Because (Seven Year Itch #4)(10)

Just thinking about it makes me over emotional. I slip from under the covers and make my way into the bathroom. Once the door is closed I flipped on the light switch and stare into the large wall-sized mirror over the vanity. The person in the reflection is lost, scarred, and afraid. I hate her as I stare and watch tears falling from my eyes. Crying isn’t what bothers me the most. Its knowing I probably can’t fix what is broken, both inside of me and with my marriage. How can I get my husband to change when I don’t want to change myself?

I figure its useless to crawl back in bed and try to relax. Getting in the shower is what I need. The stream of the water will shield me from my demons, temporarily at least.

Stripping out of my comfortable pajamas and catching a glance of my naked body in the mirror only makes me more vulnerable.

I let my hand slide down across my right breast, tracing the shape until I reach my nipple. I used to be a full C cup, but now they were more a larger D. Instead of facing straight forward, they sag.

I turn to the side and run my hands over my waist and then hips. Love handles. That’s what people call them. I take both in my grip and lift, trying to see what it would be like if they were gone. Then I spin around and look at my ass, what my husband likes to call an anchor. It was true, the bottom is shaped like the device used to steady a ship. How he could want me to bend over and take me from behind was beyond me. I’d seen the women he admired when he watched porn, or even the ones he favored when he was glued to the television. I was nothing like them. Brandon preferred blondes with hourglass figures. I looked like an oversized pear.

Since I couldn’t immediately change my body, I decided to stop moping and get in the shower. I’d no sooner felt the water warming me up when I hear the bathroom door creak open. Figuring Aberdeen was going to the bathroom, I crack the shower door to check on her.

Brandon is standing over the toilet with his back turned to me. Since I suspect he’ll go back to bed, I close the door and lean against the shower wall for support. The next thing I know he’s climbing in behind me without clothes on. My gut reaction turns me around to face him. He looks tired and frustrated, his brows creased and almost touching. I feel his hands coming up and bracing my shoulders, before realizing my tears weren’t just drops of water and wiping them away with his thumbs. I let my arms come around his back and my head fall onto his hard chest. From there, I close my eyes, praying the pain will go away for a little while. “Why can’t we figure out how to be normal?” I ask him.

“I don’t know, Shay. I wish I had all the damn answers.”

“I know I can’t make you love me.”

“I never said I didn’t. You’re the one who keeps implying it.”

“We’re falling apart piece by piece and I don’t know how to help put us back together. We can’t keep doing this, Bran.”

He cups my cheeks and forces me to look into his hazel eyes I love so much. “Stop talking,” he whispers. “For once just stop and be with me.”

“I can’t let it go. That’s your solution for everything. You don’t appreciate me at all,” I announce as gentle kisses attack the sides of my lips. “Bran, please.”

He’s determined, pressing me into the wall so he has complete control, then lifting both of my arms above my head. “I know this is what you want, me touching you like this. You overanalyze everything. For once just shut up and let me have this moment."

"Ab could wake up any minute." I need an excuse to stop this madness. Why did we always end up in this predicament?

"She's out cold. Besides, I locked the bathroom door. Come on, Shay. Can you at least pretend you like me? Last night was rough. We need this."

I try to shove him away. "You might need this, but I don't expect sex to solve my problems. It can only complicate them more.”

His hands are groping each of my breasts. I’m falling victim to his touch again, this time too drained to fight. His lips find mine. His kiss is hungry, silently making a path for what will come. I’m weak. I can’t stop this from happening because so many parts of me don’t want it to. I need this to remind me there is hope for us. Be that as it may, I know sex has never really been the obstacle. We’re too different people, both stubborn and unwilling to change.

I bring my hand over his cock and take hold. He’s reluctant to allow me permission after what happened earlier. I hear him suck in a deep breath and stare into my eyes questioning his own safety. I drag my lips over his as I speak. “I won’t hurt you. You’re right. I need you.” I start with a comfortable stroke to allow him time to relax. He takes both hands and places them on my shoulders, pushing me down just enough to comprehend what it implies. He wants my lips around his cock. My mouth waters as my knees bend, bringing me closer to his groin. I’m now face to face with his stiff erection. My mouth is starved with anticipation. I don’t love doing this, but satisfying him has always turned me on. I try to look sexy as I bring my tongue closer, running his soft head over my bottom lip ever so gently. He leans back against the opposite wall and runs fingers through my wet hair. Doing this is penance for making him miserable. I need to prove to myself that I can bring him something other than loathing.

I take him in my mouth, his girth a firm fit in between my lips. Fresh water trickles down his body, a water trail running across his shaft. I taste it as I work to lubricate it with my saliva. The metallic flavor crosses my tongue as I suck him fully. The way I move is slow at first. I don’t want to go too fast to prevent my jaw from cramping. If he wants a blow job, I’m going to give him one to remember. I owe myself the benefit of knowing I’m still good at something, because everything else I touch seems to turn to shit.