I lean forward, wanting her mouth, wanting her, and we collide. I no longer hold the back of the tub, and I have her face in my grasp. I kiss her deeply, letting our tongues slide together as we both gasp. If all I’m allowed to do is this, then I’m going to make it the best kiss she’s ever had. I play with her, retreating when she tries to go forward and overpowering her when she relents. I nip at her lip, pulling it between my teeth and then kissing it. Over and over, we do this dance, all while her hand pumps my cock.
“I need you,” I tell her.
She moves her lips to my ear. “Sit up on the edge. I need something more.”
“Sweetheart, not like this.”
“Like what?”
“Where some asshole might be looking at you, seeing how fucking perfect you are, how beautiful you look without any clothes on.”
While I know we have privacy, there’s no way I want anyone else to watch this.
Maren stands, water sliding down her beautiful body. “No one will see.” She moves over to the buttons and turns off the lights in the hot tub. It’s completely dark as her finger slides down my chest. “Sit up on the ledge and let me suck your dick.”
I do as she asks, and as she takes me deep in her throat, I decide that married life isn’t bad at all.
Twenty-One
MAREN
Tonight is our last night. First thing in the morning, we head back to Willow Creek Valley and then I drive back to Virginia Beach. It’s been an amazing and much needed few days of relaxation. We’ve laughed, watched movies, had more sex than two humans probably should, and honestly, I’m insanely happy.
Oliver is . . . well, I like him. I like him a lot. I am falling so hard for him, and I don’t know what to do about it.
I know the rules, and it’s fine because I want the same thing he does—nothing. Only I want him and that’s crazy.
Since keeping him isn’t an option, I refuse to think about it and resolve myself to the plan I started with.
Denial of all feelings.
I smooth my hands over my black dress, shifting it into place. My hair falls in beach waves that brush the middle of my back, and my makeup looks soft but alluring. I look good, if I do say so myself.
I sit on the bed, slipping my heels on and buckling the clasp on the ankle. Stella and Devney may be assholes for the lack of sleeping attire, but they did a good job with these shoes.
I pick up my phone to send Devney a quick text.
Me: I’m still mad about the repack, but thanks for the heels.
Devney: That was Stella. I almost cried when I saw her shoe collection. There were literally hundreds of pairs all neatly aligned. It was magical. I’m jealous you two are the same size.
I laugh as I imagine Devney drooling over rows of shoes.
Me: Sounds fun.
Devney: It was. How are things with Oliver?
I know she’s over him and he’s over her, but it’s . . . odd. I’m not sure what is off limits to talk about or if it’s fair to Oliver. I’ll stick to vague and friendly.
Me: We’re having a great time. It was much needed for us both.
The three dots appear, dancing on my messages, but then stop. Then start. Then stop again before a text appears.
Devney: Is this . . . odd for you?
Me: Yes.
Devney: I am not upset. I want you to know that. Sean and I talked a lot about this, and I’m truly happy for you both. I honestly wish you guys would give it a real shot.
I do too. I just won’t allow myself to hope.
Me: We know what this is. It’s only odd because we both have . . . you know.
Devney: Seen his penis?
I start laughing.
Me: That.
Devney: Well, at least it’s a good one, and I’m not sending you apologies.
Me: Oh dear God. I’m going to dinner now. I’ll be home tomorrow, so we can catch up then. I need to see if I have to murder my boss and find a divorce attorney or if I can tell Oliver we’re all good.
Devney: Good luck and have fun tonight.
I put the phone in my purse and stand, feeling like a newborn calf that hasn’t found its legs yet. I teeter and then right myself as I head downstairs.
Ollie is standing by the windows, looking out at the ocean that’s invisible in the inky darkness. His broad shoulders, which carry everyone’s burdens, are covered in a navy-blue suit. His dark brown hair is slicked back as if he ran his hands through it and it stayed. I lean against the wall, looking at him, wondering what my life is going to be like once I no longer see him like this.
Will we be friends?
Will we talk?
Will he come to my father’s funeral? My mother’s farm?
Do I need him?
He turns. His blue eyes go a little wide before he grins. “You look stunning.”
“You do as well.”
Oliver walks to me and brushes a piece of hair off my face. “Our first last date.”
My heart flutters at the date part, but then I register he said last. I force a smile, hoping it appears real enough. “It is.”
“Kind of crazy our first date was our wedding.”
I laugh. “Well, maybe the rehearsal.”
“That’s true.” Oliver looks away and then back to me. “I’ve had a great time with you. Not the sex, well, not only the sex. It’s been more than I ever thought it could be. In another time . . . maybe we could’ve . . .”
Tell him, Maren. Tell him how you feel. Tell him it doesn’t have to be the last date. Tell him you want to go on another date.
I don’t tell him because what I hear next in my head is a reminder of another rejection that would come my way.
“I’m glad that we both feel the same,” I say. “If we had felt this way in college, who knows, but now we have our lives and priorities.”
His lips mash together, and he nods. “And, tomorrow, we’ll return to them. But tonight, let’s forget they exist.”
I adjust his tie, mostly because I just can’t look at him. I’m not strong enough to gaze into his eyes and keep this part of the lie. My heart is calling out to him when there’s no chance for us.
We are only meant to be this.
“I like that plan.”
“I hoped you would, being the planner you are.”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and let him take my hand and lead me outside. Oliver opens my car door and then climbs in next to me.
“Where are we going?” I ask. He said he wanted to surprise me for our last night, and I was supposed to wear something formal.
“You’ll see once we get there.”
“You know I hate surprises.”
Ollie laughs. “I figured since you love plans so much.”
I’ve always hated them, since I was a kid. Maybe it’s because every time I’ve been taken off guard, a tragedy happened. My mother dying, a colleague being shot, losing someone we’d been trailing and having it result in someone being hurt. It’s never been a good thing.