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"Have fun," I kiss my husband's cheek.
"Thanks baby," Jacob's hand squeezes my ass possessively, "I'll call you when I get to Seattle."
This weekend was the big game I'd bought him tickets for. He was going with Paul.
"Travel safe," I say.
He offers me a trying smile, leaning in to kiss me quickly on the lips. I make it convincing.
"When I get back we'll plan something for the two of us. A trip maybe," he offers.
It'll be to the cabin.
His dad owns a cabin up north. It was basic, always cold and I hated it there. But Jacob never saw it. He ignored my distaste.
It's night when the text comes.
"I'm thinking about you, - E"
"Where are you? - B"
I sip my wine, watching my phone like a hawk, as I rest my feet on the coffee table. The silk dressing gown that is thrown on after my bubble bath clings to my skin.
Since our hookup at the bar we'd spoken little. I was worried he'd been scared off. He'd probably been busy.
"Is he home? - E"
"Seattle - B"
The doorbell rings and I freeze. It was late and I wasn't expecting anyone. Carefully I pull the door open without unhooking the chain. So nobody can barge in on me.
His frame towers over me, a hand in his back pocket, the other runs through his hair.
"I saw his car gone," he shrugs unapologetic.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
"I had a rough day and I needed to see you," he looks tired.
Beneath his coat I can see a loosened tie, some of his dress shirt buttons undone.
"Come in," I opened the door for him, leading him into the lounge room.
"Thanks," he stands awkwardly in the corner as I sit on the lounge.
"What happened?" I ask.
"Lost a patient," he says, "it was a man from La Push. I had this huge shouting match with Tanya before over the phone. She was pissed off that Lucy and Blake needed to go to my parents this weekend. My dad picked them up this morning. They have them once a month to have grandparent time. She's never gotten on with them. She called screaming at me and then I went into surgery…"
"You didn't kill him," I finish firmly, "don't do that to yourself."
"I thought I'd shaken it off enough to work. My mind felt clear but if that didn't happen…"
"Then he could still have died," I say, "you're an excellent doctor. I know from personal experience. Not even a scar on my arm."
"It was my best stitching," he looks at me, "I didn't want you to let him mark you. Whatever negative memory attached to it shouldn't be on your skin."
"Where is she now?" I ask.
"At home. She thinks I'm sleeping in an on call room," he moves to sit beside me on the couch, sinking in with his head on the back of the cushion.
"Do the kids love your parents?" I tilt my legs closer to him.
"Adore them. They get so excited when it's time to go spend the weekend with them," his hand moves up to my thigh, by my knee.
"And she hates it?" I'm confused.
"She hates my mother," he looks at me, "thinking she meddles. Esme loves me and my children so fiercely. She worries that we're unhappy. She checks in often and Tanya finds it intrusive. She's always found problems with my mother. But Esme and Carlisle adopted me. They took me in and I'll never turn my back on them."
"You shouldn't have to consider it," I say, "they love your children and deserve the chance to spoil little people. You did the right thing standing your ground. She can't play god and deny them access."
"She knows I'd win custody," he says, "they'd be mine. I'd bring in every lawyer it would take."
We share a bottle of wine. I offer it as a solution to take off the edge. To calm and relax. One of our adult chats.
"Have you considered divorce?" I ask.
"Of course. But I guess cutting ties is hard when there's children, a home and so many other factors involved. We got married because she was pregnant. There was no prenup."
"She could take your money?" I ask.
"Oh not all of it. I'm not stupid," he smiles at me, "I have plans for a rainy day. What about you?"
"I guess I hope he's still in there," I admit, "that he'll flick the switch and love me the way I want to be loved."
"How's that?" his hand slips down my thigh.
"An orgasm would be a nice place to start," I blurt out, "I'm sick of faking them or relying solely on my vibrator."
"He doesn't make you…" he trails off.
I shake my head and drop my gaze to his hand. It slides my nightgown up.
"Nope," I mutter, "never. But when I picture you…"
The sound that leaves his mouth is an audible diamond. We'd pushed it to the edge in that bathroom stall. But he has more to lose than me so I was playing by his rules. Pushing it to his extreme.
I mean that last comment was probably a little too far. But he doesn't ask for any apologies.
