by Anne Douglas
“Oh.” Aaron remembered all too well. He’d felt humiliated that for the first time in his life he’d been unable to perform. “I never told you, but I went to the doctor right after that, and found out I had a urinary tract infection that was affecting my abilities, so to speak. He gave me some drugs, and a few weeks later I was as good as new, but then…well, by then we’d stopped speaking to one another like this in the bedroom.” And Emma had obviously taken his inability to come as disinterest in her, when all along he’d been feeling the shame of not being able to fulfill his part of the act.
Emma’s shoulders went tight and she tried to pull free of his embrace. “Damn you, Aaron. You don’t get to keep that stuff from me; that’s not fair, not after everything we went through with Joan.” Her fist thrust out and into his shoulder, not quite able to punch him, but he got the point. She was angry, and now that everything had come out, he didn’t blame her one bit.
He pulled Emma close, not letting her retreat. Emma’s fists still pressed into his chest as if to compel him ‑‑ and her hurt ‑‑ away from her with brute force of will, but he didn’t let her budge an inch. When she sniffed, Aaron wrapped his hand around her neck and pulled her lips to his, whispering against them, “I’m sorry, Em. I really, truly have learned my lesson. From now on, even if the doctor decides shoving a tractor up my arse is a good thing, you’re going to be there with me, okay?”
He was cheating by resorting to humor, but he just couldn’t handle it when Emma started crying ‑‑ especially when it was he who made her cry.
It took a few moments, but her lips softened against his, pressing against him with a small, not-quite-tear-filled sigh.
They kissed for long moments, their lips barely open ‑‑ chaste almost ‑‑ before Emma pulled back. “What about a Mack Truck ‑‑ you still want me there then?”
Chapter Five
Making love with Aaron had been wonderful. Falling asleep in his arms, reassured that he wasn’t embroiled in an affair was even better; in fact, she’d walked around with a spring in her step for days after. Yet here it was, late Wednesday night, and she was in bed alone again. It seemed they’d fallen back into the patterns that had led her to believe her marriage was on the rocks.
The hours Aaron worked were only part of the problem. The other was that since Friday night, they’d only had sex once ‑‑ and that had been a perfunctory meeting of bodies after Aaron crept into bed late Monday night.
Just about every part of her body ached for her to find her husband, wrestle him to the ground, and make fast, bruising love to him. The total opposite of her usual desire to have Aaron be the one in control.
She felt a little uneasy in her skin, like it was about to burst open with the amount of sexual tension that flooded her system. It wasn’t a case of wanting ‑‑ she needed more sex. She wondered idly if this was what it felt like for a teenage boy, all this sexual tension and desire just there at the drop of a hat, never really dissipating, just humming along in the background waiting to be set loose. Nature really was a bitch to set men and women at their sexual peak at such differing ages.
All she wanted was to get back what they’d once had. Not the too comfortable, only-between-the-sheets, in the dark on Tuesdays, clockwork sex of the last few years.
Emma knew exactly when the change had started ‑‑ when Joan had been diagnosed with cancer. The four of them had been close; in fact, Joan and Silas had been closer to her kids than their real aunts and uncles were. So when the diagnosis had come down, it hadn’t been just Joan’s battle, it had been all of theirs.
What had started as an everyday mammogram had turned into a nightmare as the doctors found that her previous film had been misread. Being under forty, the doctors had only recommended Joan have a mammogram every two to three years; at forty-one, the cancer had been in her body well over three years, and it had been viciously invasive. At forty-three, Joan had lost her battle against the disease, and she, Aaron, and the kids had had to find a way to see Silas through losing the love of his life. It’d been a bittersweet time. While none of them wanted her gone, they’d all wanted her to find relief from the pain she’d suffered. What dignity the disease hadn’t taken, the horrendous, hard-hitting treatments did their best to, and Joan hadn’t deserved that.
