Part-Time Husband Page 10

  Eventually I’m able to say, “Isn’t that better than arguing?”

  “That’s better than anything.”

  That makes me smile.

  “But I like arguing with you too,” he adds.

  I smile even more.

  Most of the time, I enjoy arguing with him too.

  Who would have thought such a thing could be true?

  Six

  FOR THE NEXT MONTH, Trevor and I have sex almost every night.

  I’ve never had so much sex in my life, and it feels like a naughty secret I’m keeping from the world.

  That doesn’t make sense. Having sex with one’s own husband certainly isn’t much of a secret. But it feels that way to me.

  After all, Trevor and I might be married, but he isn’t my real husband.

  He’s my part-time husband. That much hasn’t changed.

  But we do have sex almost every day now.

  There’s one night when Trevor works until almost midnight and I’m asleep when he gets home. And then the first two nights of my period we don’t have sex either. He doesn’t seem to mind, but I’m crampy and don’t want to be touched. But every other night for a month, we have sex.

  It feels like a lot. Even in the few real relationships I’ve had when (it felt like) we were going hot and heavy, we didn’t have sex every single night.

  Trevor and I never talk about it. We never bring it up during daylight hours. Trevor never kisses me—and almost never touches me—outside the bedroom. But at night, in our bed, we have sex.

  Great sex.

  A lot of it.

  And I’m loving it.

  One Saturday morning, I wake up from a sound sleep, feeling something on my back.

  It takes a while for me to orient myself and open my eyes. It’s mostly dark in the room, but I can tell morning has already made an appearance by the light around the edges of the shades. I usually sleep on my side, but I must have rolled over onto my stomach sometime during the night. I feel cool, so I know the covers have slipped lower than they should. It feels like some of my skin is exposed.

  My cheek is pressed into the pillow, and I blink a few times and see Trevor on his back beside me. He’s awake, and he’s looking at me.

  “Were you touching me?” I ask.

  “Of course not.”

  “It felt like you were touching me.”

  “You were asleep. You must have been dreaming.”

  I blink again, frowning as I try to identify the sensation that woke me up. “You weren’t touching my back?”

  “Why would I have been touching your back?” He’s cool and crisp as a fresh glass of ice tea, which is odd first thing in the morning.

  “I don’t know. It would be weird.”

  “I agree. So clearly I wasn’t touching your back.” He’s got that wry, endearing glint in his eyes that makes me want to smile.

  “Why are you awake?”

  His eyebrows lift just slightly. “I woke up.”

  “But it’s early, isn’t it?” I exert great effort and lift my head enough to see the clock on the bedside table. “Not even six yet. You’re usually still asleep, and if you’re not, then you’re grumpy. Why aren’t you grumpy today?”

  “You sure do have a lot of questions for first thing in the morning.”

  “Something is weird.” I look over my shoulder, trying to see my lower back. My pajama pants have dipped absurdly low during the night, and my top has gotten hiked up so there’s a large expanse of skin exposed on my lower back. “You sure you weren’t touching me?”

  “I don’t know. Like this?” He reaches over and lets his fingertips skim across my bare skin in a line from the hem of my top to the waistband of my pants, tracing down the dip and up the curve.

  The light caress sends out ripples of sensation and also a flash of familiarity. “I knew you were touching me.”

  He smiles. A real one. “This sexy curve right here was so deliciously exposed.” Again, he runs his fingers along the line of my lower back, making me shiver. “I couldn’t resist.”

  “I was asleep.”

  “I know. It was wrong. I apologize.”

  “You don’t look apologetic. You look smug.” He also looks like sex personified with his heavy-lidded eyes, the dark stubble on his jaw, and his bare chest. “Why aren’t you grumpy this morning?”

  “I honestly have no idea.” He smiles at me again. That authentic, swoon-worthy smile. He reaches an arm out toward me. “Come over here for a minute.”

