Maybe Next Time

by Christina C Jones

  That was on me.

  It didn’t take much to find Denver.

  Flickering light drew my attention through the window, and I followed it outside to where Denver had lit the firepit on the expansive deck. He was focused on the fire, staring into the flames as they danced against the night sky.

  My approach was slow–I did not know what mood I was about to get. When my presence got his attention though, he looked up at me, extending a hand in my direction. The other patted his thigh.

  “Come here.”

  I moved a little faster.

  He watched me the whole time, his expression inscrutable. When I reached him, he pulled me down into his lap, wrapping his arms around me from behind.

  I hated how easily I just… melted.

  Eyes closed and all.

  “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you,” he murmured, right against my ear, and I shook my head.

  “It was… it was never about feeling like I couldn’t talk to you,” I said, shifting positions and angling my head so I could meet his gaze. “Not in the way that you’re thinking, as if it was something you did. I didn’t… I didn’t feel like I deserved to put my burdens on you.”

  “We’re married, Kensa. Sharing the burden is… kinda the whole point.”

  I shook my head. “Not when I saw how you looked at me. Like your heart was broken. And it was my fault.”

  “My heart was broken,” he admitted, grabbing me under the chin to keep me from looking away from him. “I was fucked up, and you’re probably right–it was probably all over my face, whenever I looked you. But not because it was your fault–I never thought that. Not ever,” he insisted. His eyes locked with mine as he spoke, like he was trying his best to get through. “The shit hurt. It still hurts. But whenever I looked at you, what kept coming up was… if it feels like this for me, I can’t even imagine what it’s like for her. That’s why I kept trying to get you to talk to me. If I blamed you, why would I do that?”

  “Because you loved me,” I answered, with a wry smile. “It was what a husband should do.”

  Denver blew out a sigh. “I… I don’t disagree with that. Yes, it was what I should do, and yes, it was because I love you. But there was no resentment or anger to overcome in offering you my shoulder to cry on. I saw the heaviness of your grief and wanted to help take it off your shoulders. And instead, you… went to work.”

  “I didn’t know how else to deal with what I was feeling.”

  “I know,” he assured, pulling me tighter into his arms. “I know that now. But at the time… it felt like a fuck you. So I let you have that–I just distracted myself with work too, instead of wallowing in whatever the hell all that was.”

  And… that became our pattern.

  Just drifting further and further away, neither of us knowing what to say, when to say it, how to say it. Until one day, something shifted for me, and I realized I needed to talk to him, and he wasn’t there.

  So I got mad.

  “You stopped touching me,” I whispered, averting my gaze. “Even when we were… so at a distance with each other, we still had that. But then you stopped. Why?”

  Denver pushed out a heavy sigh. “Honestly… I was afraid you’d get pregnant again. Afraid we’d have another loss. I saw what it did to you the first time–I lost you emotionally. I feared that if it happened again… it would have killed you. Which would’ve killed me.”

  What he’d said wasn’t funny at all, but I still laughed, because…

  “Wow. We are really good at not just fucking talking to each other, aren’t we?” I asked, shaking my head.

  “Experts. Obviously.”

  I let my head drop against his chest, nuzzling my face into his neck to breathe in his cologne. “I don’t want to do that anymore.”

  “So let’s not, then.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “But it could be.” He tipped his head, leaning in to press a kiss against my lips. “I love you, Kensa. Anything you want from me–anything. Sweetheart, all you’ve gotta do is say it. It’s yours.”

  I believed him.

  Fully.

  But what I needed right then wasn’t exactly something I knew how to say. I shifted my position so I was straddling his lap instead of draped across it, then brought my mouth to meet his.

  He got the picture.

  Slipping his hands under my oversized sweater, he grabbed the waistband of my panties to peel them off. It took some careful maneuvering on the chaise where we were situated, but a few moments later I was sinking onto him, eyes closed.

  It wasn’t enough.

  He stripped that sweater completely off me, his greedy hands going straight for my breasts when he realized I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. I tugged his shirt off, desperate to be skin to skin with him as I started moving, riding him.

  It felt like old times.

  I didn’t resent him for how damn good he felt–I relished it, riding him harder and faster as tension built in my core. His mouth replaced his hand, hot and insistent on my sensitive nipples. The hand, he put between my legs, pressing my clit in firm, fast, tight circles as he moved too, meeting me with upward strokes that made keeping my rhythm next to impossible.

  So I didn’t try.

  I just rode him with abandon, giving myself over to whatever felt good. I held onto his shoulders, digging my nails in as I rocked my hips into his. He grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling my mouth down to his to entwine our tongues.

  I was going to suffocate.

  I was sure of it.

  But… fuck it.

  I was full of my husband, and what a way that would be to go.

  His hand dropped to my ass, roughly gripping a handful as his strokes grew as reckless as mine until he finally pushed us both over the edge of release.

  Afterwards, I stayed right where I was–still full of him, but panting against his chest. His arms came up to surround me, helping keep off the chill of the night air, and I smiled.

  A smile that quickly faded when I remembered what had brought us here in the first place.

