When I’m on him again, he falls back onto the bed, and then I fall on top of him. All the words we’ve shared over the past few weeks come rushing at me. Our worries. My irritation. That sweet, patient look he gets when he senses I’m in a mood. Why is he so good with me, even still? How do I possibly deserve this man? The words from Mindy at the festival way back, how sex is the secret to a happy marriage. I peel off my husband’s shirt, then kiss him even harder, drowning out the words with our crashing breaths.
Our clothes create colorful dunes all over the messed-up bed sheets. He’s flat on his stomach, peering at me over his shoulder, as I slide inside him. The way Tanner’s lips curl and his eyes rock back reminds me of half the reason I became addicted to making love to my man. He’s the only person I’ve ever met who seems to appreciate every breath of air that enters his lungs—and I guess just about everything else pleasurable that enters him, too. From my tasty pastries, to my tongue in his mouth, to my dick.
“I’ve missed you,” he breathes as I enter him over and over.
We’ve had sex so many times, yet tonight, it feels like the first all over again. Every time Tanner opens his eyes, a mixture of glee and shock pours from them. I lean forward to kiss him even as my pace picks up, slapping against his cheeks with every hard, greedy thrust. I feel desperation whenever our mouths touch. Maybe he’s questioning whether this is our last shot, or the first of many.I’ve been so stupid, I keep telling myself,to have even considered letting this go, hurting this man, saying goodbye.
“I’m here,” I tell him, like a response to him missing me, in so many more ways than just missing the sex. “I’m right here.” And somehow, it feels like I’m saying so much more.
I’m right here, babe.
And I won’t dare to dream, even in my angriest moments, of leaving this family again.