"What do you do when you picture me? Do you come for me?" His hand moves up over my robe, to my hip.
Grabbing his hand as I go, I move into his lap, straddling him. Maybe I can help shift his extreme a little bit in my favour. His eyes widened, darkened. Wrapping my arms up around his neck, I press my chest against his, leaning against his body, whispering in his ear.
"When I picture you I come hard," I rasp, "you are the man that makes me come and I moan your name as I do it."
"You are…" he trails off.
"I'm what?" I press my forehead against his, smiling wickedly.
"Testing everything," he whispers, "everything I value and believe in morally."
"I know the feeling," I smile.
"But when I stand in a cold shower every night and morning, it's your mouth I picture when I jack off," he grinds me into his hardness with the admission hot on his tongue.
Biting my lip I throw my head back slightly. I should say stop. My ring is still on my hand. So is his.
But it's never this dirty with Jake. It's never this hot. It's never this.
"This scares you?" It's as if he can read my mind.
"No," I shake my head, "what scares me is how much I want you. Actually no, need you."
His hands move cup my cheeks, tugging me down he presses our lips together. He moves his mouth against mine in a needy way.
His tongue traces the outside of my mouth, teasingly. I open, welcoming his intrusion with a soft moan. We roll our tongues other each other, pushing and pressing tighter to one another.
I want him to stay. I don't want him to go.
So when his hands slip down to my nightgown and tug the string holding it in place, I don't stop him.
Letting my mouth go, he looks down at my hands between us as the material slackens against my body.
Please don't freak out. I pray he won't freak out.
His eyes undress me and soon enough his hands catch up. Slowly slipping the silk over my shoulders and down my back.
"Shit," he whispers, "you're so beautiful."
I thank him for the compliment with another breathless kiss. The sensations of it heightened as his hands begin to explore me.
When his hands take ahold of my breasts, I cry out against his mouth. Teeth clashing together.
"Sensitive?" His grin has turned pure lustful.
A new layer of Doctor Cullen peeling back.
"Your hands feel so good on them," I say.
"They're so full, soft," his pupils dilate as he cups me gentle, squeezing and kneading the flesh.
"Hmm," I humm.
Pushing my shoulders slightly, he makes me lean back in his lap. So his access is uninterrupted for his mouth. My arms wrap around his head the minute his tongue flicks my nipple. Hissing quietly, I grind into him, desperate for friction.
He sucks and nips, taking whatever he wants from me. Until he switches into another gear, picking me up, laying me back on that god forsaken sorry table.
In command he pushes my legs apart, and leans forward in his seat.
"I need to taste more," is all he says before his mouth engulfs my entrance.
Not even a warning with some soft kisses up my thigh. He just takes. Like I was always his to begin with.
"Fuck," I gasp out.
The last time a man had done this was my wedding night. It was no where near this hot.
His tongue is talent. It flicks my clit, swirls and dives into my waiting heat. My nails twine through his hair as he laps me up, legs thrown over his shoulders.
I'm beginning to feel hazy from his feast.
As he delves in fucking me with his mouth heat pools in my lower belly. The man behind my weeks of imaginary pleasure finally becoming real.
My thighs squeeze his head, as I climb closer and closer to the edge. Fire burns beneath my skin.
"Oh I'm going to fucking come," I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to hold on to composure.
But I snap.
Arching my back up against the table, bucking into his face I explode. Shattering to a long course of moans, his name and curse words.
Coursing all over my body electricity strikes. I shudder and quake, grinding against his mouth as he sucks me dry.
"Yes," I breathlessly gasp.
A long kick and he kisses my navel.
"You ever need a man to make you come, you call me," he commands.
I nod, held in place by his stare. Laying before him like a wounded animal. A shot prize from the hunt.
When Jacob returns from the game, he kisses me and holds me. Relatively little fights. But whenever I look at that table I flush.
If he knew another man made me come on that table he'd burn this entire house to the ground. He'd burn the town to the ground.
"That table was a sorry gift from when he forgot my birthday - B"
"If I had known that I would have fucked you on it too. So hard you wouldn't remember your birthday either. - E"
And that's the image I take to my vibrator, desperate for another Thursday.
Thank you for reading.
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