyes questioning his own safety. I drag my lips over his as I speak. “I won’t hurt you. You’re right. I need you.” I start with a comfortable stroke to allow him time to relax. He takes both hands and places them on my shoulders, pushing me down just enough to comprehend what it implies. He wants my lips around his cock. My mouth waters as my knees bend, bringing me closer to his groin. I’m now face to face with his stiff erection. My mouth is starved with anticipation. I don’t love doing this, but satisfying him has always turned me on. I try to look sexy as I bring my tongue closer, running his soft head over my bottom lip ever so gently. He leans back against the opposite wall and runs fingers through my wet hair. Doing this is penance for making him miserable. I need to prove to myself that I can bring him something other than loathing.

  I take him in my mouth, his girth a firm fit in between my lips. Fresh water trickles down his body, a water trail running across his shaft. I taste it as I work to lubricate it with my saliva. The metallic flavor crosses my tongue as I suck him fully. The way I move is slow at first. I don’t want to go too fast to prevent my jaw from cramping. If he wants a blow job, I’m going to give him one to remember. I owe myself the benefit of knowing I’m still good at something, because everything else I touch seems to turn to shit.

  I’m getting into it, my rhythm steady and paced. I massage his balls with my free hand, taking my index finger and running it over his asshole and taint. He’s gripping my hair and trying to be in control, but I’m too involved to allow him to lead. This is my task, not his. While sucking harder I apply pressure to his ass with my one finger. He clenches up, preventing me from taking it any further. I laugh with a full mouth at my failed attempt to violate him. He likes this, I know it. It’s a dirty game we play.

  I’d never tell anyone his secrets. It’s one thing I like keeping to myself. There are parts of Bran he’s never shared with anyone else and I value that. I try again, this time the tip breaking through. He groans as I push gently, still bobbing my head over his rock hard dick. He’s really into it now.

  My cheeks are starting to hurt, but I forge on determined to finish this. I’m so turned on I can feel my pussy throbbing between my legs. I want to be touched and taken care of, but not until I know I’ve done this to the best of my ability. When I can tell he’s losing his grip I go faster. I’m gagging but still giving it my all, my little finger penetrating his ass even further. Then I feel him tightening. He’s trying to push me away, but I remain. I want his load. It’s mine. I’ve earned it. When I first taste the salty substance in my mouth I drive my finger in as far as I can go. He quakes over me, his knees weakened as he tries his hardest to remain standing. I’ve done what I set out to accomplish. He’s crumbling before me – because of me. It’s an achievement I don’t take lightly.

  I let him have his moment before pulling away, wiping the remnants from my face while swallowing what hasn’t seeped from my mouth. My lips are stinging from working so hard, my cheeks hurt. I’m under the impression our moment is over. He’s gotten what he’s come for and he’ll go to bed.

  Brandon never kisses me after I’ve sucked him off. He brings his lips close to my mouth and shoves my face to the side. He licks up my neck while I feel his hand coming down over my pussy. The second his palm grazes it I crumble. His touch is like an electric shock. Jolts of excitement rip through my body. He circles my clit with a couple fingers, his lips brushing against my ear lobe. I’m falling apart at the seams and he’s just begun. I don’t know how much it will take to bring me over the edge, but I’m about to find out.

  Brandon uses his middle finger to drive inside of me first. I can feel his fingernail as it makes it’s exploration. I want to kiss my husband, but it’s out of the question. I’ll have to appreciate all the other good things he knows how to do to me instead. I watch as he lowers down. I expect him to use his mouth, but instead he only watches what he’s already doing. He leans his head against my inner thigh for a closer view. My breathing is strained as I try to contain myself. “I want to watch your pussy contract when I make you come, Shay. Show me how good I make you feel,” he says while applying a circular pattern against my swollen clit. I’m becoming weak, my knees shaking as I crumble. I’m losing my grip and it’s what he wants. I hear him groaning as I begin to crescendo. Tiny cries escape my lips as waves of euphoria come crashing down. I’m withering, breathless, and completely content.

  Bran rises to his feet and brings his lips to my forehead. He holds them there for a brief moment and then backs away. “We need to stop fighting and find a common ground, Shay. Not just for Ab, but for us too. Something has to give. When you’re a bitch none of us can be happy. I’m sorry I didn’t answer the call, but I don’t need your permission to do things. I shouldn’t have to go through hell every time I want to walk out the door. Get over yourself. If you can’t then I don’t know what to tell you anymore.”

  I watch him exit the shower but say nothing. He’s right. Something has to give, and I’m sick of waiting for him to make the change. If I want something done right I’m sure as hell going to have to do it myself.

  I hate admitting it, but maybe he has a point. Moping around miserable wasn’t helping me change the way our relationship has molded into a loveless cesspool of negativity. I wasn’t the only one to blame, though. If he treated me better I wouldn’t feel so insecure. The monotony of our lifestyle has turned us into people I no longer wanted to admit exist. I wasn’t just living a lie, it was more like I was putting up a façade for everyone else to see, while drowning in an ocean of denial.

