From This Moment

by Melanie Harlow

  “You’re welcome.” She glanced over her shoulder at Abby, who was still at the table. “Say goodnight to Uncle Wes.”

  She slid off her chair and came over to me, reaching up.

  Crouching down, I hugged her. “Night, princess.”

  “Night, Uncle Wes.” Then she wandered down the hall and up the stairs, singing to herself again. “She’s always singing. What about music lessons or something? Piano, maybe?”

  Hannah sighed and dried her hands on a towel. “I wish we had a piano.”

  “So let’s get you one.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Pianos are big items, Wes. And pricey.”

  “I’ll buy it.”

  “No.”

  “Come on. Do you know how happy that would make me?”

  She eyed me dubiously.

  “I’m serious. Please let me do this for her. Studying an instrument is so good for kids.”

  “It is.” She bit her lip, torn between accepting such a big gift and wanting Abby to have it. “We’re not your responsibility.”

  “Hannah.” I took her by the shoulders and turned her to face me. “Let me. It’s best when they start young. You can pay me back later, if you want to. In blowjobs, even.”

  She broke into laughter. “Deal.”

  I gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Good. Now I’m going to find the best, most expensive piano money can buy. I want it to take forever for you to work off.”

  “Ha. I better get upstairs. See you later?”

  I nodded, but I didn’t want to leave. “See you later.”

  I let myself out and drove home, feeling much better than I had yesterday about everything.

  Trust my mother to ruin my mood.

  “Wes? Is that you?” she called from the kitchen when I came in the front door.

  “It’s me.” I wished I could just go to my room and avoid her interrogation, but I dutifully went into the kitchen to say hello.

  “Did you eat?” she asked, closing up the dishwasher and turning it on. “I can make you a plate.”

  “I ate.” I leaned back against the counter, hands in my pockets.

  She waited expectantly, and when I didn’t offer any details, she asked. “Where?”

  I thought about lying and decided against it. “At Hannah’s.”

  She blanched. “What were you doing at Hannah’s?”

  “I took her and Abby over to see my new house. Brad called today—the offer was accepted.”

  But instead of being happy about that, she focused on the part where I took Hannah to see it first. “You took them to the house already? I haven’t even seen it!”

  “Would you like to? I have to return the key to Brad tomorrow, but I’d be glad to run over there with you right now and show you around.”

  “I can’t. I have bridge club tonight. I have to leave soon.”

  “Well, let me ask Brad if I can keep the key one more day. I’ll take you there tomorrow after work.”

  She pressed her lips together. “That will be fine, I guess. But I won’t say I’m not hurt that you took Hannah before you took me. Or Daddy,” she added as she took a sponge from the sink and began wiping down the island.

  “Come on, Mom. It was just a quick thing. I thought it would cheer her up, and I wanted to get her opinion on the kitchen remodel.”

  “I can help you with that too, you know.” She scrubbed viciously at a spill on the marble.

  “I know. And I’ll be glad for your help. I’ll need a lot of help with this new house. Your input will be needed and appreciated.”

  That seemed to mollify her, and her movements slowed, her voice softening. “Fine, dear. But I do wonder,” she began in a way that let me know I wasn’t going to like what she had to say. “I do wonder if all this time with Hannah isn’t a little bit…tacky.”

  “Tacky?”

  “Well, people talk. And if they see you two together around town, or catch you coming and going from her house, they might get the wrong idea. Of course, I know that nothing untoward is going on, but can you imagine the terrible gossip that would spread? The name calling? Poor Hannah. It would be devastating to her reputation. Not to mention little Abby.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Children can be horribly cruel. If they hear their parents saying things, they might repeat them.” She took the sponge to the sink and rinsed it. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, dear. I’m only concerned for Hannah and Abby.”

  She was so full of shit. “But not me?”

