by Wendy Burke
She swallowed hard. Of course, today’s news bothered her, but an underlying, unidentified worry also poked at her.
“Mommy!” Breanna, the six-minutes-older of their two girls, ran headlong into her legs. “Can you hear Daddy singing?”
“Yes, I can,” she said, ruffling the girl’s light-brown hair. She swung her daughter up into her hold, continuing her trek toward the music. She waited in the doorway, watching her husband and second born, Chloe, in her father’s embrace. He held her little fingers to the fret of his guitar, strumming. Chloe cocked her head, listening as the sound changed. Music or art, Charly didn’t care which they pursued as long as their girls understood the inherent beauty in everything in the world.
“Mommy’s home,” Chloe mentioned to her father.
“Home so soon, babe?” he asked.
Placing her daughter on the floor, she patted Bree’s little butt. “Why don’t you and Chloe go play in your room, so Mommy and Daddy can talk.”
Chloe slid out of her father’s lap. “So you and Mommy can do those yucky kisses,” she mumbled under her breath, and trotted after her sister to another part of the house.
Once the girls had left, Charly wandered over to the couch and straddled her husband’s lap. A bright smile lit up his face. “What is it, hon?”
His melted-chocolate brown eyes sparkled. Just looking at him made her want to grab his hand and haul him off to the bedroom. “Paul sent me home.”
She knew he could read her, he always could. Like she could read him, and always had. “I don’t know, I guess I’m still in a bit of shock. I mean, we’re so comfortable here. This is home, and I don’t want to leave again.” She didn’t want to cry, yet one giant, unexpected tear cascaded down her cheek.
He kissed her forehead then rested his face in her neck. “This is home and will always be.” A lustful shiver went through her as the light scruff on his cheeks prickled her neck. With an enticing nip of her earlobe, he asked, “Don’t tell me. Paul said we should spend the day in bed, right?”
“He did, but I should have stayed at work. We have a couple of new pieces coming in, and I should be there to figure out how to display them….”
She knew what his reaction would be. No sooner had she started talking about her work than he checked out, his head dropping to her shoulder with a sigh.
She popped him lightly on the shoulder. “Andy!” He lifted his head from her sweater. “Are you listening to me?”
His hands surrounded her face, and he kissed her gently on the mouth. “I’m sorry, honey. You know that art talk gets me all glazed over.”
One tiny kiss. That’s an apology? Just once, Andrew, if you could only pretend to be interested. Before we were married, you at least tried! She swallowed her irritation and left his lap. She hadn’t moved far when he stopped her. Andy’s strong arms wrapped about her waist, holding her close.
“About that day in bed,” he breathed in her ear.
Nodding, she forgave his “art inattentiveness,” relented, and waited for her stunning specimen of a husband to carry her off to an afternoon of unmatched orgasms. He was reaching to scoop her up into his arms, when two still pajama-clad four year olds blocked his path.
“Your fancy phone, Daddy. You left it in the living room.” Bree held the device up to him.
“The phone is ringing. The phone is ringing,” Chloe sang. “You have to answer the phone!” Then with a piercing whoop only a tot’s small voice box could elicit, “Daddy, answer the phone!”
“Geez, now I do have a headache,” she whispered. She encouraged her husband to release her, and kissed his cheek, “You owe me one.” Taking the phone from Chloe, she gave a sour look at the caller ID and handed over the device. She smiled at their daughters. “I think two young ladies need to brush their teeth,” she said, leaving Andy alone with the phone.
Chapter Two
“All right, have your minion bring the paperwork over. We’ll be here all day,” Andy said to his agent on the phone. “Ah, no, I’m sure she’s not going to be thrilled…not even with a contract of that size. You know it’s not about the money…yes, I’ll smooch her for you, but I’m thinking you’d better drop into the gallery and buy something. This time around I’m sure she won’t give you the friends and family discount….all right…and one more thing. The details do not hit the media until late tomorrow. Can you make that happen? All right. Yes, bye.”
