by Wendy Burke
She watched as Andy kissed, hugged, and tickled his girls good-bye. Ready to stand her ground, she still took his hand and followed him out of the house. She stood next to his car, looking at her feet, not wanting to look into his brown eyes.
“Charly?” He touched her chin, and she tried desperately to hold tears in place. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry about everything.”
She shook her head, not wanting to hear his apology. “Don’t. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. We can’t settle this in forty-eight hours, Andy. Go do what you do. We’ll figure it out at the end of the season.”
In one instant, she loved and hated being in his embrace. Warm and strong, his arms felt wonderful about her, the excitement of how he could control her with his strength. At the same time, bile bubbled in her gut. If I had the strength, I’d give you a good shove right now, Andrew Knox. Relenting, she relaxed into him.
Obviously relieved, he hugged her more diligently, his breath against her ear. “I love you, Charly. I’ll never hurt you again, I promise. I will make this right.” His forehead to hers, he asked, “You gonna be all right?”
Nodding, she mumbled through her tears. “Yes.”
“I’ll call you when I get to…um….”
“Baltimore.”
He shook his head and smiled, “What would I do without you?” He nudged her chin with his, brushing his lips against hers.
She lifted her face and allowed him to kiss her. The buss was long, warm, and deeper than they’d shared in some time, until she broke it off. “Go on.”
“I love you.”
She didn’t balk as he kissed her again. “You, too.”
He squeezed her a last time, his lips against her ear, “I promise you, Charly, I’m going to do everything in my power to be the husband you deserve.” A smooch to her forehead and he was gone.
Chapter Six
At the end of a long summer and one hundred sixty games, in two days he’d be home. Certainly ready for the season to end, Andy closed and zipped the last of his larger travel bags, snapping a lock onto the zipper. Handing the three pieces of luggage over to a courier, he tipped the man well.
Before he could close the door to his summer, home-away-from-home apartment, he heard someone call his name. “Mr. Knox!”
Impeccably dressed, immensely well-groomed, the young man stopped at the door and held out an official-looking envelope. “Andrew Knox. Delivery for you, sir.”
I’m not expecting anything. He took the packet. It was unlike any he’d seen before—cream colored heavy parchment, sheathed in a clear sleeve. “Wait,” digging into his jeans, he extracted a ten dollar bill.
“Thank you, sir, but I cannot accept a tip.” With a sincere nod, he continued, “Enjoy your day.”
He watched him walk away. Once he was well down the corridor, curiosity goading him, he began to gently open the seal on the plastic sleeve. Wait, if this is what I think it is, it’s about fucking time! Only to be interrupted.
“Hey, Knoxville,” his teammate, pitcher Blake Huntington, called from a few doors down.
“Hunts, what’s up?”
“You up for some breakfast?” Blake asked. “You know, a mimosa or two to celebrate the ‘how-the-hell-did-I-end-up-with-the-Titans-during-their-worst-season-ever-get-me-outta-here-and-back-to-flyover-country!’”
Damn, he sure summed that up well! Well, he understands, he’s a Michigander. “Not that you didn’t try, Blake, you pitched a helluva season.”
“And, you sir, saved me a lot of runs. And a stellar batting season, but even with you hitting the way you did, no one else was!”
“Too true.”
“So, breakfast?”
“Would love to but I got a pile of shit to do before I bug out.”
The pitcher thumped him on the shoulder wholeheartedly. “I hear ya.”
“Catch up with you later, Blake.”
Back in his apartment, Andy looked around at leftover shit that wasn’t his. Why do all furnished apartments look the same, even the upscale ones? A lovely, familiar aroma caught his attention. Carefully, he slipped a finger under the opening, removing the expensive stationary from its protection. Mmm, smells like Charly!
Opening the flap, he retrieved its contents—two more envelopes and a letter.
Mr. Knox,
Thank you for contacting my office. It is with utmost pleasure I am able to tell you, I can most certainly assist you with your predicament.