  Thinking about those divorce papers now–how insistent I’d been, when everybody was trying to tell me to slow down–it just felt so… silly.

  “Whatever you’re building up in your head to be more than it is… how about you just… talk to me.”

  When I didn’t immediately look up, he made his dick twitch, which made me laugh.

  So I met his gaze. “You were serious about us talking, huh?”

  “Dead ass, sweetheart. So spill it.”

  I sighed, then pushed myself up from his chest. “I filed divorce papers.”

  “You did,” he nodded. “It pissed me off.”

  “Well, you’d pissed me off. I didn’t think you wanted me.”

  Denver’s hands went to my hips as he pushed further into me, like we weren’t already still connected. “And you know now that’s not the case, right?”

  I closed my eyes as he stroked me again, and nodded. “Yes.”

  “So where do we go from here?”

  Peeling my eyelids apart, I met his gaze. “You tell me. Where do you want to go?”

  A shriek ripped from me as he suddenly stood, his arm around my waist to keep me against him. I threw my arms around his shoulders, holding on as he kicked his pants and boxers from around his ankles, then started for the door.

  “What are you doing?!” I gasped, biting down on my lip as his dick plunged deeper into me with every step.

  “This is where I want to go,” he answered, pulling open the door and stepping inside. We never parted as he lowered me onto the bed, positioning on top of me for another deep, breath-snatching stroke. “I want to get further reacquainted with my wife.”

  Eight

  I woke up with his head between my legs.

  Which, really–I couldn’t think of a lovelier way to part with my dreams.

  No sweet sorrow here, just abundant, back-arching pleasure as my husband ate
his fill of me, his arms hooked around my thighs to keep me wide open at the mercy of his tongue. I was a shivering mess on the bed as he licked the metaphorical plate clean, then kissed his way up my body.

  “Good morning,” he rumbled against my lips as he slid into me, with a little extra push of his hips to ensure he was fully entrenched in my pussy.

  “Mmmm,” I groaned, draping my arms over his shoulders. “Good morning to you, too.”

  It didn’t matter much that we’d had more sex in the last few days than the last several months–I was still hungry for him.

  Always.

  I hooked my legs up around his waist, welcoming him to go deeper–an invitation he simply obliged at first, but then he ran with it, positioning me so that my feet were somewhere up past my head. There was nowhere for me to go, nothing for me to do except take it.

  Which I happily did.

  Until he stopped, declaring that he wanted me on top.

  I smirked at him once we’d switched positions, sliding my pussy along his length but not taking the step of taking him in. Instead, I moved until my face was right in line with his dick. I took him in both hands, one stacked on the other. I covered the leftovers with my mouth, sucking hard as I squeezed.

  “Shiiiit,” Denver growled, digging a hand into my hair to grab a fistful. “That’s what you’re on this morning, huh?”

  I moved my topmost hand, taking him further into my mouth for another hard suck that had his hips bucking toward me. I was slow, slow, slow about coming off it, finishing with a swirl of my tongue around his tip before I looked up at him with a smirk. “I aim to please.”

  I was on him again before he could respond, moving the other hand to take him fully down my throat as I cupped and massaged his balls. His yanking at my hair, his curses, the reflexive surge of his hips–all motivation for me to go harder.

  I purposely gulped him down, my eyes watering as his dick set off my gag reflex. I just swallowed and kept going, humming as his hand grew tighter in my hair. His hips started bucking in rhythmic strokes, fucking my mouth as I sucked.

  That was all the warning I needed for what was coming.

  Just because, I didn’t swallow as soon as the warm gush of his seed came spurting out; I kept sucking, letting it drip all over his sensitive dick before I playfully licked it all off.

  Then, I swallowed.

  “Bring your ass up here,” Denver grunted, reaching to practically drag me back up to be at eyeline with him. His hand came to my face, wiping a stray bit of cum from my chin with his thumb before lifting it to my mouth for me to lick off. “Goddamn, I love you,” he chuckled, then pulled my mouth to his, kissing me deep as he drove his dick into me from below.

  “You saying you married me for my mouth?” I asked, planting my hands on his shoulders for leverage as I took over.

  He slapped my ass, making me squeal before he soothed the sting of it with a caressing hand. “In more ways than one.”

  I grinned, rolling my hips and grinding against him for increased friction. “Lucky motherfucker.”

  Denver bit down on his lip, maintaining his grip on my ass with one hand as he tucked the other behind his head to relax, watching me ride his dick. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  This was too easy.

  Right?

  As I watched Denver pour what would probably be our last glasses of wine before we headed back to regular life, I couldn’t help thinking… it should’ve been more difficult than this, to get back to this place.

  Not that I wanted to be in some ugly back and forth with him, I just felt… uneasy.

  Uneasy about feeling so completely… over the bullshit.

  I loved Denver–I didn’t want to fight with him anymore.

  I was just scared that maybe…

  “Whatever you’re thinking about, you’re thinking too damn hard.”

  Denver took a seat beside me on the chaise, handing me a wine glass before he pulled my legs into his lap.

  We’d already had dinner, and each other, so we were full and sleepy–a perfect time to bring some bullshit up.

