by Durano, Liz
“Just relax, Harlow,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse as he moves lower, his tongue snaking a wet trail down my belly…and lower still. He spreads my legs wide, his breath warm against the inside of my thigh just before he plants a soft kiss on my pussy. A precursor. A taste of things to come. A tease.
I reach for him, curling my fingers in his hair. “Dax…”
His soft kiss is replaced by his tongue and his mouth ravaging me, licking and sucking and probing that it takes my breath away and I’m left panting on the bed, my hips bucking against his face. When my orgasm comes crashing into me, I cry out his name like a prayer, reaching for him, my nails raking over the tops of his shoulders, pulling his hair.
When Dax pulls away, I’m still trembling from my release but I want more. I want him inside me, filling me. I moan his name as he sits up, lining his cock against my opening. He covers my mouth with his as he pushes inside me, filling me even as I taste myself on his tongue.
Then he pulls away to look at me as he fucks me. I almost feel vulnerable under his gaze but I’ve also ever felt sexier, more empowered, and more beautiful than I do now as he makes love to me. They say eyes are the mirror to the soul and with Dax, it’s true. With him, I can be as vulnerable as I can ever be as my release builds with every thrust of his cock, every gasp from his lips, and every breath of my name.
He’s close. I can feel it, and still, he looks at me, taking me in. Seeing me.
“I’m coming, Harlow.” Dax groans as he presses his mouth over mine, our teeth scraping, our breaths mingling as we come together and I’m suddenly swept away, tumbling and turning as my orgasm hits me so hard my body trembles with each wave that comes and with it, the realization that with all the research out there for everything else, nothing can ever measure love. For I love this man more than life itself. I love him with everything I am and everything I will ever be. A simple truth, nothing more.
I don’t know how long I take to come back to reality, but when I do, Dax is watching me again, his gaze soft this time.
“Te amo, Harlow,” he murmurs, kissing my eyelids. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
I trace the hairs on his chest with my fingers. “Is there a word for that in Spanish?”
“Feliz dia de San Valentin,” he murmurs. “Although I’ll stick to te amo, mi amor.”
“And I love you, too, Mr. Drexel,” I say, tracing my finger along his chest. “Sincerely yours, Mrs. Drexel.”
“Shouldn’t it be Dr. James-Drexel?”
I shake my head. “Not here. Here, I’m always Mrs. Drexel. Your Mrs. Drexel.”
“I like the sound of that,” he says, sitting up to pull the covers over us. “Is that going to be permanent?”
“Yes.”
Dax frowns. “Are you serious? About the Mrs part?”
“I am.” I roll on to my side and feel Dax curl his body behind me, his arm wrapped around my waist. He feels warm and safe. “It was always coming to this, Dax. It was simply a matter of when I’d finally accept that I don’t want to go back to being a doctor, seeing patients or operating on them.”
“And you’re sure about this?”
I turn to look at him. “It’s only taken me four years of loving every moment of being your wife and the mother of your kids and being part of your family and network of friends. But yes, I’m sure of it.” I pause, smiling. “That and writing kids’ books about the joys of peeing.”
“Sounds like a great plan.” Dax chuckles, his breath warm against the back of my neck. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Stay away from writing about erections.”
9
Benny
“How are you doing now that Benny’s moved in? It must be a big change for him considering he had his own place for years. And you, too.”
The person asking is Addison and I’m almost tempted to tell her it’s none of her business. But it’s also a good question, as long as I’m not the one answering it. Besides, I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, not when I’m supposed to be hanging out with the guys in the sunroom as they talk about March Madness and the women have retreated into the nursery to talk about whatever women talk about when they’re alone. But since the nursery is right next door to the bathroom and I’m washing my hands, here I am.
“He’s doing great,” Sarah replies. “He’s very hands-on with Atsa and Dyami and we’re pretty… you know, happy.”
As I lather my hands with soap, I frown. I don’t like the hesitation in her voice. It’s as if she’s not sure whether she’s happy. Besides, she never really answered the question.
“But you are happy, right?” Harlow asks.
“I’m happy, yes,” Sarah replies and I exhale in relief. “It’s just…”
Shit. I take my time rinsing my hands, my own question coming at the same time Addison’s question does.
It’s just… what?
“I miss the way we used to be,” Sarah replies. “Sure, we don’t have to arrange date nights like we used to, have each other's toothbrushes in each other's places and all that but it’s different somehow.”
“How?” Addison asks.
“We used to be more fun, more impulsive… just more everything, you know? More excitement, more passion, more pain.”
“Excuse me, what?” Alma asks as my breath hitches. What the hell, Sarah. Do the other women know?
“More fun, I mean. More fun,” Sarah stammers. “Anyway, I guess it just comes with the territory when you end up living with a man under the same roof. Even date nights are different.”
“Maybe because you’re married?” Addison asks.
“Not just that,” Sarah says. “There’s more responsibility, like I actually have to pick up after myself now since he’s a neat freak. And the sex…”
I don’t hear the rest of what Sarah says because at that moment, Gabe and Sawyer laugh at something Todd just said. But my ears have also started to ring.