  “Well, of course for you too, dear.” She began wiping down the counters again. “But it’s always the woman people focus on. Always the woman who takes the blame and the brunt of the criticism. Because men aren’t expected to behave properly—no offense, dear—and it’s never shocking when they let their you-know-whats make their decisions. But a woman is expected to know better and behave a certain way. If she doesn’t, she’s called a slut.”

  “Mom.” My voice was sharp.

  “What? I’m not saying it’s right,” she went on, as if she was above such nonsense. “But it’s reality. It’s human nature to gossip, and that’s what they’ll say. I’m just being honest.”

  “If anyone said that about Hannah, I’d fucking punch them in the face.”

  She stopped moving and looked up at me, shocked. “Wesley Davis Parks!”

  “What? I’m not saying it’s right,” I went on, mimicking her tone, “but it’s what I’d do. I’m just being honest.”

  Her spine went ramrod straight. “I did not raise a boy who talks to his mother that way.”

  “Should I go to my room?”

  “Yes!” she snapped.

  I would have laughed, except I was too furious. Instead of going to my room, I grabbed my keys again and went right back out the front door. It was only quarter after eight, so I couldn’t go to Hannah’s yet, but I had to get out of the house. I drove into town, parked, and ducked into a bar called The Anchor.

  There were plenty of seats open at the bar, and I chose one toward the back. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. When the bartender came over, I ordered a beer and then sat there brooding into it. Fucking mothers! Why did they have to be so difficult?

  But I couldn’t help wondering if there was any truth to what mine had said. Was I putting Hannah and Abby at risk by spending time with them? Were people so cruel and heartless that they’d talk that way? Deny them the chance to be happy? What the fuck was wrong with people? Did they have nothing else in their lives?

  While I was fuming about it, a few women came in, laughing breezily about something. After every one of them eyed me up, they sat at a high-top table right behind me and proceeded to further destroy my faith in humanity.

  “Oh my God, did you see what she was wearing?”

  “I probably shouldn’t say this, but I heard he can’t get it up.”

  “I’m not trying to be mean, but someone needs to tell that woman she is not a size eight anymore.” ”

  “Who does he think he’s kidding with that car? Hello! Midlife crisis!”

  “Please. It’s so obvious the way she throws herself at him.”

  “He’s totally cheating on her. You can just tell.”

  In fifteen minutes, I heard enough gossip and trash talk to last me a lifetime. I felt sick to my stomach. Was my mother right?

  And then.

  “I know. I kind of freaked out when I saw him. I forgot he had a twin.”

  Jesus. Did they think I was deaf? It’s not like they were whispering.

  “I know. So hot.”

  “My mother goes to that practice. Maybe I should, too.” Snicker, snicker. “Get a little mouth to mouth.”

  Gasp. “You’re so bad.”

  “What? He’s fucking gorgeous. I might pretend to choke right now.”

  “I used to be friends with Drew’s wife. Have you seen her lately? Way too skinny.”

  “Totally. You’re not friends with her anymore?”

&n
bsp; “Not really. I just didn’t know what to say to her after it happened.”

  “So tragic.”

  “So young.”

  “So hot. But I heard he had an affair, did you?”

  I couldn’t take any more. I paid for my beer, left without finishing it, and drove to Hannah’s. But when I pulled up in front of her house on the darkened street, all I could hear were my mother’s words in the shrill voices of the women at the bar.

  I heard his car has been parked in front of her house for hours at night.

  I’ve seen them getting ice cream together with her little girl.

  I heard they went to his house while it was empty and had sex while the daughter played on the beach.

  Ugh, it’s so sleazy.

  So wrong.

  So tacky.

  How could they?

  It was enough to make me think twice about knocking on her door. What if my mother was right?

  My phone vibrated. My screen showed a text from Hannah. Are you sitting out there because you’re scared to ask me to dance?

  I smiled for half a second. Yes.

  I told you. I’ll always say yes. And I’m in the mood for dancing.

