Trillion(63)

He spreads my thighs wide, tasting me with generous strokes, and I melt into the mattress, all but dissolving as I give myself to him on this bed in Nolan’s guest house.

It’s the sweetest revenge. Poetic almost.

But I turn my focus to the man who makes me forget who I am, who I was, to the man who adores me exactly as I am, even when I’m not quite sure of that myself.

I grip his thick, dark hair and close my eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, I bask in the familiar bloom of warmth that fills my heart.

I never thought I could love again.

But maybe … just maybe … I could love him.





Forty-Six





Nolan



Present



“They’re lovely, aren’t they?” My wife massages organic chamomile lotion into her hands before climbing beneath the covers Friday night. She sidles up to me, the way she does on the nights she’s willing to get “frisky” (as she likes to call it). “Reminds me of us when we were young.”

When we were in college, we couldn’t keep our fucking hands off each other.

During our twenties, medical school stole most of her time, attention, and energy. And I was constantly fending off competition. Never mind my last name or the zeroes in my back account, it’s impossible to compete with a dashing man in scrubs who can carry on an intelligent conversation about medicine without yawning.

“Christ, Anabelle. We’re not that old,” I say, and then I slip my arm over her shoulders because I shouldn’t have snapped. She did nothing wrong. She’s never done anything wrong.

I don’t deserve Anabelle—which is why I’ll stop at nothing to protect what we have.

The TV flickers across the room as her fingertips trail down my chest and stomach and travel below the comforter. In the dim bedroom light, I count her ribs beneath her silk pajama top.

One … two … three … four …

She’s skin and bones. And it’s no surprise. She never sits still. She’s always doting on me, the kids, our guests …

She even dotes on the help for crying out loud.

The other day Margaux had a mild cough and Ana ordered her to bed, personally delivering her two Sudafed pills and a cup of lavender tea.

“You think they enjoyed themselves tonight?” Anabelle draws in an exhausted breath as she pumps my length in her hand.

“Of course.” I offer a reassuring nod. “You’re a world class hostess.”

I can’t recall the last time my wife actually let me inside of her. A year ago? Maybe two? And it was on my birthday, so it was obviously a pity fuck.

That’s the thing no one ever tells you about marriage and kids—if you’re not careful, they suck all the passion out of your relationship and leave a shell in its place that no amount of couples counseling or sex therapy can ever fill.

But Anabelle’s a pleaser. She’s also a martyr, always willing to sacrifice for those around her.

“They couldn’t stop smiling all night,” Anabelle muses. “Remember when we were like that?”

“Baby, I smile every time you walk in the room.” We both know it’s a lie but Anabelle would never call me out on it.

Straddling my legs, she pulls my cock from my boxers. I flick the TV off and I lean toward my nightstand to turn out the light. From the break in our blinds, I spot the guest cottage. Dimly lit. Cozy. Romantic. My jaw tenses and my mind is flurried with a dozen worrisome concerns and a side of unexpected jealousy.

Never in a million years did I expect to see Sophie Bristol again.

Never in a trillion years did I think she’d be the one showing up on Trey’s arm today.

It took all the strength I had not to come unglued. But no good could have come from acting out on my emotions. Anabelle would’ve noticed something was off and she’d have asked questions. And Sophie would’ve had the satisfaction of getting a rise out of me. It was better to play dumb, to stare through her like she meant nothing to me while doting on sweet Anabelle.

My wife takes me in her mouth. I close my eyes. Lean back. Try to concentrate. But I’m not getting hard.

This has never happened before.

Ana’s vigor and enthusiasm tells me she notices …

Eyes clenched tighter, I narrow my concentration, envisioning the redhead in that office porn video I watched earlier this morning when the kids were with the nanny and Ana was on one of her two-hour marathon jogs.

Still nothing …

I glance toward the guest cottage again.

Trey and Sophie are probably in there christening the place from top to bottom—and I can only imagine the pleasure she’s deriving from all of this.

The thought of Sophie prancing around naked mere yards from this very room, wrapping her curved thighs around a man I couldn’t have competed with in my best of years … sends a simmer to my blood and a circuitous heat to my skin.

I rip my t-shirt off and toss it across the room.

My cock throbs, but it’s only slightly more swollen than before.

Anabelle sucks and circles harder, faster. The sooner I come, the sooner this will be over for her, but part of me wants to enjoy this bizarre little cocktail of sensations lacing my veins. One second I’m furious, jaw clenched and fists gripping the sheets. The next minute my cock expands so fast it fucking burns.