Because (Seven Year Itch #4)(11)

I’m getting into it, my rhythm steady and paced. I massage his balls with my free hand, taking my index finger and running it over his * and taint. He’s gripping my hair and trying to be in control, but I’m too involved to allow him to lead. This is my task, not his. While sucking harder I apply pressure to his ass with my one finger. He clenches up, preventing me from taking it any further. I laugh with a full mouth at my failed attempt to violate him. He likes this, I know it. It’s a dirty game we play.

I’d never tell anyone his secrets. It’s one thing I like keeping to myself. There are parts of Bran he’s never shared with anyone else and I value that. I try again, this time the tip breaking through. He groans as I push gently, still bobbing my head over his rock hard dick. He’s really into it now.

My cheeks are starting to hurt, but I forge on determined to finish this. I’m so turned on I can feel my * throbbing between my legs. I want to be touched and taken care of, but not until I know I’ve done this to the best of my ability. When I can tell he’s losing his grip I go faster. I’m gagging but still giving it my all, my little finger penetrating his ass even further. Then I feel him tightening. He’s trying to push me away, but I remain. I want his load. It’s mine. I’ve earned it. When I first taste the salty substance in my mouth I drive my finger in as far as I can go. He quakes over me, his knees weakened as he tries his hardest to remain standing. I’ve done what I set out to accomplish. He’s crumbling before me – because of me. It’s an achievement I don’t take lightly.

I let him have his moment before pulling away, wiping the remnants from my face while swallowing what hasn’t seeped from my mouth. My lips are stinging from working so hard, my cheeks hurt. I’m under the impression our moment is over. He’s gotten what he’s come for and he’ll go to bed.

Brandon never kisses me after I’ve sucked him off. He brings his lips close to my mouth and shoves my face to the side. He licks up my neck while I feel his hand coming down over my *. The second his palm grazes it I crumble. His touch is like an electric shock. Jolts of excitement rip through my body. He circles my clit with a couple fingers, his lips brushing against my ear lobe. I’m falling apart at the seams and he’s just begun. I don’t know how much it will take to bring me over the edge, but I’m about to find out.

Brandon uses his middle finger to drive inside of me first. I can feel his fingernail as it makes it’s exploration. I want to kiss my husband, but it’s out of the question. I’ll have to appreciate all the other good things he knows how to do to me instead. I watch as he lowers down. I expect him to use his mouth, but instead he only watches what he’s already doing. He leans his head against my inner thigh for a closer view. My breathing is strained as I try to contain myself. “I want to watch your * contract when I make you come, Shay. Show me how good I make you feel,” he says while applying a circular pattern against my swollen clit. I’m becoming weak, my knees shaking as I crumble. I’m losing my grip and it’s what he wants. I hear him groaning as I begin to crescendo. Tiny cries escape my lips as waves of euphoria come crashing down. I’m withering, breathless, and completely content.

Bran rises to his feet and brings his lips to my forehead. He holds them there for a brief moment and then backs away. “We need to stop fighting and find a common ground, Shay. Not just for Ab, but for us too. Something has to give. When you’re a bitch none of us can be happy. I’m sorry I didn’t answer the call, but I don’t need your permission to do things. I shouldn’t have to go through hell every time I want to walk out the door. Get over yourself. If you can’t then I don’t know what to tell you anymore.”

I watch him exit the shower but say nothing. He’s right. Something has to give, and I’m sick of waiting for him to make the change. If I want something done right I’m sure as hell going to have to do it myself.

I hate admitting it, but maybe he has a point. Moping around miserable wasn’t helping me change the way our relationship has molded into a loveless cesspool of negativity. I wasn’t the only one to blame, though. If he treated me better I wouldn’t feel so insecure. The monotony of our lifestyle has turned us into people I no longer wanted to admit exist. I wasn’t just living a lie, it was more like I was putting up a fa?ade for everyone else to see, while drowning in an ocean of denial.

Something had to give for sure.

If it didn’t I was afraid where our life was headed.

People couldn’t understand what it was like for me. They assumed abuse was physical. On the outside I was still the same person I’d always been; a little extra baggage affixed to my ass, but the same general happy-go-lucky personality. Only the few closest to me heard me complain about our troubles, and in all honesty I was too ashamed to admit everything I lived with on a daily basis.

Denial is a bitch to accept.

Seven years of marriage and I couldn’t remember the last time I went a day without shedding a tear. I tried to mask my emotions by acting as if my marriage was a beautiful example of how two young people could manage to make it work. I’d go as far as to conjure up lies in order to hide the truth.

My husband wasn’t there for me – not when I needed him to be, with the exception of it having to do with Aberdeen. There was always something more important going on in his life.

Don’t get me wrong. He wasn’t a terrible person. Contrary to how I may be making him seem, he was a genuinely kind person. He helped anyone that asked, and offered assistance even when they didn’t. He was generous and considerate to everyone he came in contact with, with me being the only exception. When he came home he was a different person. All of his frustrations were taken out on me, as if I was some kind of emotional punching bag. I didn’t get it. Where had I gone wrong? Why did he hate me?