  Her words set my blood simmering. Fuck my mother’s warning, I thought. Fuck those women in the bar, and fuck anyone who thought this was wrong. It had been a long time since I’d punched someone in the face. It would feel pretty damn good.

  She was mine now. Mine.

  Me too. Be right there.

  Fourteen

  HANNAH

  I bit my lip and backed away from the front window, drawing the curtain closed again. I wasn’t sure where we’d end up—upstairs was out, since I didn’t want to risk waking Abby, but we’d be in plain view on the couch if she heard something and wandered down the stairs. I had every window in the house covered, just in case, and every light off. Not that his car wasn’t in plain sight, but he could just be visiting. A friendly little visit after dark. Nothing to see here, neighbors. Move along.

  My heart was pounding as I hurried through the dark to the door. I heard his footsteps on the porch and opened it. The sight of him, still in his work clothes, tie a little loose, hair a little disheveled, made my insides clench.

  “Knock, knock, little girl,” he said, stepping across the threshold. His voice sounded deeper and more intense than usual. “Are you all alone?”

  Nervous excitement shimmied up my spine, the feeling you get with the click click click of a rollercoaster climbing uphill on the track. “No.”

  He pushed the door shut behind him and walked toward me, backing me deeper into the dark hallway, loosening the knot of his tie a little more, then pulling it off. “Then we’ll have to be very, very quiet. Can you do that?”

  Given the hunger in his eyes and the don’t fuck with me in his voice, I wasn’t sure I could. And I liked the slow, predatory way he moved toward me in the dark, like a lion that knows his strength far outweighs that of his prey but hopes she might put up a fight anyway. “Maybe.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said in his doctor voice, slipping the tie through his fist. “I’ll help you.”

  I eyed that tie, my breath coming fast. Drew had never been into games or anything kinky during sex. He’d been a straightforward lover, generous and passionate, and had always made sure I had at least one orgasm. But he didn’t talk during sex, never expressed any interest in toys or other bedroom props, and when I broached the idea of being tied up one time, just to introduce a little play into our routine, he’d said he couldn’t imagine doing that to me and enjoying it. I was his wife; he thought of me a certain way, and it wasn’t as a sexual object. He wanted to take care of me, not mistreat me. I’d been too embarrassed by the reproach to try again.

  So when Wes backed me into the tiny hallway bathroom, stripped off my clothes, and turned me to face the mirror, I shivered with anticipation. What would he do to me? The little nightlight by the sink was on, lighting us from below with soft gold light.

  He slipped the tie through his hands again as he met my eyes in the mirror. The possibilities enticed me. My eyes? My hands? My mouth? I was utterly seduced by being powerless, for once. Go on, I thought. Do it. For a moment I thought he might ask for permission and ruin the entire fantasy.

  But he didn’t.

  He slipped the tie between my lips and worked it between my teeth, tying it at the back of my head. Immediately my heart rate accelerated, and I began to panic, but Wes’s warm hands running down my arms and his soft voice in my ear were soothing. “Shhhh,” he said. “It’s just to remind you to stay quiet. I don’t want to hear any sound from you, no matter what.” One hand moved around my stomach and down between my legs, rubbing my clit in a steady, gentle circular motion.

  I whimpered and he took his hand away. Both arms caged me tightly to his body. “Hush,” his whispered in my ear, his eyes pinning mine in the mirror. “I said no sound.”

  I nodded and reached behind me, feeling his erection through the material of his dress pants. He stepped back and unbuckled his belt, pulling it from the loops. I thought he’d toss it to the floor and undo his pants, but instead, he caught my wrists and wound the strip of leather around them. I sucked in my breath.

  Our eyes stayed locked in our reflection, which gave me the odd sense of watching two people that weren’t us. This couldn’t be us, this shadowy fantasy unfolding in the mirror. His eyebrows rose in question and I gave a tiny nod.

  A moment later my wrists were bound.