Yes, Sarah, what about the sex? I want to ask out loud.
“… it’s just different,” Sarah is saying. “It’s good, don’t get me wrong. Benny’s amazing. I mean, have you seen him? But now we have to worry about the baby crying or Dyami walking in on us. I mean, he’s thirteen already. His voice has changed, and he’s grossed out seeing his parents kiss.”
“Or so he says,” says Harlow. “Dax told me he used to hate watching how his parents were so touchy feely when he was younger but now he gets it. And he truly appreciates that they were the way they were.”
“I mean, how do couples do it?” Sarah asks. “How do you guys do it?”
“You just do,” Alma says, giggling. “Although it’s best when there are no kids sleeping next door but, hey, you do what you got to do. Quickies work great, if you ask me.”
“True,” Harlow says, chuckling.
“The Pearl is huge,” Sarah says dryly. “You could have a major sex party in one part of the house and the kids won’t hear a thing.”
“Also true,” Harlow says, matter-of-factly as the other women giggle.
“But I don’t want just quickies or hush-hush sex because the kids are next door,” Sarah says. “I want more. I want what we once had… before the baby.”
“You want it all, you mean?” Addison asks.
“I want everything.”
All right, that’s it. I turn off the water. I have to stop listening… no, eavesdropping.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I dry my hands. At forty-three, I’m now a father of two boys—Dyami, the aforementioned thirteen-year-old who walked in on us once (and will probably never do it again), and five-month-old Atsa who is finally sleeping through the night. To celebrate his birth, I got myself a new tattoo and the biggest one so far, a roaring tiger right over my heart. I love it when Sarah traces the lines with her fingers… and her tongue. I work out every day, lift weights, and I still go a few rounds in the boxing ring three times a week. I may be as vain as ever but I do it for Sarah. I
don’t ever want her to look at another man the way she looks at me, even after all these years.
Somewhere along the way, though, I dropped the ball. I missed the signs. It means that I’ll need to make a few changes for our date tonight.
I hang the towel on the rack and open the door, doing my best to act as naturally as I can. I know the women can see me and sure enough they grow silent as I walk past the nursery door before gasping in shock at the realization that I could have heard their conversation. I can only imagine Sarah’s face even if I understand what she means for I want everything, too.
I just didn’t know when she was ready for it again.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, while the guys and I are discussing the ski conditions at Taos Ski Valley, Harlow, Addison, and Alma emerge from the nursery and settle on the couch to see pictures and footage Addison took of sand cranes and snow geese in southern New Mexico. I wait for a few moments, expecting Sarah to join them, but she doesn’t. Excusing myself, I make my way to the nursery and find Nana arranging cloth diapers on the changing table.
“Sarah is in the bedroom,” she says, smiling as she cocks her head toward the corridor leading to the separate wing. Our wing. “Go. I will be here when Atsa wakes up.”
“Gracias, Nana,” I say as she retrieves another diaper from the wicker basket next to her. I don’t even know what Sarah and I would have done without her. She’s always been there for us, from the day Dyami was born and now with Atsa. Her great grandsons.
And it’s not just Nana who has been a huge help to us. Daniel has been flying home more often and staying longer so he can spend time with his grandchildren. He helps as much as he can, taking Dyami to the country club for a few hours where they play golf or tennis or watching Atsa so Sarah (and I) can catch up on our sleep.
The only difference between the time Dyami was first born and now is that I don’t have my condo to go home to anymore. Sure, I still own it but I rent it out now, and while I miss it sometimes, there’s nothing like living under the same roof with my family.
I find Sarah in the walk-in closet going through her dresses.
“Just picking out a dress for tonight.” She stands on her tiptoes to return a hanger on the rack but I take the dress and do it myself. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” It’s unlike her to be in here instead of socializing with everyone else, but she’s been moody lately. And given what she confided to Harlow and company, it only makes sense. She’s not happy, not a hundred percent.
“You did say it was formal tonight, right?”
“Not too formal.”
She sighs. “Just as bad as formal. Everything I have is too small for me now.”
I watch her pick another dress, understanding her predicament. Five months after the birth of Atsa, she has regained most of her figure but not as much as she’d hoped. Her hips are wider somehow and because she’s breastfeeding, she complains that she’s constantly spilling out of her low-cut tops.
“You look amazing in anything you wear, Sarah, especially when you’re not wearing anything,” I say as she blushes, turning her attention back to the dresses on the hangers.
“How much did you hear?”
As she returns a dress on the rack, I run my hand along the underside of her arm down to her side before pulling her to me. I breathe in the scent of her skin, of grapefruit and chamomile. “Enough.”
She lowers her arm and sighs. “I’m sorry, Benny.”
I loop my other arm over her shoulder and pull her closer. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Sarah. I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.”
Because of her C-section, her second since Dyami was delivered the same way, we had to be careful. I paid attention to the doctor’s recommendations of waiting six weeks before having sex, not going all the way until after the eighth week. I needed to make sure everything was okay, the incision, her enjoyment… everything.