  “You’re seriously not mad at me about the divorce papers? At your job?” I asked, taking a sip for a little extra boost of audacity. “I mean… it was pretty disrespectful. On purpose.”

  Denver shook his head, letting out a little chuckle. “It was. Especially the second time. But… hey… I didn’t marry you for your docile demeanor. This isn’t the first time I’ve pissed you off enough for you to do something wild.”

  “Me? Wild?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “So I imagined the nigga in the slingshot all over you at your bachelorette?”

  “Oh. Shit. Um…. Blame Zoraya for that.”

  “Oh, trust me, I do. Your ass ain’t innocent though.”

  I took another long sip and shrugged. “Well, you shouldn’t have had that Sienna bitch all in your face after I said not to.”

  “She was trying to make a damn movie, Kensa.”

  “Yeah, on your dick.”

  “You think everybody wants me.”

  “Because they do,” I told him, draining the rest of my glass. “Especially if they know we’re married. Like Sienna.”

  Denver laughed. “We weren’t even married yet!”

  “But she knew it was fucking coming, and I told you about her, and because you didn’t listen, that bitch spread the rumor that she had your dick days before our wedding.”

  “Which was a provable lie.”

  “That’s not the point. You put me in a position to be embarrassed, so…”

  “You acted a goddamn fool,” Denver chuckled. “Nice to know some things don’t change.”

  “Asshole.”

  “I’m serious,” he insisted. “You’re a passionate woman, who demands certain treatment. Your position has always been that I either meet you where you are or move out of your way. So… I act accordingly.”

  I rolled my eyes. “By doing whatever you want, seeing my reaction, then pulling off some grand gesture to get me back? Getting Dani for our wedding reception back then, a tropical getaway now…”

  “You’re saying you don’t like that?”

  “I’d rather you just… do what I want,” I shrugged.

  “That’s a damn lie.”

  I laughed. “Fine. You’re right. But… as nice as the gestures are… I’d rather just feel like you’re really hearing me. I mean… I know sometimes that’s hard. I may not even be able to articulate what I need–like this whole thing, for example. I know I’m not the easiest woman in the world to understand, but as long as it’s clear you’re trying… I’m in this.”

  “And so am I,” Denver assured. “I have no reservations about that commitment–I just need you to… talk to me. We’ve been through a lot–not even counting this. Shit that would’ve folded a lot of people. But we’re here. And I think that will remain, as long as we just… don’t stop talking.”

  I nodded, then shifted positions so I could lay on his shoulder. “Yeah… I agree.”

  We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, until Denver sighed. “So… no more grand gestures, huh?”

  “I didn’t say all that,” I giggled. “Like, I don’t need them, but I’m also not going to turn them down.”

  He nodded. “Good. Cause it may have been awkward as fuck trying to return this.”

  “This” being the ring he was suddenly holding in front of my face, glittering invitingly from its cushioned box. It was lavish, but not over the top–a large pear-cut diamond as the main stone, flanked by smaller pear-cuts on either side, all in a delicate, platinum setting.

  “What is this?” I whispered, reaching for it.

  He moved it away from me though, taking my left hand.

  “This is… me asking you to be my wife again–with the appropriate accessories this time,” he added, starting to put it on my naked ring finger. “That is–assuming you want that?”

  “Yes,” I told him immediately, flexing my fingers. “S
top playing, put it on.”

  Denver laughed, pulling the ring further away. “Wow–so you really do want to wear my ring now? You weren’t trying to hear that shit before.”

  “I was stupid. Put the ring on me,” I demanded, which only seemed to make it funnier to him.

  He was right though.

  As much as I still considered myself a boss ass, independent-don’t-need-no-man kinda bitch, I’d definitely come to regret my insistence at the time we’d gotten married that I didn’t need anything marking me as “belonging” to someone.

  I’d been off that shit.

  But of course, it wasn’t like I could just tell Denver that, not when I’d made such a stink about it. So, I’d settled for my little subtle ring finger tat, all while cursing myself.

  But now…

  “You know you could’ve had this sooner, right? By just…?”

  “Talking to you,” I gritted through my teeth. “Who told you? Nessa or Trace?”

  He grinned. “Both. Neither would agree to helping me with this unless I showed them a ring worthy of their precious third triplet.”

  “My hittas,” I nodded. “Now… please stop playing and put that ring on me.”

  “One more thing woman, damn,” he laughed. “Look.”

  He turned the inside of the ring, behind the setting, toward me. At first, I couldn’t tell what he was showing me, but then the ring caught the light in a brilliant flash of purple that made my heart slam to the front of my chest.

  “That’s… tanzanite, isn’t it?” I asked, swallowing hard.

  He nodded. “Yeah. It’s what her birthstone was supposed to be.”

  Dual feelings of joy and sorrow warred in me as I moved his hand closer to my face, to see. It was a tiny stone, polished smooth and set into the back of the ring, where no one would see it. In monetary value, it likely paled in comparison to any of the stones in the main setting. But hands down… it was the one that meant the most to me.

  Joy won.

  I held my hand up in front of him, and this time, he slid the ring on. Of no surprise to me, it was a perfect fit.

  “So… your answer was yes, right?”