He hit end, wandered over to his desk, and dropped into the chair. He looked at all the Milwaukee Breakers memorabilia. His first big-league jersey hung on the wall in a dark-wood frame. The back faced outward, his number—twenty-seven—and Knox embroidered in the Breaker’s signature dark-blue. As a New York Titan, spring training would move from Phoenix east to Tampa. Technically, Tampa was closer to home, but he still knew Charly wouldn’t relish any of the changes this trade would involve. I can sugarcoat it. She had friends and family in Florida. Her boss had recently opened a gallery in Miami and her Aunt Rita had moved there, too. Andy knew his wife fit in anywhere, so hanging with Titan wives and girlfriends shouldn’t be a problem. Who am I kidding? She’s gonna hate every minute of it and I don’t blame her. He couldn’t even convince himself.
He visited with all the professional stuff he’d accumulated over the years—the first grand slam ball hit in his home stadium; an inside-the-park homerun ball, also struck inside the Milwaukee stadium; a photo of him, hovering above second base, ball in glove, a tap on an opponent’s helmet, the turn of a triple play, and guess what? Again, inside the Milwaukee Park.
Giving up a resigned sigh, he swallowed hard. He knew she’d despise it, but hoped his wife would get accustomed to him wearing Titan pinstripes.
***
“We can stay home if you want to.”
“No, you promised you’d play that bar with the guys. It’s fine.” She wandered up to the bathroom sink, watching him ever so slightly spike up his short, dark hair. Wrapping her arms about his trim, strong middle, she hugged him, feeling the ripples of his well-worked abs under her fingers. Her cheek on his back, she whispered, “I love you.”
Andy’s warm, callused hands surrounded hers. His tone was quiet, understanding. “I know today’s news is hard to take….”
She squeezed him, not wanting to talk about his impending move any more today. “It is, but let’s forget about it for now. I’ll decide how upset I need to be when I find out where you’re going, how far away you’ll be, and how often you’ll be able to be home.” She shivered when he kissed her fingers. Charly knew he understood her concerns. “So, let’s leave the rest of this conversation for another time.”
He turned in her hold. Looking at her, he pulled his fingers across his lips, securing an invisible zipper, and then tossed away its locking key.
Holding him tightly, she rubbed her face in his chest. His fresh aroma turned her on more than he’d ever know. At this moment, nothing could touch her; no hurt, no loneliness, no heartache, no curt words from a fan could harm her. She closed and locked the door to any bad memories, especially those from that time when things between them had been emotionally tenuous. For a time before they married, when their relationship had taken a nearly irreparable turn. And at times like this, the same fears, the same insecurities reared up in Charly’s mind. Right now though, she was safe and she was home. The man she loved held her tightly in his arms and his lips pressed her cheek.
Maybe she needed a night out watching her friend and life partner sing with his buddies, drink a few beers, and have some simple, uncomplicated fun. With a grin, she looked into his face. She completely understood why fourteen- to forty-year-olds either were stunned silent or squealed in his presence. He’d always had a great shape, but now, at this point in his career, his body was athletic, toned, cut, fast—a finely tuned machine of muscle, responsive agility and power. But what Charly found most attractive was how he carried himself—sure, strong and commanding, yet with a gentleness, an approachability. His warm, inviting gr
in put people at ease, invited them into the conversation, and always left them feeling they’d been the center of attention. His personality completed and complemented him. A truly good-looking intelligent, athletic, loving man, first devoted and in love with his family, second, devoted and in love with the game he treasured, baseball. Charly refocused her fears onto those things she knew and admired about Andy, the man she’d loved for more than half her life.
Looking up into his big, chocolate brown eyes, she smiled again. “Will you do your little dance for me tonight?”
He pursed her lips at her. Sliding his hands down her backside, he gripped her ass firmly and ground his towel-draped groin against her. “The G-rated public version of this one?”