  While I’m not in the habit of just obeying what some guy tells me, I instinctively do what he says. Who wouldn’t, when the guy is looking like Trevor does right now. It seems like something is going to happen that I’ll like.

  I scoot over toward him, and he pulls me on top of him so I’m draped over his chest, my legs parted around his thighs.

  He kisses me.

  “You said a minute,” I mumble against his mouth when the kiss is long and leisurely. His hands are sliding up and down my body with a slow kind of possessiveness, lingering on my thighs, my bottom, that dip at my lower back he was noticing before.

  “If I told you I was about to fuck you good and long this morning, you might not have come over.”

  “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

  “I’m not complaining.”

  I’m not complaining either. The kiss is just too good. His breath might not be minty fresh, but it’s also not bad. Everything about him feels good and warm and real and man.

  His fingers have now tucked in at my inner thighs, right at the cleft of my ass cheeks. He’s holding me there, occasionally squeezing lightly, and it feels intimate, even through the thin fabric of my pajamas.

  So intimate.

  I can’t seem to stop kissing him, and I’m rubbing my body against his as I do.

  It goes on for a long time. He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. He’s not all hot and urgent like he usually is at night. He grows hard against my belly. I feel him growing erect, and it’s strangely thrilling. He’s rocking up against me, but it’s not demanding. It’s almost gentle.

  He slips his hands under the waistband of my pajamas and panties and cups my bare bottom. “You feel so good all over,” he murmurs. “Let’s get your clothes off.”

  He pulls down my pajamas and panties, and I lift myself enough to yank them off all the way. Then I pull off my tank top, and he takes my naked breasts in his hands.

  His eyes are heavy and sensual as he watches his own hands fondle me, his fingers cupping and then twirling my nipples. I arch into his hands, and he continues the caress until I’m wet and aching for him.

  After a few minutes, he pulls me down into another kiss, sliding his hands up and down my body the way he did before. This time when his fingers dip down into that cleft between my legs, he makes a guttural noise of approval. “You’re wet.”

  I’m rubbing myself against his erection, which is pressed up against his lower belly but still caught in his pajama pants. “Mm-hmm.”

  “You’re really wet for me.”

  “Mm-hmm.” I’m kissing his neck now, so that’s as good as I can do in the way of a response. I like the gravelly sound of his voice right now though. I like it a lot. It’s making me even hotter.

  “I love it when you’re wet for me.” His fingers have gotten more intrusive now. He’s rubbing at my entrance, just barely teasing me there. “I love how your body responds to me, how much you want me to touch you.”

  I give his shoulder a little nip that makes him gasp. “Mm-hmm.”

  “Do you want to feel me inside you now?”

  His words alone make me clench, and I know he must feel it because his fingers are right there.

  I can hear him smiling although I’m teasing the pulse in his neck with my tongue, so I can’t see his face. “I think that was a yes,” he says, “but I better make sure. Do you want to feel me inside you now?”

  I clench excitedly again.

  He chuckles and moves o
ne hand up to comb through my hair. “Fuck, you drive me wild, baby. You really do.”

  When I lift my head, he’s gazing up at me. His expression distracts me momentarily, and my heart does a new kind of flip-flop.

  I can’t dwell on that strange feeling, so I focus my attention on what’s more urgent at the moment. I lean down to kiss him, and as I do, I edge my hand into his loose pajama pants so I can wrap my fingers around his erection.

  He moans into my mouth as I slide and squeeze with my hand. I love the sound of his moaning so much I keep up the massage until he breaks the kiss.

  “I need to be inside you,” he rasps. “Right now.”

  That sounds about right to me.

  I yank down his pants and he holds himself up, helping me lower myself over him and fit his erection inside me. My body stretches easily to accommodate the length of him, and I lean backward, holding on to his thighs so I can feel him more fully.

  He holds on to the soft flesh of my bottom and rocks up into me, but again it’s not as hard or fast as usual. It’s deliciously, achingly slow.

