I’m a good mother . . . hell, I’m a fucking great mother, if I say so myself, but I’m not a father. Though I try my best, I can’t be everything Cooper needs. But I’ll be damned if I won’t get it for him.
I don’t want to know Bruce’s response, can’t handle his smug smile as he takes away the one thing I want desperately . . . again. So I focus on the task at hand.
“Come on, boys. Time to head home for dinner before Michelle gets done at the gym. You two are in luck. I’m making my famous mac-and-cheese with chicken nuggets.”
They don’t know that what makes the macaroni and cheese recipe so special is the squash puree I hide in it. Sometimes, a mom needs tricks, and I’ve become a pro at disguising vegetables in all sorts of ways.
They cheer, running for the car.
I hold my chin high as I pass Bruce, not risking a glance his way, but I can feel him watching me, analyzing me, judging me.
“I’ll see you at practice on Thursday.”
The good-bye should be simple, but I can feel the agreement to put aside our past and work together for the boys. For Cooper.
He could so easily take this away from him, but somewhere underneath the snarling beast he is to me is still the kind heart he always had. My gaze dips to my toes. “Thank you.”
I virtually run for the car before he can change his mind.
That night, after tucking Cooper into bed and having a glass of wine, I tumble into bed without so much as opening a single file for work. I dream of Bruce, a superimposed double image of the boy I used to know and the man he is today.
I’m laid back in a fluffy bed of white sheets, a place we never had sex before. In the barn, in his truck, on blankets in fields, and once, even against the wall behind the old bowling alley, but never in a bed, so I know this is a dream.
His stubble scratches along the sensitive skin of my neck as his hot breath reaches my ears. “You want this cock, baby? Tell me.”
I moan and writhe, in my actual and dream beds. “Yes,” I purr.
His chuckle vibrates against my belly as he moves lower. “Just need a taste first.” His tongue flicks over my clit, and I surge upward, chasing him, and he growls in approval.
“More,” I demand, and he obliges. He sucks at my lips and then seals his mouth over my clit, battering it with the tip of his tongue. One thick finger teases along my entrance, and I push into it, inviting him inside me.
I want to be filled by him, marked by him, owned by him.
Something about that niggles at the periphery of my awareness, but I wave it away like an annoying insect, focusing on the pleasure he’s giving me.
He slides in, immediately curling his finger up to that rough patch along my front wall that we’d experimented to find. He strokes it, tapping every once in a while in a pattern I can’t anticipate, which drives me wild.
“Fuck, Bruce. Please . . .” I beg.
He covers me, pressing his naked body to mine and aligning his cock right where I want him. “Slow or fast?” he asks.
He’s a considerate lover, always preps me to take him. He told me from the first time that he’s big, though I had nothing to compare to. But I grew to love that initial shock of pinched pain when he thrust into me all at once, instantly stretching me to accommodate him. That edging on the line of pain and pleasure makes me feel alive.
“Fast!” I dig my nails into his back, spurring him on.
He slams into me and I . . .
Wake up. Panting and disoriented, I look around my dark room, not remembering where I am. Or when I am.
I’m drenched with sweat and my pussy is throbbing as my knees knock together and my thighs squeeze, looking for relief. My fingers brush over my clit through my soaked panties and I consider finishing myself off. I’m already so on edge, it won’t take much, and he’ll never have to know.
But I will, and that’s dangerous.
Too dangerous.
I sit up instead, reaching over to grab the glass of water I always keep on the bedside table and drinking greedily, wishing it would cool off my arousal as it quenches my thirst.
I close my eyes, forcing myself to remember Bruce’s cold words today, his sneer and hatefulness toward me. Not his flexing biceps, not his easy grin for everyone else, and definitely not the bulge in his dirty jeans.
I set the glass down and flop onto my back. Something tells me I’m not going to get any sleep tonight.