She moaned into him. “Uh, huh…it’s fun to watch the women in the crowd watch you. I know what they’re thinking, and I’m the one who can take advantage of your male stripper gyrating later.”
“You can or you will?”
“Will, I hope.”
“You don’t’ have to hope, honey. Trust me, you’re the only one who gets the private show.”
***
Charly got a beer and settled in at a table. She watched Andy getting organized with his bandmates. She shook her head, amused. Playing with his buddies, he reminded her of the seventeen-year-old who had goaded her into a date. He dressed the part as well—washed-out long-sleeved T-shirt, ratty backwards ball cap, well-faded trim blue jeans with worn and worn-through spots in all the right places.
Charly smiled—genuinely, for the first time today—watching him and his pals take the small stage. He didn’t walk up to it, he popped with light energy. I could watch that ass all day and never tire of it. He carried a microphone with as much ease as he worked a Louisville Slugger. She shook her head, quickly looking away from his gaze as he winked at her. She knew the show he’d give, the songs he would sing, the jokes he would tell, but the only thought in her head was the ultra-private show he would give her later.
“Hey, Charlotte Knox!”
Charly spotted one of Andy’s soon-to-be-former teammates, Tom Gorman, and waved hello in return. And, who’s that? Certainly not your wife with her hand in your back pocket. At least take off your wedding ring! He winked at her then brought his hand to the side of his face in the international sign for “call me.” Still smiling at him, she jokingly shooed him and his lurid flirtations away. Maybe this trade isn’t such a bad thing, if it gets Andy away from him.
She’d never told anyone and definitely not her husband, but once after a small party celebrating the Breakers’ lock into post-season play, Tom had hugged her good night and whispered in her ear, “I’m going to miss your pants,” making his play and point clear with a solid grasp of her butt. She’d put it out of her mind, chalking it up to alcohol, but seeing her husband’s handsome teammate with a woman other than his wife, she knew exactly what he had implied. His blatant adultery bothered her on so many levels. For starters, infidelity was unacceptable; but on a deeper level, Tom physically resembled her father. Seeing Tom with another woman felt like watching her father cheat on her mother—which Charly’s father had done frequently, outwardly, and nastily. The only thing more irritating than her dad’s blatant adultery was the way he ignored his family, leaving her to care for her hurt, lonely, and ill mother.
She shook the ugly memory from her mind, said a prayer for her mom, and went back to the amazing scenery in front of her. She had no problem being left to her own thoughts, specifically those about her husband on stage. Just move it, darlin’! Between his tight, trim ass in somewhat loose jeans and his hips grinding to the beat, it was impossible not to be wet.
It seemed he kept a closer eye on her tonight, directing songs and gestures more so in her direction than anyone else’s. Nothing like a little “private” public attention. When their eyes met, Charly hoped he could read what she thought.
She knew him well enough to guess that he knew exactly the effect he was having on her.
The opening chords of a particularly catchy tune began, and Andy made his way from the stage, slapping hands and spreading fist-bumps in the crowd. Her heart double-clutched as he stopped where she sat. He took her hand, drawing her into his hold. His voice rang in her ear and through the bar’s sound system. She swore everyone could see the wet spot on the seat of her prairie skirt.
Holding back a gasp at the intensity of her attraction to him, Charly swayed against him, his trim, solid leg nudging between hers. Between the hoots and hollers of the audience and the fuzzy background noise, Charly was unable to hear anything but the words breathed in her ear.
“You know how much I love you, don’t you?”
Her body shook with anticipation and love, as well as a touch of fear, as she nodded against his cheek.
