by Xavier Neal
“Na-huh,” Kyle argues.
“Ya-huh.”
“Na-huh.”
“Ya-huh!”
“Na-”
“Enough!” Eddie huffs.
“Are you okay?” My voice struggles not to panic. “Are you hurting?”
“I’m fine,” Kyle reassures. “Dad took us for ice cream, and chocolate chip explosion made everything better.”
I try to smile. “Imagine that.”
“Bed,” their father heavily sighs.
“We haven’t read books yet,” Kenny complains loudly.
“I know. I was gonna have you read ‘em to Mom so she could see how well you’re both doing with it, but she needs to…go.” He swallows his displeasure. “You can read ‘em to me in just a minute.”
Kyle scampers away, but Kenny requests, “Can we also read another chapter in The Bad Beginning?”
“Of course, bud.”
Kenny joyfully jumps off our bed and sprints to his room.
“When did Kenny start reading bigger chapter books?”
“A little before Christmas,” Eddie quietly informs. “His teacher made a coy suggestion at the holiday party that we buy him books on a much more advanced reading level and emailed us some recommendations on where she believed he should start in order to be challenged.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”
“When?” His vicious bite clips my vocal chords. “When could I have possibly told you any fuckin’ thing? When is there time? When do you make time for us the way you’re makin’ time to go out and get a drink or gamble or whatever bullshit it is you’re all made up to do?” He runs his hands through his disheveled hair before grumbling, “You look amazin’ by the way.”
I sheepishly state, “Thank you.”
“It’d be nice to have the opportunity to personally appreciate that shit once in a while.”
“Superman-”
“You know outside of my little brothers gettin’ married.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t point out how I was almost late to Blake’s and Abby’s wedding two weekends ago.
“It’d be nice to see you look like this out on a date…or double date. Kinda like we used to.”
“Superman-”
“Kinda like how I always made sure to be home so we could…so we could have at least one night together in a month.”
My objection is even more choked than before. “Eddie-”
“Don’t.” His denial sends an ache straight to my chest. “Just…go. Enjoy your night. I’m sure it’s deserved. Something tells me sittin’ around for hours learnin’ about minced meat would push anyone to need a drink.”
“Eddie-”
“Gotta go put our boys to bed.” The smile he manages to muster up is cloaked in anguish. “Text me when you get back, please. I’d like to know my wife and her new friend made it safely to their room.”
“I can call!”
His head shake deepens the pain. “I’ll be asleep. After all, it’s a school night.”
“Eddie-”
“Dad!” Kyle hollers. “Can we read The Duckling Gets a Cookie!? and Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus?”
“Yup,” the defeat in his expression ignites my own. “Night, Sienna. I love you.”
“I-” is all that makes it out before I’m looking at an ended call.
Tears cling to the back of my throat as my grip on the device loosens.
Is my mother right?
Is my job ruining my marriage?
My relationship with my kids?
Should I go back to being a stay-at-home mom where everything was easier even if it wasn’t necessarily better? Should I sacrifice the joy I’ve discovered for the one only my kids can give me? Should I desert my newfound independence and self-worth to give more to my family and the man I was constantly mad at for making less severe decisions when he was in these shoes? Will I ever be able to find a balance? Is there any way to successfully have my cake and eat it too?
Chapter 8
There’s nothing better than having my wife face down, ass up.
Sienna screams her enjoyment into the feather pillow.
And fuck, there’s no hotter sound in the world than her having to hide her pleasure from the outside world.
What can I say?
I’m a selfish bastard.
I want each and every little noise reserved for me.
Public sex is her shit.
Keeping proof of her sexual satiation just for my eyes and ears only is mine.
We’re not always the same person.
Just…often.
My large hands cradle her ass cheeks as I bury my face deeper into the thick, sweet cream her pussy is ceaselessly offering. I languorously lap at the luscious treat dying to dance across my taste buds and groan into every lick I deliver. The added vibration to the situation causes an increase in cries for more. Despite the obvious fact I should rush to get her off considering how little time we have, I greedily relish in the delectable taste I’ve been denied for almost two weeks.
It’s fucking ridiculous how when life gets busy the first thing that suffers is your sex life.
Like who the fuck decided that shit?
Why is being together in that way automatically viewed as the least important?
The least “intimate”?
Do you ever really feel closer to someone than when you’re face first between their private bits or have an area you pray to God they gave a good scrubbing to attached to yours?