  “Now,” he said, his voice quiet but burning with need, “I’m going to make you come twice, first with my fingers and then with my cock, and you’re not going to make a sound. Understand?”

  I nodded, but I had zero confidence in my ability to remain silent.

  Turns out I was right—I gasped and moaned so much as his fingers worked their magic that he brought his other hand to my mouth, clamping it over my lips. And he kept it there as he fucked me hard from behind with deep, punishing thrusts, muffling my strangled cries.

  But as he brought me to the brink that second time, as I felt my insides tighten and my knees go weak, my wrists straining at their bonds, I felt one more piece of me return to myself. The part that enjoyed being a sexual object when the objectification brought me to such heights. When I was choosing to be the instrument of someone else’s pleasure. When I felt empowered by the strength of his desire. By the heat of his breath against my ear as he whispered to me—Open your eyes. I want you to see this. You’re so fucking beautiful when you come—and by his orgasm, which thickened and throbbed achingly deep inside me, shaking me to the bone.

  When it was over, he wrapped both arms around my waist and held me close. A moment later he untied his tie and I moved my jaw, licked my lips.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded.

  He pulled out, and a second later I felt his hands working at his belt around my wrists. When it came loose, I took one wrist in the other hand and cradled it as I turned to face him. I was almost surprised to see he was still fully clothed. Somehow I’d forgotten. But it added another layer to the power play, and I liked it. It felt so good to choose vulnerability and helplessness, rather than to be an unwilling, unwitting victim of fate.

  He reached for me. “Come here.”

  I let him take me in his arms, press me to his chest. I could smell the starch on his shirt collar and a lingering trace of this morning’s aftershave or hair product. Masculine smells I’d missed. I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I wish you could hold me like this all the time.”

  He kissed my head. “Me too.”

  “Do you think the time will ever come when you can?”

  “I want that more than anything.”

  It wasn’t exactly the answer I’d hoped for and cast a little shadow over my post-sex glow. I released him and reached for my clothes while he removed the condom I hadn’t even realized he wore. Thank God, I thought. We really couldn’t afford to be careless in our situation.


  “Want some water?”

  “Sure, thanks. Should I—” He glanced at the small trash can under the sink.

  “Oh. Yes, that’s fine. I’ll take the bag out later.” I left him alone for a moment and went to the kitchen, turning on the light before filling two glasses with cool water from the tap. I was chugging mine when he came into the room, all put together again.

  He picked up his glass and took a few swallows. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” I leaned back against the sink.

  He set the glass down and stared at it like it hadn’t tasted right. Immediately I was on high alert.

  Something is off. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Wes. What is it?”

  “I’m just—” He closed his eyes a second, his lips pressed together. “Frustrated.”

  “About us?”

  “Yeah.” Silence. “I had a conversation with my mother earlier.”

  A siren went off in the distant reaches of my mind. “Oh? What did she say?”

  “I shouldn’t worry you with this. It’s pointless.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “She’s got me worried about what people will say when they find out about us. I know I said ‘fuck people’ before, but I think I underestimated the degree to which people can be shitty to others.”

  My heart beat clumsily in my chest. “Does she know about us?”

  “No. Not that I know of.”

  “Well, what did she say, specifically?”

  “She thinks we spend too much time together, and when she heard I took you to the new house and then ate dinner here, she got weird about it.”

  Of course she did. But Drew and I had gotten into enough arguments about his beloved mother to last me a lifetime. That was a part of my marriage I did not want to revisit. And I was working on being more understanding of Lenore, anyway. I could be the bigger fucking person. “Maybe she was hurt you didn’t take her first,” I suggested.

  “I think there’s some of that for sure,” he went on, turning to lean on the counter beside me, “but then she started in about what people will say if they notice my car here, or see me coming and going all the time, or see us out in public together. She thinks people will gossip about how tacky it is, and even though she knows there’s nothing unsavory going on”—he did his best dramatic impression of Lenore—“the rumors and name-calling will be out of control.”