Page 95 of Unmatched

My gaze shifts to her face, searching for any sign of anxiety or insincerity. Some hint that she’d rather go to her business than stay here, at home with me. But her eyes are calm. Present. Even her posture seems relaxed. She and Henry spent all last week in meetings, hashing out efficiencies and putting systems in place so Lydia wouldn’t have to rush in for every little thing—there’ll be some true emergencies for sure, but not as many—I guess I have been holding my breath waiting to see if their plans actually work.

“Thanks for the coffee.” She shifts forward, giving me a view straight down the front of her robe.

Our eyes meet, and she smiles. The corner of my mouth rises slowly in response as my eyes trace the outline of her breasts. She is definitely naked under there, and it seems clear she wants me to know. I swallow hard. I had slipped into boxer briefs when I got up, but that’s all, so the fact that I’ve noticed is also hard to miss.

“What do you want to do today?” I ask in a low voice. As obvious as my desire is, I need more confirmation that she’s on board. That she’s not just teasing me, even unintentionally.

Her cheeks turn pink as she follows my gaze down, and briefly, maybe reflexively, she goes to pull the robe closed and tighten the belt. But as I watch, her hands go still and drop again. She leaves the fabric open, sliding her fingers along the underside of one partially exposed breast instead.

“I thought we could stay in this morning,” she says quietly. “Maybe...go for a picnic or something this afternoon?”

I set my empty mug by the sink and stalk toward her. “That sounds nice.”

Her phone is still in her hand, and she pauses a moment to tap something out on the screen. I wait, watching a small smile play at her lips as she slips it into her robe pocket. “Maybe we can talk about vacation plans,” she continues. “Or even what to do with our home office.”

I raise one eyebrow. She’s moving on a bunch of things at once, and while I’m enthusiastic, I’m still feeling cautious.

“How about our plans for right now,” I say, offering a hand and pulling her out of the chair, running my lips along the edge of her jaw.

She gives a little shiver, then tugs me down the hall toward our bedroom. She starts pulling at the knot in her belt, but I push her hands out of the way, feeling more assured about what’s going to happen. As we enter our room, a last tug on the loose knot makes the two sides of the robe fall open. I trace my hands up to her shoulders, slipping the fabric down her arms and letting it drop to the floor until she’s standing nude and perfect—stunning—in front of me. She moves shyly, instinctively, to cover herself, but I reach out, taking each of her hands in mine. We stand connected like this, and I can’t bring myself to pull away. In part because of the energy now coursing between us, but also selfishly, because with her hands trapped in mine, I can admire each gentle curve of her nakedness longer.

Eventually I guide her down to the bed, laying kisses along her skin. This is where I used to cut to the chase when I could sense she wanted it to be over. When I didn’t know what else to do. But now my mind swims with everything I’ve learned—from reading and podcasts, from Lydia herself.

I don’t think I know my own body very well.

Would you like to?

Yes . . . I think I would.

So, I go to work. Tracing along the insides of her arms and thighs with just the warmth of my breath. Exploring the soft skin of her wrists and the back of her neck with my lips. Running my tongue along the rim of her belly button. It takes a little while, but her response becomes evident in the little sounds she makes, the way her breathing changes, and how she arches her back.

Once she seems greedy for every small touch, I let my hands move toward her breasts. Cupping them, lightly squeezing, tracing along the outside, but avoiding her nipples. The small sounds she started making become more like little moans, her hands reaching for the sheets at her sides. Finally, I let my thumb barely brush her left nipple, and she gasps. Gently, I come at it again, lightly playing and pinching until it becomes tight and hard. Then I move over to her right side, using my tongue to coax the other one out where I can play with it too. The way she showed me when we got back to Denver.

As I work every erogenous zone I have learned about, her fingers weave into my hair, grasp my neck and shoulders, and trace down along my arms. She seems to be reaching for something she can’t quite find, which charges me with energy because I think I know what it is, and it’s something I’m pretty sure I can give. I raise my gaze to hers, and I’m met with such a sincere level of lust it’s everything I can do not to consume her right then.

I lift her lightly, positioning her higher against the pillows to make sure she’s comfortable, but as I do, my forgotten phone pings and lights up on the duvet next to us. Lydia glances over at it, and I grab the device, my stomach sinking at the notification she had to have seen on the lock screen.

You have 1 unread message on Unmatched

My lip curls. I’d forgotten all about the stupid app after re-installing it to send my awkward slew of desperate messages. It hadn’t crossed my mind once since Lydia showed up in Dallas in the flesh.

“I...sorry. I’m done with this,” I say in a stilted voice, tapping the screen to delete the app immediately.

But before I can confirm, Lydia stops me, covering my hand with hers. I look up at her, heart pounding, hoping the stupid notification hasn’t just ruined everything we’ve been rebuilding.

Her eyes are downcast, but there’s a light blush of color across her cheeks. “Maybe you should check your message first.”

My brows draw together. I search her face, wondering why she would ever suggest it. Until I see her mouth twitch and her eyes flash. I’m not at all sure what’s going on, but this is enough to get me to breathe. Tentatively, I do as she suggests.

LonelyGirl8

I want you to come on my breasts.

I look up, trying to gauge her expression, but she bites her lip, still avoiding my eyes.

“Lydia, what...” I trail off, not sure what to say. What to do. MountainMan3 and LonelyGirl8 had discussed doing exactly that during a period of utter dysfunction. I’m having a hard time resolving this directly from my wife. Her face is so red now I’m not sure how else to reply, so I type.

MountainMan3

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