It’d been around the time of her last round of chemotherapy and radiation when things had started to go south, sexually speaking, between her and Aaron. The three of them, Silas, Aaron, and Emma, had taken shifts with Joan, helping her get through the worst of the side effects. At the end of the day, sex had been the last thing on their minds, let alone getting it on in the shower, on the couch, or the washing machine.
Her cheeks flushed as she remembered the time they’d had sex on their old washing machine ‑‑ right before they’d gotten a new model. They’d had the old one since they’d gotten married ‑‑ in fact, it’d been a wedding gift from Aaron’s parents. Although it’d been repaired many times over the years, the motor really needed replacing ‑‑ not an easy task on a fifteen-year-old washing machine ‑‑ and it shook so much they felt it at the other end of the house.
The kids were both in school, and Aaron had come home for lunch. He’d had this look in his eye that said he was keen for another kind of main course than the one she’d prepared. He’d grabbed her from behind and turned her around, hoisting her up so she teetered on the edge of the kitchen bench, her bottom threatening to land in the sink full of soapy water she’d been washing dishes in. Then the washing machine had started into its spin cycle and Aaron broke away from their kiss with an evil, sexy little laugh. He’d pulled her down onto her feet, then tugged her into the laundry room where the washing machine was just getting into its shimmy shake with gusto.
“Up you go, love.” Aaron had boosted her up onto the top of the machine then reached under her skirt to pull her panties down. Her skirt had been pushed up, along with her T-shirt, and he’d pulled her bra down to expose her breasts. Aaron’s belt had clunked against the front of the machine as he’d unbuckled his pants, and the rasp of his zipper being pulled down had been extraordinarily loud over the whine of the appliance. The whole situation was as uncomfortable as hell, but then Aaron had pulled her forward and slid his cock, so hot and hard, deep inside her and she’d forgotten everything else.
It hadn’t been a sweet, loving moment; it’d been all about the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. Other than her panties ‑‑ and even they’d still dangled from one foot ‑‑ they’d been fully dressed. Aaron’s shirttails had hung loose, his tie skewed to the side, and his hair ‑‑ his one vanity that he wore a little long ‑‑ was all mussed up. The whole interlude had been…frantic. That was a good word to describe it, frantic, and hurried, and so damn satisfying. When the washing machine kicked into the last shimmying run of its spin cycle, vibrations had rung across her body, centered right where her bottom met the edge of the gyrating metal box. Aaron, with his thighs flush up along the front and his balls often pressing up against the cool metal, had groaned as the pitch of the vibrations changed, and she’d moaned along with him. The washing machine was like a huge, body-sized vibrator that not only set her clit alight, but all the sensitive areas around her ass and thighs too.
Usually, Aaron got her off first, then sometimes as he was fucking her she came a second time, but it wasn’t a regular occurrence. That day, they’d come together in a screaming crescendo, right as the machine had clicked to the “off” position and come to a juddering halt. Limply propping each other up, they’d been silent for a few moments. Then Emma had felt a rumble of laughter that Aaron had tried to hold in. She’d begun to giggle, and then their laughter had turned into all out guffaws. Neither of them had managed to get through Aaron’s very hasty sandwich luncheon with a straight face, and when the machine was replaced a week later, they’d both watched it leave with a lustful sigh.
That was the sort of sex she missed. It wasn’t even that it was particularly risqué, just that it was unexp
ected, lustful, and oh so very satisfying.
Emma reached for Aaron’s pillow and pulled it against her body, then in a fit of anger and frustrated lust slammed her fist into the firm body of padding.
“Ouch! I hope that wasn’t supposed to be me.” Aaron’s voice from behind her scared the bejeebers out of her. Totally immersed in her thoughts, she’d not even heard him enter the house, let alone the bedroom.
“Jesus, Aaron.” Emma rolled onto her back, her hand pressing against her chest where her heart beat like she’d just finished a marathon. “Scare me to death, why don’t you.”
“Sorry, love.” Aaron sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh, and she heard twin thuds on the floor as he kicked his shoes off. “I’m knackered. This week has been a killer, and it’s only Wednesday.”
