“Are you going to come for your husband?”
“That depends.” I squirm on the bed, my body growing hotter.
“Oh, I gotta hear this.” He chuckles, pushing a finger into me and my body stiffens, then relaxes.
“Put that phone down and join me.” Again, I hold my arms out, practically begging for his body against mine.
The picture moves off me and to the ceiling for a moment. A small patch of Dean’s dark strands and half his eye show before the camera shows the entire bed with me lying on it.
Damn, I looked good. Not trying to be conceited but Jesus, where did that body disappear to?
The camera shows Dean’s tall, muscular body climbing up the bed as I inch up toward the headboard. His hands slide up my legs, parting them while his mouth teases me with kisses along the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs.
My head falls to the side, my eyes closing and just like that, I’m in that too-expensive-for-college-kids-hotel room after coming back from eloping at a chapel in Vegas. Our two duffle bags sit on the chairs by the table. My fanciest dress balled up on the floor, my panties on the side table. My bra hangs from the headboard. The floral scent mixed with citrus and cedarwood fill the room and I’m with Dean all over again.
His five o’clock shadow prickles my skin, his thumbs opening me for his viewing pleasure. His dark eyes promising an orgasm that will have me tearing up the sheets. His tongue searches out my most sensitive area and I rock my hips to his rhythm, but his strong arm holds my pelvis down to the bed.
I always loved him walking the tightrope between being loving and firm with me. He knew what I wanted and made sure I ended up completely spent.
His tongue torments me and he shoves two fingers inside of me, arching them to hit my G-spot. My body protests, my hips grinding out of control, wiggling to match the speed of his fingers.
He moans, and I become greedier and greedier to have him. His fingers aren’t enough. I want his body on top of me. As though realizing it, his fingers slide out of me, his thumb continuing to play with my clit as he uses one muscular arm to hover above me until his cock rests at my opening.
“Protection?” he asks.
I remember being scared. Up until then, we’d used condoms. I’d gotten on the pill three weeks prior. At that moment, I didn’t want anything between us. It was just a piece of latex, but I thought I’d made it to heaven as Dean looked down at me, hope sprung in his eyes.
“No. We’re good,” I say, opening my thighs up more. “I need to feel you.”
He smiles that genuine one he reserves for me.
I always felt like we were sharing something special between us when he did that.
As he pushes inside, I feel myself stretch from his girth. Inch by inch he eases inside of me. It wasn’t our first time together, but something felt unique and rare that time around.
His eyes swim with mine as we move from lust to love, the camera long forgotten.
He rolls over onto his back and his hands mold to my hips. “Ride me like you want to.” His voice holds pride and a promise—that I will always be his number one.
My hand plants on his firm pecs and I rock back and forth, up and down. Our breathing grows faster, our moans hammering out a melody between us, the bed protesting our movements.
Eventually, his hands hold my breasts, his thumb and finger tweaking my nipples until I fall slightly forward because I might die without his lips on mine.
He lifts his hips to get as deep as he can while our tongues mesh together in a frantic and chaotic dance.
My body begs for release, becoming unnerved and chasing my orgasm that’s right there.
Dean holds my face to his and rolls us so I’m on my back, pumping into me over and over again, never letting up until my hands fist the sheets. My legs tighten around his waist to make sure he doesn’t stop.
My breath hitches and my climax hits me like a bulldozer. Hard, heavy and leaving me dazed as he slows our kiss, his tongue exploring rather than conquering. A few more pumps and he moans out his own orgasm, coming inside me. The beads of sweat slide off our bodies to the wrinkled sheets as we lay there catching our breath.
“I love you, Chels,” he says and kisses my forehead. “Always will.”
Dean picks me up, and carries me into the bathroom, leaving the camera on. Light laughter echoes until the video ends. He edited out the last fifteen minutes of just listening to the two of us talking in the shower.
As I lay on my couch remembering one of the best nights of my life, my phone flashes next to me. Speak of the devil.
I press ignore.
A minute later a text comes through.
Minute Man: I’m sorry. You know for what.
I hold the phone in my hand, staring down at the words that never came out of his mouth years ago when they would have mattered.
Minute Man: That’s all. Have a great life, Chelsea. You deserve it.
My heart thumps. My hands itch.
The damn video is giving me a soft spot. A soft spot that’s taken over my common sense.
Me: Do you want to meet?
Chapter Nine
It takes all of one second before his answer comes through.
Minute Man: Name the time and place.
Me: Lunch tomorrow.
Minute Man: I’d prefer earlier. Breakfast?
Me: I’m extending an olive branch and you’re playing tug of war with it.
A few minutes go by and my thoughts drift to what he could be doing. Changing for bed? Is he out drinking with his buddies? Who are his buddies now? Is he home alone? Did he just watch his copy of our sex tape?
“UGH!” I scream from wanting to know more than I should about his life.
Minute Man: I’m an impatient man.
Me: I’m aware.
Minute Man: Do you ever wonder how we know each other so well from such a short time together?
Me: I try not to think about our time together.
Again, there’s a long pause. Again, my mind wanders to wondering what his apartment looks like. How well is he doing as a tax attorney? Is his family still in that small Indiana town? What made him come to Chicago?
Minute Man: That’s below the belt.
Me: Maybe, but it’s true.
Minute Man: Let me make it right.
I drop the phone to my chest, clutching it like his words can speak directly to my heart.
Me: You’re asking for a lot.
Minute Man: I’m a desperate man.
Never in my time as Mrs. Bennett was I ever privileged enough to see this side of Dean. Maybe he’s just different over text because he rarely ever let his cocky and arrogant facade fall. Even with me. Up until the end, he held on to it.
Me: I’m not a desperate woman. I have many options to choose from.
There you go, Chels, act like you’ve got great guys waiting outside your door.
Minute Man: Give me one breakfast. After that, if you want me out of your life, I’ll walk.
My thumbs hover over the phone and then I put it on the coffee table, and put my head in my hands, pulling at my blonde strands. I shouldn’t be so surprised that he wants so much from me.
Me: Fine. Ann Sathers at 8.