  Something had to give for sure.

  If it didn’t I was afraid where our life was headed.

  People couldn’t understand what it was like for me. They assumed abuse was physical. On the outside I was still the same person I’d always been; a little extra baggage affixed to my ass, but the same general happy-go-lucky personality. Only the few closest to me heard me complain about our troubles, and in all honesty I was too ashamed to admit everything I lived with on a daily basis.

  Denial is a bitch to accept.

  Seven years of marriage and I couldn’t remember the last time I went a day without shedding a tear. I tried to mask my emotions by acting as if my marriage was a beautiful example of how two young people could manage to make it work. I’d go as far as to conjure up lies in order to hide the truth.

  My husband wasn’t there for me – not when I needed him to be, with the exception of it having to do with Aberdeen. There was always something more important going on in his life.

  Don’t get me wrong. He wasn’t a terrible person. Contrary to how I may be making him seem, he was a genuinely kind person. He helped anyone that asked, and offered assistance even when they didn’t. He was generous and considerate to everyone he came in contact with, with me being the only exception. When he came home he was a different person. All of his frustrations were taken out on me, as if I was some kind of emotional punching bag. I didn’t get it. Where had I gone wrong? Why did he hate me?
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  Then I thought about what we’d just done together. Was he only fulfilling his own selfish needs or did he want me as much as I always wanted him? I didn’t understand him at all. Sex solved everything in his eyes, and I hated that. He either couldn’t stand the sight of me, or he was trying to get in my pants. He was like Jekyll and Hyde, but the stakes were my damaged heart.

  He’d been the one to make me hate myself, inside and out. Looking in the mirror wasn’t an easy task for me, but I did it for the second time since entering the bathroom. I could see flaws in every spot. I was always looking for reasons my husband wouldn’t want me anymore. I had stretch marks across my hips and tummy, ones he’d always been eager to point out. I felt used and abused, like an old chair ready to go to the landfill. Couldn’t he see that’s how I felt when he talked down to me? When he touched me was he cringing inside? Was I his biggest regret?

  I close my eyes before dressing, praying to God for a solution that wouldn’t tear my family apart. I don’t expect a verbal answer, but a sign would be just as appreciated. I’m out of ideas, and too stubborn to come up with a way to fix things myself. I need advice, but have no one to confide in.

  I’m terrified of walking out the door and him not begging me to return. What if it’s what he wants? What if he treats me like a dog because he wants me to leave without having to force my hand?

  With a million scenarios running through my mind there is only one thing I know for certain. I can’t have the life I want unless I do something drastic to make it happen.

  Hell or high water it was time to stop dwelling and face my fears. If Brandon couldn’t love me the way I deserved then he didn’t deserve me at all.

  Chapter 6

  After taking Aberdeen to my mothers, I head into work my four hours at Target. I like my job. It’s easy and it gets me out of the house. I would have liked to stay home since my daughter had gone to the hospital, but they’ve hired someone new I’m supposed to train and four hours isn’t that long to be away from her. Besides, my mother raised me and took good care of me. She’d do the same for my child, so I don’t have to worry.

  After clocking in, I make my way to the women’s department and start folding some clothes that are out of order. Our newest shipment will come in later this afternoon and I need things to be neat for the next shift. Out of the corner of my eye I notice someone approaching me. She’s in a red polo shirt with khaki pants on. A name tag that’s handwritten sits on her right breast reading ‘Char’.

  I extend my hand out, realizing she’s the newest hire. “Hi. I’m Shayla.”

  “Char. It’s nice to meet you. They told me to come over here. Am I in the right place?”

  “Yep.” Right away I’m taken back by her beauty. She’s not just physically fit. Her figure is perfect, her skin an olive tone, while her makeup appears to be airbrushed on. If I would have seen this girl while in the presence of my husband I’d be completely worried he’d fall in lust. Her long blonde hair is down to the crack of her ass. Its naturally wavy with a hint of high and lowlights scattered around. As she smiles at me I notice her bright white teeth and eyes as green as emeralds. More than anything she reminds me of the girl I used to be; the carefree one who would do anything to get what she wanted. I envied her youth, and the way she could walk across a room and catch the attention of anyone around.

  She could definitely pull off being on the cover of a magazine. “What brings you to Target?” I ask. It’s a friendly question. She couldn’t be more than twenty, if that. I wondered if she’d just moved to the area, perhaps with a boyfriend.

  “I needed a job while I’m going to school.”

  “College?” I assume.

  “Yeah. For now I’m at Chesapeake. I wanted to go to Washington, but the registration cut off before I could get there. My family lives across the Bay Bridge in Columbia. They’d already secured a place for me to live over here, so I figured I’d take some classes and then transfer.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Washington College in Chestertown Maryland was a hard school to get into, and the tuition alone could break the bank. It was a good school with old roots. She was lucky her parents could afford it. “What are you majoring in?”

  “English.”

  “My worst subject,” I exclaim.

