I automatically bend forward, spread my legs as far as I can in their confines, and brace my hands on the edge of the granite counter. My eyes slide over, focus on the Pepperidge Farms bags of stuffing mix sitting there, and my body tenses with eager anticipation while it awaits his invasion.
He doesn't disappoint.
Zach never disappoints.
He drags the head of his cock through my wetness from behind. Just before pushing that thickness inside, he murmurs, "It actually hurts to be away from you, Moira. I can't stand it."
My body shudders uncontrollably from the love, lust, and hunger in his voice. I have no will over my own body as my hips slam backward to take him in.
"F-u-u-u-c-k," Zach groans as his hands fly to my hips to steady himself, and his fingers dig painfully into my flesh. "Oh, damn Moira... damn. Fuck. Feels so good. I'm going to come so hard."
His words fuel me on. I pull forward... feel his thickness slide free, almost to the end, and because I know the length of my husband so very well, just before he falls free, I slam back against him.
"Oh, God Moira... baby. Don't stop doing that," he begs me.
So I don't.
While my husband stands perfectly still behind me, his hands gripping my hips, I work my angle back and forth, and I fuck my husband hard.
Fast.
And noisily.
We both grunt and groan, hurdling toward release. Skin and soaking wet flesh slapping loudly.
Oh, I missed this wildness we possess only with each other. I've missed knowing my husband hungers for me like this. I've been so lonely sometimes in our tame lovemaking, maybe perhaps forgetting the connection that's like a pilot flame, just waiting for a little gas to make it ignite.
And when it ignites, holy hell, it burns hotter than the sun at midday in the desert.
I fuck my husband without mercy, ignoring my second orgasm as it bubbles, and only concentrate on the filthy curses that start pouring out of Zach's mouth that indicate he's getting close.
"Come on, baby," I urge him through gritted teeth. I glance down, seeing my breasts jiggling hard against my pajama tank top, bend further, look down lower, and see him tunneling in and out of me.
Oh, man... so damn hot.
"Here it comes," Zach groans in warning as his hands really clamp down on me. With nothing but the strength of his well-built upper arms, he holds my body still. He pulls back once, slams forward harder and deeper than I was taking him, and goes completely quiet within me.
"Yes," he whispers reverently as I can feel his cock start to jump inside of me, every little thump indicating a jet of semen he's unloading. "Oh, Moira... feels so good."
My own orgasm pops free, skitters up my spine, makes my hips gyrate against him. The friction must be too much because Zach rears back, comes halfway out, and slams back into me with a grunt. "Fuck... I think I'm coming again. Holy shit... baby... damn."
Yes!
I love hearing Zach lost like that. His tone... giving me all the credit for making him feel like this. He doesn't even need to say a single word more to me, because I know in this minute... I'm reminded... just how much he reveres me.
How essential I am to him.
My husband leans over my back, wraps his arms around me, and we let the tiny quakes ease their way through our bodies. We hold tight... immersed in each other as our breathing quiets.
"I love you," I whisper to him.
"If it's half as much as I love you, then that's a whole lot of love," he says with a chuckle and a kiss to the back of my head.
We spend the next five minutes getting ourselves in order. There are a lot of sweet kisses in between cleanup and righting our clothes. Zach spends a few minutes filling me in on his trip to New York while I pull out the onions and celery from the fridge along with two knives.
As we stand companionably at the counter, me dicing celery and Zach dicing onions--because he said real men don't cry and then proved it to me by taking on the foul vegetables--he then proceeds to suck some of the carefree happiness from the room.
"So... we're not going to be able to go away for our anniversary next month like I hoped," he says quietly.
My hands stop in mid-cut, and I turn my head. He's looking at me with a face full of apology.
"Why's that?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant about it, but I'm starting to drown in disappointment inside.
"The new distribution center is going live that week. I need to be there," he says as he resumes cutting the onions.
My eyes prick with tears. I want to say it's the close proximity to Zach's work on the onions, but I know it's not. It's because I was really looking forward to having a few days alone with my husband. Where we could be wild, uninhibited, and focused solely on each other. We haven't had that since Cannon was born. We hadn't had it much prior to that between my work and Zach making his way through undergrad and his MBA studies. We've only had stolen moments like just now when he fucked me in the kitchen quickly before I could make stuffing.