My utmost condolences on the end of a long and arduous eight months, both professionally and personally.
But, you do, however, have a few tasks before you return home.
First: Visit Tiffany & Company on Fifth Avenue. Johanna is expecting you. If you have a photo of your wife, please bring it. Johanna is exceptionally talented in selecting the perfect gift. With what you’ve shared with me, I would suggest diamonds (and lots of them).
Second: Study the enclosed material as it pertains to communication and sharing.
Third: Share your fears, downfalls. Your wife loves you; she wants you to be honest.
Fourth: Flowers.
Fifth: Touch. It doesn’t have to be sex, but just a physical reminder you’re with her.
Sixth.…
Scanning this thorough to-do list, he began to understand his unintended neglect. Life happened, children happened, and in love changed. But, if he wanted to keep the fire stoked, make their life better, secure and trustworthy in every aspect, he’d have to re-incorporate the little nuances that, years ago, had led them to love.
He understood why this agency was so expensive, and how much more it would cost him to secure the remainder of his life with the woman he loved.
***
Thank God, I’m home. He’d never been so glad to leave a city!
Although, now thankfully behind him, the final two games of the season were as bad as any of the embarrassing losses the Titans had suffered, but the team had set a two records: worst attendance in the franchise’s history and worst record for the team. If there was any upside, Andy had played extremely well, despite the time away from Charly and the girls, and their irritation with one another as a couple.
He relished the slowing drone of the private jet’s engines. Next time I’m on a plane, it’s for a family vacation!
Per the suggestions from Casey’s professional contact, he planned on surprising his wife. He’d told Charly he wouldn't return to Wisconsin immediately after game 162, instead he left her to believe he’d be on the first flight home in the morning.
He came in through the garage like he had thousands of times in the past. The house smelled like home, a combination of fresh coffee, a fragrance of little girl hair, and the woman he loved. From somewhere deep in the house he heard Italian, his wife up late selling art to someone across the globe. God. I love it when she fucks in Italian!
Cracking the door to Chloe and Bree’s room, their beds were empty. In our bed, again, I’m sure. Down the hall, the door to the master bedroom was slightly ajar. There they were, his two little girls—one sprawled in every direction taking up most of the California-king-sized bed, the other angelically sleeping on her side, hands clasped near her beautiful face as if she’d just finished saying her prayers. Shaking his head, he smiled at them. With a sigh, he swore they were babies eight months ago, now they seemed to be near teenagers, even though they were still the same four-year-olds he hadn’t seen much of since February.
He made his way to Charly’s office.
“Salve, buon giorno!”
Peeking around the doorframe, he watched her as she tapped furiously on her laptop. If you only knew how you take my breath away, baby! Feet tucked under her butt, hair piled upon her head in a messy bun, she’d gotten up in the middle of the night to work. Damn, if she only knew how she fills out ratty sweats and a washed-out Green Bay Packers denim button-down turns me on! Wait, per the saving-my-marriage instructions, I’ll need to tell her that from now on. Rupp’s contact is sure full o
f great advice!
She scared the daylights out of him when she shrieked, surprised by his presence and a dozen roses in the doorway. “Andy!”
Getting up from the desk, she looked more delicious than he’d remembered. Her arms about his middle, she squeezed him. How he’d missed those gray eyes staring into his. Any irritation from the past months seemed to have dissipated.
“I thought you were coming home tomorrow.”
“Couldn’t wait,” he replied, kissing her forehead.
A flickering TV distracted him. “You’re watching the game?”
“Only missed two or three all season, honey. Couldn’t watch it live. The girls and I needed a nap so I caught the replay—had to get up anyway to call Rome. That was the ugliest game of the season, I swear.” Her soft had caressed his cheek, “And, I also see you haven’t shaved in the past few days.”
Smiling, he kissed her forehead. “A couple hundred dollar fine is worth the price to bring home a properly attired face.”