“I miss us, Benny,” Sarah whispers as she leans her head back on my shoulder.
Well, almost everything.
“I miss the things we used to do, the things you used to do to me.” She pauses. “Naughty things. Bad things.”
I release my hold of her waist and hike her skirt up her thighs, cupping her sex possessively. “Like this?”
Sarah gasps. As my fingers press her cleft through her lace panties, I discover she’s already wet for me. I kiss the side of her neck softly and she moans, her other arm reaching behind her to touch my neck. Her hand curls behind my neck, clinging to me as I move the lace to the side and slide my fingers between her slick folds.
“Yes.”
“Tell me what you want, Sarah.”
“I want you.”
“You already have me.” I curl my fingers, pressing against the walls of her sex as her moans fill the surrounding space.
“I want you to–” She gasps when I pull my fingers out and press them on her sensitive clit, feeling her body tighten, the scent of her need the one aphrodisiac I never tire of.
“You want me to do what, Sarah?”
“I want… I need your discipline…” She lowers her gaze. “Sir.”
I suck in my breath, my stomach clenching. I haven’t heard that word since we stopped playing just before her last trimester. I growl my approval as I slide my fingers inside her again, feeling her knees almost give way as she clings to my forearm for support. Sarah cries out my name as her release draws near. I can feel it, the walls of her pussy squeezing, pulsing.
But not yet. Not here.
I slide my fingers out and she groans, frustrated.
“Open your mouth.”
I watch her suck my fingers dry, the thought of her tasting her own essence making my cock throb. I want to take her right now but I also know it’s not the right time. It would be just another quickie and while quickies were convenient with a baby asleep next door, I can do better. Pulling my fingers from her mouth, I spin her around so she’s facing me and kiss her hard, tasting her.
Sarah groans as she reaches for my belt buckle. I pull away, grabbing her wrists and bringing them behind her. “Not here,” I growl as she whimpers.
“When?”
“Tonight.” I kiss her tenderly, almost teasingly, my tongue tracing her lower lip. “We still have a date, remember? It’s Valentine’s.”
Sarah pouts. “You mean you’re going to make me wait?”
I grin. I love it when she plays the spoiled brat with me even when she knows she’s not getting what she wants. At least, not yet. “We both will have to wait, nizhóní.”
Suddenly there’s a knock on the bedroom door but I keep my hold of Sarah’s wrists.
“The guests are leaving,” Nana says from behind the door.
“We’ll be right there.” I let go of Sarah’s wrists and she hastily arranges her dress before crossing her arms in front of her.
“I want that again, Benny, what you just did,” Sarah says. “I like the way things are now—us living together with our boys as a family—but I also want some things the way they used to be.”
I tilt her chin with my finger. “You want everything.”
“Don’t you?”
“Tonight then.” I lean closer, our lips brushing. “And yes, I want everything, too.”
10
Sarah
My hands are trembling when I slide the key card through the reader, pushing open the door when the light turns green. Although Benny and I arrived at the hotel together, he'd been here earlier. A vase of red roses is arranged on the coffee table and next to it, a leather crop. Adult toys are lined up on one of the two queen beds.
I smile. Even if we end up not using all of them—or any of them—that's Benny for you.
Always prepared.
But that’s also the draw.
Having all of them at the ready is all I need to push me over the edge of total submission.
I shrug off my coat and hang it inside the closet. I step out of my high heels, the
first time I’d worn them since Atsa was born five months ago. Atsa, our son who is home with Dad and Nana while Benny and I go on this date.
Only this isn’t like the other dates we’ve been on since Atsa was born. No, this is a date where Benny and I reconnect and become what we were before he decided we couldn’t anymore, when he told me the time to stop had come.
Just temporarily, Sarah.
It was a Braxton-Hicks contraction, Benny. It’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s normal.
He looked at me then, his expression hard as he unlocked the silver necklace that had graced my neck for the last four years, the second since the first one he gave me after we met in Shiprock broke. I'll never forget how I felt the moment the weight of the necklace left my skin. I felt so bare, so unprotected, like I didn’t belong to him anymore.
We will resume after the baby is born, Sarah.
Only, five months later, we still hadn't, not even after the doctor told us it was safe to do everything we used to do before the baby. Only he had no idea what Benny and I used to do. He didn’t know about the games we played—the leather cuffs, ball gag, paddles, and restraints.
And why would he? Why would anyone?
This game is ours only.
Benny had picked my outfit for tonight, a red sleeveless dress with a deep V neckline and fitted wrap skirt. He also chose my underwear, a black lace set with straps zigzagging at just the right places—and crotchless—a new set he’d picked out just for me, one that fits my new curves. I’ve been so wet and ready for him since dinner.
The blindfold is new. Benny handed it to me just before I left him at the bar.
Put this on, he’d said.
It’s part of the game we’ve played for years, only this time, he didn’t have to pick me up and take me to his condo. It was one of my favorite places, too, the perfect escape where I wasn’t a mother or a daughter or a sister. I was simply Benny’s.