"I'm so sorry, honey," he says as he lays the knife down. He pulls me into his arms and even though I try to keep my face lowered, I know he sees the tears. "But we can go somewhere in January once it all settles down. I promise."
I know that should be an easy alternative. Sure... we could go at a later time. It means we still have time together, but it also means that again, our marriage is coming in second. It means I'm coming in second, and at this very moment, I realize that I'm not just hurt, annoyed, or disappointed. I'm starting to feel a little bitter about it all.
Still, I do what Moira does best. I pull back, give him a confident smile, and tell him, "No problem. We can go later if we can work it out."
He looks at me hesitantly for a moment, but then I clearly see the moment... it's just a look on his face... when he accepts what I say. It's a look of immense relief as he chooses to believe that this doesn't hurt my feelings.
Chapter 10
Zach
Moira and I stand at our open door and wave goodbye to Josh and Lila as they walk to their cars, both of them carrying a brown paper bag filled with Thanksgiving leftovers. I have to admit... Moira called that one right. Within just a few minutes of them being introduced to each other, it became clear that there was deep interest and attraction. Lila twirled her hair a lot in flirtation when she talked to Josh, and Josh seemed to be riveted by what she was saying. He certainly didn't hide the appreciative looks he kept giving her.
Moira and I kept sneaking knowing glances at each other across the table as we chowed down on turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, and corn pudding. By the time Moira served dessert--choice of pumpkin, pecan, or apple pie--Josh had already asked Lila out to dinner for the following evening.
My wife is fucking brilliant.
We watch just a moment as Josh walks Lila to her car and they stand close to each other while they talk, but then I pull Moira back into the house, shutting the door behind us. She gives me a knowing wink, places a hand on my hip, and says, "I'm sure we'll be invited to the wedding."
I smirk at her and lean down to give her a kiss. "Hell, their firstborn should be named after you... whether it's a girl or a boy."
Moira gives me a laugh and pushes back. "Go in and help Randall put away the pie. I'll go get the kids bath
ed and into their pajamas."
"Deal," I tell her as I turn toward the kitchen.
It's been a great day indeed.
It wasn't an intimate family dinner like I'd wanted, but I ended up truly enjoying our company. All of my doubts about Lila were put to rest when I saw just how interested she was in Josh. It almost embarrassed me to think she could be putting moves on me, because as I watched her flirt, banter, and giggle at him, I realized she truly was being nothing but professional with me. It was nice to see the prospect of perhaps new love blooming at our table, and I'm always more than happy to have Randall with us because he's the closest thing I have to family here.
While my adoptive father, Parilla, still enjoys relatively good health back in Amazonia, I haven't seen him since before Moira and I got married, and sadly, I'm not sure I will see him again. I'm lucky Father Gaul still sends us updates when he can on my former Caraican tribe, but that's about all I can count on as satellite phones and even snail mail are just not a possibility as deep in the jungle as they live.
When I walk into the kitchen, I see Randall bent over the apple pie, eating a forkful directly from the pan. He looks up when he hears me, flushes guiltily for just a second, but then unapologetically digs his fork back in.
"There's only a little bit left," he mumbles around a mouthful. "No sense in dirtying up another plate."
I shrug my shoulders, because that sounds like good logic to me, and then decide to join him. Rounding the kitchen island, I grab a fork from the utensil drawer on the way and stab into the flaky crust. I take a huge bit. As I chew on the sweetly tart goodness, Randall asks, "So, how are you doing with work?"
My head swivels to Randall, and I look at him in surprise. "Excuse me?"
"Work?" he repeats as he lays his fork on the counter and grabs a napkin to dab at his mouth. "How's it going?"
"I'm not sure what you mean," I tell him, setting my own fork down. "You and I talk pretty much every day about work. Why would you ask how it's going?"
Randall shakes his head and smirks at me. "We talk about work, sure... but I want to know how you're doing with it? How's the stress? Do you like what you do? I know damn well you're good at what you do, and I know you're handling everything fantastically, but I'm asking how are you doing with it all?"