  After a while, he moves one hand and finds my clit with it, rubbing it gently as we move together.

  “Yes,” he breathes, as my inner muscles contract around him. “You like that, don’t you? I can feel how much you do.”

  I whimper in response, arching my back in a deeper curve. I feel naked, completely exposed, but there’s nothing bad about it.

  I want to be exposed this way. To Trevor.

  Only to Trevor.

  He keeps rubbing my clit, and I keep contracting around him in mini-orgasms that seem to build but never culminate.

  I have no idea how long it lasts, but it feels like a long time. My body is flushed all over, and I’m starting to sweat. The whole world is pulsing with this same slow, sweet, aching heat.

  When Trevor says, “Come here to me, baby,” I do. Of course I do. I’ll go anywhere he wants me to go.

  He pulls me down into a deep kiss. I’m so wet now that the shift in position causes him to slip out of me.

  He doesn’t seem to mind. He keeps kissing me. And then one of his hands tucks under my thigh until he can reach my entrance. His slides two fingers inside me as we kiss, curling them down against my G-spot.

  It feels so good I have to break the kiss. I gasp raggedly and fumble at the sheet beneath us, searching for something to hold on to.

  “Jesus, baby, you like that, don’t you?”

  His fingers are still curling inside me, and it’s like my whole body wants to clamp down around the penetration. I’ve never felt anything like it, and every muscle has tightened in anticipation. “Oh God, oh God, please don’t stop.”

  “Shh.” He’s stroking my hair with his other hand in a soothing caress. “I’m not going to stop. I promise. Don’t try to force it. Try to relax.”

  “I... I can’t.” I’m still lying on top of him, and my mouth is at his shoulder now. I’m mumbling against his skin. “I need it so bad.”

  “I know you do.” He strokes my hair and my back, and it feels so gentle compared to the way he’s fucking me with the fingers of his other hand. “Breathe slow, baby. Let go. Let me give this to you. Just let it come.”

  I can’t help but do as he says, and slowly my body relaxes on top of him.

  “That’s right,” he’s murmuring. “You’re so good. You’re doing so good. You’re going to come so hard.”

  I’m almost sobbing now with every exhale. It’s the only way to channel the intense pressure of pleasure that’s building. It’s not like any orgasm I’ve ever had before—which builds with steady momentum and then releases in a hot rush. This is almost agonizing, and my cries grow louder and louder as he pushes hard against my G-spot.

  I’ve soaked his hand now, and he’s still talking in that hoarse, sexy, soothing tone about how close I am, how good I am, how he wants to give this to me.

  I’m not this loud in bed. I’m never this loud in bed. But I can’t hold anything back as the tidal wave of pleasure finally crashes over me.

  I’ve heard of full-body orgasms before, but I never really believed in them.

  I believe in them now.

  My whole body is overwhelmed with rhythmic contractions that go on for a really long time. Afterward, I can’t even move. I’m a hot boneless heap of satisfaction, and I’m still draped all over Trevor’s hard body.

  He’s still stroking me.

  I gasp. “What... what... happened?”

  He chuckles. “I think you came, baby.”

  “But... how?”

  “Maybe I have a few skills.”

  My mind is too dazed to even begin to counter this arrogance. I seem to have slobbered all over his shoulder, but I’m not even embarrassed. “That was more than a few skills. You must have been trained by some sort of tantric sex guru.”

  He’s still chuckling, but I can tell he’s pleased with my words.

  And I’m pleased with him. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so relaxed and perfectly sated in my life.

  I kiss his shoulders where I was biting him earlier. Then I keep kissing my way down his chest. His hands tangle in my hair, but he’s not pushing me downward. It’s like he’s cradling my head. It feels almost tender.

  I kiss my way down his chest and belly until I reach his groin. I slant a look up at his face.

  He’s flushed and damp with perspiration and breathing raggedly now. His eyes are so hot.