“Well, thank you!” Releasing him, she took the blood-red roses from his grasp, “Roses? There haven’t been red roses in this house since the girls were born.”
Yeah, well, that’s gonna change, honey!
She cocked her head toward the kitchen. “C’mon, I’ll make you something to eat.”
“You watched the games?” he questioned again, following her down the hall.
Settling the flowers into a vase, she put them in the middle of the kitchen table, pulling out a chair for him. “Had to catch you when I could. Just because I’m not crazy about the team doesn’t mean I’m not crazy about you.”
He shook his head, he had been missing so many signals this season, and maybe he hadn’t assured her of what he knew and felt, that he was ultimately and completely in love with her.
“Leftover lasagna okay?” she placed a chilled Spotted Cow, his favorite, in front of him.
“Do you want a glass, hon?”
Before she could turn back to the cupboards, he took her hand, bringing her into his lap. Damn you smell wonderful…wait, say it. “I love you.” Snugging her into his hold, he whispered, “You smell so good.”
“Love you, too.” She kissed his forehead, a feeling he’d missed, “But you’re gonna hate me tomorrow.”
He looked into her face, knowing there was nothing under the sun she could do to solicit such an emotion.
“I forgot to tell you about the law enforcement benevolent dinner.”
“Tomorrow night?”
She nodded.
“Not a problem,” he assured her, “if it means you’re gonna get all swanked up!”
“Well, so are you. Black tie or equivalent.” Requesting he release her, she moved through the kitchen, getting his late dinner.
“I love you, Charly. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’m pretty sure I know.” She winked.
A steaming plate of pasta in front of him, he dug in. Homemade, smothered in freshly shaved Parmigiano-Reggiano. He smiled. He was home. The only thing he needed was….
“Garlic bread? You want olive oil?”
He nodded, unable to answer, hungrier than he thought. This beat any plate from the best Italian joints in NYC, mostly because the server’s little ass, clad in washed-out yoga pants, distracted him so.
“Hungry much?” She placed another piece of bread on his plate so he could mop up the remainder of the marinara.
He watched her while she watched him eat. How he’d missed her little contented smile. She turned him on just sitting there, being attentive. She sipped out of the same bottle he drank from, and he fell in love with her all over again.
She tipped the bottle toward him, and he took it and drained the last of the ale. “C’mere.”
As he welcomed her into his lap, she settled astride him, her arms wrapped about his shoulders.
“I missed you, Andy. I missed you all season.”
Cuddling his wife, he whispered to her, “Do you know how much I missed you?” She didn’t flinch as he slipped his hand into her sweats, caressing her.
“Andy.”
Damn, the way you sigh, turns me on…no, wait, aloud, Knox, out loud. “I love it when you breathe my name like that, Charly.” He kissed her behind the ear and felt her shiver in his embrace. Shoving the dishes out of the way, he lifted his wife and plopped her ass on the kitchen table.
“Andy!” He leaned into her, laying her on the table. His strong fingers slipped under the waistband of her sweats, easing them from her hips and legs. “What about the—”
“Sound asleep halfway across the house.”
He grabbed her hips, sliding her closer to the edge of the table. He opened her legs, grazing her skin with his hands. She whimpered at the small prickles of his whiskers on the skin of her inner thighs.
He feathered his lips across her skin and palmed her lower tummy, holding her steady.
“Do you have any idea how much I love your pussy?”
Any answer, sarcastic, silly, seductive, or otherwise, was rendered silent. She could only moan and move as his hot tongue bathed her from vagina to clit.
“Andy,” she panted when his oral attention ceased. Breathing heavily, she found him poised above her, unbuttoning her denim shirt. She sucked in a breath when the air hit her nipples, only to give way to a groan as he took each breast into his strong hands then leaned in to give them long licks.
He crept up closer to her, resting his face in her neck. “Baby, you had a rack before we were married, but, damn, since the girls were born!” Only the jingling of belt buckle opening broke the silence. “It’s okay, isn’t it? You’re healed and….”