Emma said nothing for fear of saying something she’d regret. Silhouetted by the light coming from the hallway, she saw him pause halfway through loosening his tie. All these years, and she still hadn’t been able to convince him that it was perfectly fine to take his tie off in the car before he left the parking lot. She knew people thought him one of these gentle, quiet types. If only they knew how wrong they were. Aaron was one of the most liberally proper people she’d ever known, quite an oxymoron. And she loved him for it.
He turned toward her. “Wanna turn the lamp on for me, honey? I’ve got something to show you.” As little as three years ago she would have taken that request as a playful come on, and the something he had to show her would have been behind his zipper, but now? Now, she had no illusions that it meant anything more than he actually had something to show her. How middle-aged adult they’d become.
She rolled onto her side and reached for the lamp, clicking just once so it was on its lowest setting, and settled back onto the bed. Her husband looked tired, a little pale from too many days and nights spent inside his office, instead of outside enjoying the sunshine. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, which he must have laid on the bed before he sat down, and pulled out a hefty bundle of papers that had been tied with a red satin bow. “These are for you.”
Now Aaron really had her curiosity going. But she knew what they said about that bad habit ‑‑ curiosity killed the cat. She fingered the bow a moment, feeling the soft satin against her fingers, before she tugged on the end. The slippery fabric slid apart easily, and the bundle of papers unfolded.
“What are they?”
“Just read.” Aaron sounded tired, yet satisfied.
Emma picked up her reading glasses from where she’d left them beside the bed ‑‑ another thing that told her she wasn’t as young as she used to be ‑‑ and glanced over the top page. Halfway down, she stopped and straightened the paper out better to catch the light, and started again from the top. This time she took her time, and really understood what these papers were.
Tears filled her eyes as exactly what Aaron had done sunk in.
“Em?”
Wonder, amazement, and gratitude even, all made her voice husky. “You really did it, didn’t you? You made Grace a partner.” She’d been trying to subtly hint to Aaron for nearly two years now that a partnership would be a good idea. Grace was in her early thirties, a powerhouse worker, and raring to take the next step in her life ‑‑ becoming partner, or starting up her own business. Although Emma didn’t have a lot to do with Aaron’s business in the day-to-day sense, she knew it well enough after twenty years, and Grace was good for business. Losing her would have been a blow.
“That’s what I’ve been doing all week ‑‑ why I’ve been so late.” Aaron stripped down to nothing as he spoke. He took the papers from her hands and left them on the dresser, before turning off the hall light then the lamp. Aaron pulled back the covers and slid in beside her, spooning in behind her as she turned onto her side. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“You did.”
“Good.” Aaron’s arm came up under her pillow and stretched out beside hers, while the other pulled her close into the shelter of his body. “I’d really like to make mad, passionate love to you right now.” His voice was barely there; he was already more asleep than not.
Emma hugged Aaron’s arm beneath her hers, cradling it between her breasts. His palm moved automatically to cup one breast, just as it always did, his response automatic. She felt the rhythmic puff of his breath against her neck as he succumbed to sleep, and smiled into the dark night. Sometimes what the mind and the body wanted were two different things.
Things had needed to change; Aaron had made sure they did.
He had taken what had happened between them on Friday to heart, and he’d set out to make changes happen. There would have been a lot to work through to have an agreement signed so quickly; no wonder he was tired. She only wished he’d told her. She felt a bit of a ninny for not believing in him as she should have. All her worrying had been for naught, stupid really, considering while she’d been in a snit, punching pillows, Aaron had been rearranging his life to an ultimate degree to give her what she…they needed.
She snuggled into the bed and the warm body behind her, and told her libido to take a hike for the rest of the night. Bringing Aaron’s hand up to her mouth, she kissed his palm and whispered, “Tomorrow, love, tomorrow.”
Chapter Six
He’d made the decision to offer Grace the partnership at some ungodly hour on Saturday morning, as he lay beside his wife, watching her sleep. For some reason, he’d woken up but not been able to drop straight back off again. It had been a pretty momentous evening, and he was still getting his head around the enormity of it all ‑‑ Emma had thought he was having an affair. It was almost as shocking as her revelations about the way she saw herself.