  “My father is a literature professor, well he was before he retired. It’s kind of in my blood. I’ve always loved to read. I guess I’m sort of a nerd.”

  Was she crazy? Has she looked in a mirror? “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  For the next few hours I show her how to work each zone. We focus on making sure every article of clothing is folded and neat. Char tells me about her family and her life. She talks about a boyfriend she still keeps in touch with who lives over an hour away, but I say nothing about being married, though I’m sure she’s noticed the ring I wear on my left finger. When my shift is over I feel like she’s a good person, but still not one I’d be willing to bring home to introduce to my husband.

  I climb in my car to leave and break down. It says a lot when I can’t have friends over because I’m afraid they’ll try to sleep with my husband. Everyone is a threat, and as much as I don’t want it to be true, I can’t help but think it.

  After I pick up Aberdeen and arrive home I’m in a fowl mood. It’s self inflicted, and I’m bitter about that. I scroll through my phone and call Brandon. He answers after the third ring. “Hey, babe. What’s up?”

  Just like nothing happened the night before, he’s calm and collected. I wonder if he’s around other people. “Nothing. I just got home. I was checking in. Ab still hasn’t gotten sick again. She seems fine now.”

  “Good. Listen, I’ll probably be late getting home tonight. We have a meeting at five and then the guys were going to go out for dinner.”

  “When were you going to tell me about it?” I was becoming angry. “If I didn’t call were you even going to let me know?”

  “Don’t start on me, Shay. I just found out about it fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes and do my best to calm down before I say something I know will set him off. “So I guess you won’t be eating with us tonight?”

  “Is that going to be a problem?” He said it with authority, it irritated me. He wasn’t my father, he was supposed to be my equal. “Hello?”

  “No. Just do what you want. We’ll be here when you get home.” I hung up before he could say anymore. I don’t know why I expected him to act differently. Aberdeen was better and he had no reason to rush home for us.

  Settled on the fact that I couldn’t do anything about it, I sit down and watch television while Aberdeen plays in her room.

  A tap on my arm wakes me. I’m still tired from the previous night and must have fallen asleep. My daughter stands in front of me with her hands on her hips. “Mommy, I’m hungry and it’s dark outside.”

  I’m immediately alerted by this, so I jump up and head to the kitchen where I find it to be after six. She’s followed me. I spin around and address her. “I’m sorry. I must have dozed off. What would you like to eat? I’ll make you anything you want.”

  “Pizza,” she says with her two missing front teeth showing.

  I tap on my chin and consider having pizza on a non-scheduled night. We usually order on Thursdays when it’s buy one get one at the local delivery place. “Okay, but on one condition. You have to get a bath while we wait for it to be delivered.”

  She smiles and wiggles her body from side to side. “Okay.” She then searches the room. “When will Daddy be home?”

  I look at the clock again, even though I already know the time. He said he had a meeting at five and then was going to go out with people from work. “I don’t know. Do you want me to call and see?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m going to order dinner first and then I’ll call him. Go on and start the water. Don’t forget to take your pajamas in the bathroom with you. Top drawer of your dresser, young lady. Don’t you dare
pull everything out either.” She was notorious for making a disaster of her folded clothes just to find one item. I was constantly refolding, and since I did it four days a week at Target, I didn’t want to spend extra time doing it over again.

  She hurried out of the room while I made a quick call to get dinner on the way. Afterwards I hit the button to dial Brandon and waited for him to answer. It rang three times, and just as I was about to hang up I heard a female’s voice. “Hello. Brandon’s phone.”

  “Where is Brandon? Who is this?”

  “I’m just a girl you obviously don’t know.”

  “Well, girl I don’t know, where is my husband?”

  She giggled. I could hear cheering behind her. “He’s preoccupied at the moment. I think he’s dancing, but it’s pretty crowded. Maybe you should call him back later.”

  I opened my mouth to order her to get him, but noticed the line had gone silent. She hung up on me.

  I was furious.

  This wasn’t happy hour with the guys. He was out at some bar living it up while I was home with his daughter, trying to be both a mother and father in his absence.

  It took everything I had in me to keep calm for Aberdeen’s sake. For once, I promise myself I won’t overreact. I’m going to push through my fears and wait until he comes home and explains. If I want to fix my marriage I can’t continue to accuse him of anything when there could be a logical explanation as to why he’s dancing at a bar while a female picks up his phone and answers.

  Who am I kidding? I’m freaking out. This is exactly what is ruining my marriage; my inability to trust my husband.

  It’s hard to get through dinner when my mind is drowning with worry. I can’t eat, and watching my daughter scarf down two whole pieces makes me want to vomit. I manage to keep her occupied so she doesn’t ask what’s wrong. I can’t involve her in one of our fights. She’s overheard too many as it is.

  After dinner I tuck her into bed. I’m wide awake at this point, eager to get to the bottom of the newest mystery. I think in some ways I knew if I caught him in the act I’d be able to stop assuming. I want the truth, even if it will crush me completely.