“Yes.”
“Then, c’mere, darlin’.”
She didn’t have to move much, his strength lifting her from the table and holding her above his lap until she grasped his thick cock, aiming him. A bay of a moan left her when he impaled her on it.
“You are so fucking wet.”
He smiled at her. She fell into eyes of brown so deep, honest, and faithful that, despite the erotic situation they were in, she teared up. His deep, rumbling groan purred against her neck, strong hands secured her hips, forcing her down, holding her to him as he moved deep within her. Despite his powerful clench, she still tried desperately to move.
She clung to him, her cries seemed to spur his arousal.
Changing the dynamic, he flexed his powerful thighs and glutes lifting them from the chair. His huge, stiff dick moved where he directed. He ground his hips, side to side, fore and back, and in a circle. She moaned uncontrollably with his movement.
He snickered in her ear. “Uh, I guess you’ve missed the happy dance, huh?”
His hips and cock continued with their arousing movement, the same way he swayed and moved to the music performing with his bar band, only this dance was for her. He moved on her more urgently, the table legs scraping against the tile floor. When she reached for him, he complied, cradling her head in his hands.
At this moment, she could get no nearer to him—physically, emotionally, or spiritually. Her mind spinning with physical and mental sensation, she had no control over herself, she arched against the tabletop, crying out an enormous piercing wail, a sound reserved only for him.
She shook in his embrace, the strength of her orgasm depleting her of energy. She clung to him.
“Aw, shit, baby!” Then he was still.
She relished in his nearly two hundred pounds of dead weight atop her, his breathing deep and heavy as if he’d just stretched a double to third base.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Why the situation struck her funny, she didn’t know, but she couldn’t contain the sudden onslaught of giggles.
Still panting, he asked, “What?”
“Your mom, Andy, your mother.”
He pulled from her neck abruptly, staring into her face, confused. “My mom, Charly…you’re thinking of my mom right now?”
Tilting her head back, her bar
e breasts jiggling with laughter, she tried to contain herself. She cleared her eyes of entertained tears. “I can just hear her, honey. ‘Do you eat from that table?’”
His face once again in her neck, his warm tongue bathed her skin. “Mmm, I think the answer to that question would be a resounding yes!”
“Daddy, you’re so…pretty!” Standing on the plump sofa cushions, steadying herself on the backrest, Breanna expressed awe at her father’s appearance.
Andy checked himself in a mirror, straightening his white silk tie that didn’t need any correction. Damn, I do look good! He finger-combed his close-cropped hair and smoothed his returning beard and mustache.
“I can see why Mrs. Knox swoons every time you get super dressed up,” the sitter teased.
“Daddy, Daddy!” Chloe had joined her sister on the cushions, Kristen with a protective arm about their jammie-clad bottoms making sure they didn’t tumble backwards off the couch.
As he ruffled their curls, the little ones touched their father’s silver vest, eyes big. “Shiny,” one said quietly.
Please tell me her hands are clean! Last thing I need is anything sticky on this suit!
Smoothing the dark-gray fabric of his jacket, he patted the pocket, making sure he’d remembered to slip Johanna-from-Tiffany’s-selected gift into it.
The sound of heels clicking on oak floors drew his attention to the hall.
Breanna and Chloe looked past their father for a better view of their mother. “Mommy!” they squealed in unison.
He wolf-whistled at his wife. “Wow, honey!” He put one hand over his heart, his breath vacuumed from his chest at seeing the woman he loved more than anything in the world, including baseball.
Her version of the little black dress was stunning—a full, frilly skirt, mid-thigh, strapless, with a belted waist. It fit exquisitely. He was certain her “stylist,” Paul, wouldn’t have her buying off the rack. The flowing fabric caressed her curves lovingly, showing off her lean yet womanly figure. Its length enhanced her beautiful legs.
Gorgeous, honey, but how soon can I get you out of it! Beaming, he breathed, “Look at you, baby. Just look at you!”