  I lick a line up his erection, and he hisses, “Yes.”

  I do it again, and he bucks up just a little.

  I hover over the head of his shaft, angling my gaze up toward him again.

  “Yes, baby, please.”

  Then I take him in my mouth.

  I don’t know that I’m very good at this activity, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s making all kinds of sexy sounds, and he can’t keep his hips still. I suck him off as well as I can, holding on to one of his tense thighs with one hand and playing with his balls with the other.

  He doesn’t last for very long.

  “Fuck, oh, fuck, I’m close. Jesus, baby, your hot little mouth is so good. I’m close. I’m so close.”

  With my mouth around him, I check his face. His expression is strained, twisted, but there’s a question in his eyes. He wants to know if he can come in my mouth.

  I can’t answer with words, but I manage a little nod.

  Then he arches up off the bed and freezes for a moment, his mouth open in a silent scream. Then he’s shaking through his climax, coming into my mouth.

  I manage it all right, and he keeps muttering how good it is, how good I am, how this is what he wants.

  I’m warm and happy and pleased with the world as he pulls me up into his arms.

  He holds me tightly, and it takes a while for his breathing to slow down and his body to soften completely.

  He doesn’t usually hold me this way, but I can’t bring myself to pull away. I’m a mess, wet and sticky and sweating. I need to pee. I need to clean up. I need to feel like myself again.

  But I lie with my cheek against his heartbeat, and I don’t move at all.

  Neither does he.

  And the most unbelievable thing is that I actually fall back asleep. Right there. Completely naked. In his arms. I never go back to sleep after I’ve woken up in the morning, but my body is so tired and so satisfied. It’s gotten exactly what it’s needed, and now it wants to sleep.

  So I do.

  When I wake up almost an hour later, we’ve shifted positions a bit. I’m beside him rather than on top of him, but one of his arms is still holding me close. He’s asleep too, and he mumbles wordlessly as I pull away from him.

  I definitely need to get up now.

  I’ve never had a morning like this in my life.

  I TAKE A SHOWER AND resist the urge to crawl back in bed with Trevor afterward. Instead, I make coffee and get out my laptop like the sensible woman I am.

  I’ve been up for about forty-five m
inutes when Trevor comes into the kitchen.

  He’s already showered and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He hasn’t shaved today. He gives me a lazy smile.

  As he drinks his coffee, he asks, “What do you have planned for today?”

  “Nothing really.”

  “What about your top three for today?” He always asks about my top three. Every single day.

  I open my planner to today’s date and show him the three items, all of them already crossed off. They were all small, and I did them first thing by email.

  “I might go into work for a while,” I say as he scans the page.

  “Why? Are you behind on things?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Then don’t go into work.”

  “Why not?” It’s a real question, not an argument. I don’t have a particular investment in going in to work today, but I want to know why he doesn’t think I should.

  “Because it’s Saturday and you don’t need to work. It’s going to be really nice outside. You should come to the lake with me.”

  I put down my coffee cup and straighten up on my stool. “You’re going to the lake?”

  “Yeah. With my folks.”

  “You’re going to the lake with your parents?”

  He frowns. “Didn’t we cover this?”

  “Yeah. I just didn’t know you did that.”

  Now he’s frowning even more, like he’s confused. “Well, we don’t go to the lake every Saturday, but we do when it’s nice.”

  I blink. “You mean you spend every Saturday with your parents?”

  “Yes. Of course. Where did you think I go every Saturday?”

  I’m more rattled than I should be and partly because Trevor looks so bewildered. “I don’t know. I didn’t know where you went. You never said.”

  “So for the two months we’ve been married you thought I just disappeared for an entire day every week, and you never asked where I went?”

  “I thought you didn’t want me to know. I didn’t know you were just with your parents.”

  He gives an odd little huff that’s more irony than laughter. “Well, I hope you’re not disappointed that I’m not more nefarious. But I just hang out with my folks on Saturdays.”