He hadn’t lied when he’d listed the things she saw as faults as some of the things he loved most about his wife. Maybe that made him some schmaltzy sap who should hand in his man card, but he didn’t care. He loved every inch of his wife ‑‑ well, except for a few personal pet peeves, but she had some of those about him, too.
So far they’d had a very traditional relationship, for the most part. He’d worked while she’d raised their family, and they’d both done a great job of it. Their kids had their heads screwed on right; there had some been some teen up-and-down moments, sure, but once the hormones had settled they’d become productive members of the human race again. Had he and Emma swapped places, Aaron didn’t think he would have succeeded anywhere near as well. Why had he not thought about what Emma was doing with her days now that the kids were gone?
He’d felt like an idiot; even more so, now that he realized he could have nipped this all in the bud months ago, just by being truthful and not hiding his embarrassment over his sexual nonperformance.
Why the hell hadn’t he told her about that doctor’s appointment? He knew why, and it was a stupid reason ‑‑ his wife knowing someone had had their hand up his arse shouldn’t have even rated as something to conceal. And look where it had gotten him: halfway to divorce and sexually frustrated ‑‑ both of them sexually frustrated.
As Aaron had stared into the darkness, he remembered little sound bites of conversations ‑‑ mainly from his talk with Silas and how Emma had missed their “raunchy, sexy antics.”
Maybe Silas had given Aaron a way to bring him and Emma back together, sexually speaking ‑‑ a way of exploring their secret sexual desires. He couldn’t deny being shocked at hearing what Silas and Joan had gotten up to, but really should he have been? There had been many times where he and Emma had whispered dirty little secrets to one another as foreplay, fantasies of whips and chains and faceless lovers that were safe because they knew none of what they discussed would ever come true.
He would fix their problems ‑‑ taking on a partner was only part of it. He needed to give Emma what she wanted when it came to their sex life; that was his job, part of his role in their partnership. They were only in their forties, for God’s sake, not in their eighties. They were in their sexual prime, the kids were gone, and they had no
great worries ‑‑ they should be shagging their way around the world. Except…except he’d been an ass.
He’d drifted back off to sleep making plans: first to offer Grace a partnership, and then to talk with Silas more about this whole swinging thing.
Aaron wasn’t convinced it was the right thing to do, not after his reaction to Joel Markim just making a pass at his wife. But even if he didn’t follow it up, maybe talking with Silas would expand his horizons a little and he’d find just the right something to set them back on the hot, raunchy sex track again ‑‑ which led him to today, standing at the top of the eighth hole again.
This time his game showed moments of inspiration, but was still a little wobbly ‑‑ his nervousness was showing. What was the man-etiquette for asking your best mate about swinging? Hell, until their game two weeks ago, they hadn’t even discussed sex in anything more than the broadest terms, and he’d only readily coughed up about his problems because his anger had gotten the best of him.
Silas’s shot flew true down the fairway, and he had a pleased smile on his face when he came back to the cart. He dropped his driver into his bag with a clunk, and took the passenger seat.
“So. I heard about Friday night.” Silas had been caught out by a freak storm in Wellington, and his flight back to Auckland from New Zealand’s capital city had ended up being rescheduled to Saturday morning.
Aaron was in the process of pulling out his club and didn’t elaborate any further than an abstractedly questioning, “Oh?”
“Yeah, I hear that everyone was eating by the time you made it home.”
“I was home before dinner was served…just.” Aaron frowned as he spoke. “I was an idiot, and believe me, in a way I paid for it.”
“Oh?” Silas was no fool. Asking Aaron outright what had happened was no way of getting his friend to open up ‑‑ that he’d given into his ribbing and opened up the last time they’d played still surprised him. It wasn’t that Aaron was closed off; he was just a private kind of guy ‑‑ half the reason why he and Joan had never said anything about their extracurricular swinging.