Sienna starts to wiggle her hips in a silent request to speed up the process.
But I won’t.
I can’t.
Not knowing the next time she’s going to open her legs like this or sit her pussy on my face has me determined to make this moment last as long as fucking possible.
My hand comes down harshly, spanking the firm area that has only become firmer since her days at the shop began. She squeaks in equal parts approval and protest. Sienna’s body begins to bow, yet I rush my hand along her spine to keep her pinned down.
Keep her at my mercy.
I drag my tongue all the way backwards and rapidly roll it around the tiny hole she’s not afraid to let me into. Goosebumps instantaneously break out underneath my grip. Muffled moans praising the lord above are barely audible courtesy of the makeshift sound blocker. Teasing with just the tip pulls out desperate pants, while sharper, deeper stabs shock her system like they’re tiny jolts of electricity trying to fry her nerves.
Which I am.
I want her to be thinking about this shit all day.
I want her limbs sore.
Her brain having trouble convincing her body into doing the most basic shit.
I want…fuck that…need her remembering how amazing this was so she’ll come home earlier, and I can do this again.
And again.
And fucking again.
I don’t give a shit if she doesn’t touch my dick once during the occasion. I’ll rub one out while she comes on my tongue. It’s typically what I like to do when I’m already having this much fun polishing my name that’s branded between these toned thighs.
Sienna’s moans transform into desperate mumbles, forcing me to return my tongue to the juices anxiously awaiting their turn to be devoured. The delicious flavor instantly turns me into a fiend who can’t seem to feast enough. Fervor is attached to every swipe and suck. Oscillations of driving my tongue deep into her heat and cradling her clit against the tip of it causes her to unabashedly buck backwards. Her hyperactive attempts to ride my tongue are swiftly overthrown. My hold hardens to keep her immobilized. My wet muscle harshly lashes. My savage grunts express my disapproval of her inability to just let me please her. Completely devoted to my mission of receiving another orgasm from out of my wife, I ruthlessly rub every part of my mug against her pussy, creating unpredictable amounts of pressure and friction. She pleads to stop being toyed with, yet I wait until the familiar sound of her breath hitching floods our bedroom before
fulfilling her request. I distribute one final, hard suck to the stiffened nub, and Sienna immediately shatters. Her frame wobbles while pungent proof of her climax coats my tongue. I barbarically growl at the reward and twist my face, determined not to miss a drop. Cherry Pie continues to writhe and whimper, nails mauling the gray sheets I know I need to wash.
What can I say?
Making sure our sons have all their shit clean is infinitely more important than remembering to toss our shit in the washer.
All of a sudden, her face flies up to toss me a heated stare over her shoulder. “What the fuck are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?”
The demand to be properly fucked frees a small chortle.
I’ve barely managed to make it to my knees when there’s a jiggle of our locked bedroom door handle. “Dad…”
Motherfucker.
As close as I am to slipping inside and getting off really quick…I’m sure whatever it is can wait maybe ten minutes? Fuck, if I really have to rush, then seven.
“Dad…” Kenny’s sleepy voice repeats making it impossible to ignore. “I don’t feel good.”
Ah, the abracadabra of making a hard-on disappear.
“Give me a sec, bud,” I call to him, sliding away from the paradise I had my hopes set on. Sienna prepares to reach for my t-shirt that’s on the floor when I deny the action by shaking my head. “Just go ahead and hop in the shower. If he’s already up then it’s a safe bet it’s time for you to be gettin’ ready anyway.”
Her hand motions towards the door. “But-”
“I’ve got him.” My reassurance is accompanied with pulling up an old pair of boxers. “Now, hurry and get in there before he sees you like this, and I have to make up some wild shit about why your face is that red.”
She shoots me a playful wink prior to rushing over to our en suite bathroom.
“Dad!”
One door shuts, and the other is quickly opened. “Right here, bud. What’s wrong?”
Kenny’s frown deepens. “I don’t feel good.”
“Yup. You said that.” Lowering myself to a squat, I ask, “What doesn’t feel good?”
He gently taps his neck.
“Should we just chop it off?”
“Dad,” he unhappily whines.
His poor taking of the simple joke reveals the truth about his level of discomfort.
Whenever he’s faking, a little line that makes him laugh disproves the ailments he’s claiming to have. It’s become my own subtle way to test if he means it or is just trying to avoid something, like giving a short oral report on his favorite song.