***
Charly thanked the babysitter then closed and locked the door behind her. After setting the alarm and turning out the lights, she wandered down the hall to check on her children. Bree and Chloe slept in the same room. They had been born within minutes of one another, but that’s where their “twinness” ended. Breanna insisted upon nightgowns—her sister, only pajamas. Chloe slept sprawled out, covers askew—her sister, perfectly curled to one side, the linens exactly where they’d been tucked in. Charly shook her head. Chloe was her father’s daughter, and Bree hers, each twin perfectly mirroring one parent
Heading to the master bedroom, she left the girls’ bedroom door ajar, as she always did. She heard the shower running. The kids are asleep…maybe we can get away with this! Quickly, she turned down the bed.
Intimacy had seemed hit and miss as of late. She was busy with her job, and he had necessary off-season workouts. She shuttled the girls to preschool and a myriad of after-school activities. When his training schedule allowed, he loved helping his dad and brothers with their ever-growing dairy operation. With the house, charity events, relatives, and both of them running themselves ragged, it’d been awhile since they had the kind of time Charly hoped they could steal together now.
She undressed as she went into the bathroom. The stunning silhouette of her husband shadowed the frosted glass of the shower stall. Cracking the door ever so slightly, her mouth watered as she watched her husband. All six foot three of him was propped up against the tile, tepid water streaming over his broad shoulders, slithering down his chest, and over his muscled abdomen. But what got her attention most was his exquisite dick, lathered and slipping through his powerful hand.
“What’re you doin’ baby?” she asked.
He looked up from his work, unembarrassed. “Finishing what you started with those looks at the bar.”
Charly held her breath, watching him lick his lips as he eyed her body. The greedy need in his eyes tweaked a pulse between her thighs. Regrouping, she feigned total innocence, “Moi? I didn’t do anything.”
“Hmmm, on the twenty-minute ride home you had your hand in my crotch the entire time.” He opened the door all the way, grabbed her hand, and pulled her into the shower with him.
He drew her to him, and she sighed in his embrace. Warm water sluiced between their bare bodies. She caressed her bare breasts against the hard muscles of his chest, while his stiffness pressed against her. She looked up into his face, and he cleared her wet hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ears.
Pressing his lips to her forehead, he breathed, “Give me a hand, will ya?”
“Be happy to,” she teased in return. Pressing against him, she used her body to direct him to the stall’s tiled seat. Widening her stance, she straddled one of his knees, maneuvering in such a way that when perched upon him she’d pleasure herself as well. She took a deep breath, glancing between them. In her mind this part of his anatomy had as much beauty as the rest of him—well-formed, strong, and what she knew he could do with it!
She wrapped her hand around his long, thick member, moving slowly with purpose and determination. Leaning into him, grazing his cheek with hers, she said quietly, “Tell me how you want
it, baby.” He lifted his chin, the whiskers of his close-cropped beard prickling against her cheek, and then her neck. She forced her to move herself against his knee.
“Charly, you know exactly how I want it.”
He grasped her bottom with strong wet hands, holding her steady as his long legs stretched out before him. She took her time sliding down the length of his leg to kneel before him. Resting her cheek on his tightly muscled thigh, she went to pleasurable work.
With one hand she continued to spiral stroke his dick, the other clutched and manipulated his ample sac. She smiled, knowing she petted him just the right way. Tell me, Andy, tell me I’m the only one who’s done you like this—the right way. You always used to tell me that. As she slipped her hand farther under him, kneading the sensitive area between his balls and anus, he shivered and a sharp groan left him.
Charly rose up, rubbing her face against Andy’s tight chest. Got you where I want you. When she licked and nibbled on his nipple, he hissed and forced his cock more severely into her grasp. “I need a squirt, Andy.”
Panting he returned, “Oh, I’m sure you’re going to get one.”
“Mmm, I know, but I’m talking about soap.”
Like a man without energy, he reached for shower gel, squeezing a good amount onto his dick and into her hand.
She stroked him faster with one hand and moved the other with more precision. His body stiffened under her as she gently she prodded at his hole.
“Dear shit, Charly!”
“Like that, huh?” He trembled in response.