I’ll give that fancy private school this.
They make education way more immersive than I remember it ever being.
The back of my hand gently lands on his forehead to check for early signs of a fever. Convinced there might be one, I warmly suggest, “Why don’t you go lay on the couch while I grab the thermometer?”
He nods his compliance.
“Where’s your brother?”
“Still sleepin’.”
“Did his alarm not go off?”
Kenny shakes his head. “Ten more minutes.”
Sonofabitch.
If Kenny actually was healthy, I would’ve gotten to finish instead of having to jerk off in my shower later.
“All right, get on down there.”
“Can I watch TV?”
“Keep it low.”
He nods once more and slinks away, shoulders severely slumped.
Poor bud…
I cross over to the bathroom to retrieve the medical kit Sienna keeps underneath the bathroom sink. Hot air hits me the moment the door is open, and my dick thumps inside my boxers casually questioning if we can join her.
“Is he okay?” She calls from the other side of the glass door.
My attention reaches her movements, which is when my growing erection, once more, disappears.
Nothing like seeing your wife shave her armpits to put a bullet in your urge to be balls deep.
“He says his throat hurts.”
She ceases her actions. “Do you think it’s strep?”
“No clue, Cherry Pie. Haven’t examined the patient yet.” Lowering myself to our cabinets that have a distinct aged wood appearance, I add, “What should I look for besides a fever?”
“Touch his neck and see if his lymph nodes are tender or swollen. If he so much as flinches get him in to see Doctor Klide.”
“Got it,” my muttered response is attached to me grabbing the wicker basket filled with first aid materials.
“It’s probably just allergies bothering him, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“I know.”
“And stay away from giving him hard and crunchy foods that might aggravate his throat more. Even if it is just allergies, the last thing we want is him in more pain. Give him soups or oatmeal. Soft things.”
“Which is the opposite of crunchy,” I tease at the same time I rise to my feet. “I know how to take care of my kids when they don’t feel well, Cherry Pie. I’m not an idiot.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
“Feels like you’re implyin’ it.” My body turns to face the shower, backside resting on the counter space closest to the sink. “I’ve got this. You jus’ worry about tryin’ to make it home for dinner on time tonight, okay?”
There’s no response.
“Sienna…”
“I’ll try, Superman, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
Of course not.
Wouldn’t want me to fucking suffocate.
“So, gettin’ home at a reasonable time is just…off the table? Forever?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then tell me how it is.” I plop the basket on the empty space at my side. “Because I’m tired of barely talkin’ to my wife. Because I’m tired of barely fallin’ asleep with her instead of before her. Because I’m tired of my sons not seein’ her and me not fuckin’ her.”
“Of course this is about sex.”
“This is about bein’ together, Sienna.”
The correction receives no rebuttal.
“This is about makin’ time for us. And I’m not the most patient man…Fuck, if I was, your ass wouldn’t have married me.”
There’s a small snicker from the shower.
“But here I am, holdin’ onto the tiniest portion I can because I know you love this job. Because I know how much it means that you’re out in the world doin’ somethin’ that’s important to you.” A heavy sigh escapes. “I just…I need us to be important to you too.”
“You are!”
“Might feel like that was true if you told them you couldn’t work late occasionally.”
“I do! Just last week-”
“Makin’ real time for your family once a week ain’t gonna cut it for much longer, Cherry Pie. Neither is this workin’ every weekend bullshit.”
Her silence returns.
“While we’re discussing your packed schedule, go ahead and plan for a half day of work on Valentine’s Day.”
“We…we never go out on Valentine’s Day.”
“Yeah, well, this year I thought we’d shake shit up a little. Cashin’ in that babysitting favor with Dawn and Big Foot. We’re gonna go down to South Haven. Got us tickets to go see-”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” The water shuts off, and the door flies open. “I don’t wanna know who it is I’m gonna have to miss.”
My face scrunches in confusion.
“I already agreed to work, so L and his new boyfriend could do something.”
Irritation clings to my vocal chords as I nod my understanding.
“Superman-”
“Don’t even know why I bother.”
“Eddie I-”
The sound of me snatching the basket back into my grip shuts her lips. Rather than say anything else, I storm out, heading for the stairs. Kyle’s alarm starts blaring, and I make a pit stop by his room to tell him h
e can sleep for a few more minutes while I check on his brother. Kyle, much like me, a guy who loves to sleep in, rolls over in content.
