Page 10 of Spicy Nick

“Would it really be so terrible?” she asked instead—and I promptly lost my breath as a vision of my future—of our future—of (at the very least) one possible future out of a host of alternatives, unfolded before my mind’s eye. A vision of the two of us, bound together forever, a family. I lost my breath completely as I realized how much I wanted that—more than anything, more than ever. And, after all that I’d gone through, all the pain of the past twenty years? I figured the universe owed it to me.

There was no possible way I could refuse.

“Nothing that comes of this could ever be terrible,” I promised her as I gathered her back into my arms, as I took her mouth with sweet passion. As I plunged inside her, making us one, making her mine, recapturing the heart I’d lost to her years ago, staking my claim on the future—our future. The only future I’d ever really wanted.

I love you, I thought;I love you. I love you. I love you.

Sadly, I didn’t say the words aloud—not then. I’d have saved us both a lot of trouble, a lot of heartache, maybe a lot of danger, if I had. But speech was beyond me by that point.So the opportunity for that possibly easier future sailed on by, unremarked, and disappeared over the horizon.

Not that I noticed, of course. I was lost in the moment, overcome with the rightness of what we were doing, the seeming inevitability of it all. I probably wouldn’t have cared if I had noticed. Because it was inconceivable that she might not understand how I felt. It seemed impossible that she did not feel the same about me. But humans are foolish creatures. We evolved words for a reason. I really should have remembered that.

But even though we stumble and fall sometimes, even though we oftentimes get lost and wander from our path, occasionally we do find our way home, we do get things right.

And that night, the night we threw caution, common sense and the very concept of contraception to the wind (and ended up making Cole, in the process) we got things very, very right.

I spendthe next few minutes straightening up. I pack away the cookies so that they’ll stay fresh. I load the dishwasher and turn it on. I do a perimeter check—making sure doors are locked and lights are off. I catch myself thinking that I should probably let the dog out, one last time—and then allow myself a moment to grieve when I remember that I already did that, months ago.

Upstairs, I can hear Kate through the door of her room giggling on the phone. Cole’s kicked his covers off again, so I take a moment to tuck him in once more. In our bedroom, two of our cats—cupcake and snickerdoodle—yawn and stretch when I flick on the light. I’m fine with them staying, but they scamper off the bed and out the door before I can close it, no doubt in search of wider spaces.

If Lucy’s correct about there being a baby on the way, I can think of at least one reason why Scout might be hesitant totell me. I’ve been known to have money issues. Specifically, I’ve occasionally reacted badly to the fact that she has more of it than I do. I like to think those problems are in the past, but are they really?

There has to be a way that I can signal that to her, that I can let her know that all I really want in life is to walk beside her. That whatever path she chooses to take, is the path we’ll both take—no questions asked. That whatever adventure she chooses to embark on, my bags are packed and waiting by the door.

But the truth is…words aren’t always that useful, in situations like these. I mean, sure everything I just said sounds good and all. And in this moment, I mean every word. But I wouldn’t believe me, either, if I were her. If I were listening to me say any of that—I’d have questions, to say the least. I’d have serious doubts about my ability to follow through.

Actions are what this moment calls for. I need to step up and make sure she knows that whatever life brings us, I’m there for it. Not just to stand by her side—although I’ll do that, too. But also to face it head on—all of it, the good and the bad—together, as a team.

How do I plan on doing all that? What action do I intend on taking? I have no freaking clue. But hey, there are still a few days left before Christmas. That’s more than enough time to come up with something. But, in the meantime…

I hit the shower, let the hot water wash away all the frustrations I’m feeling—and rub a quick one out as I indulge in more memories of Scout—gasping and whimpering as I torment her with my tongue. Of the taste and smell of her, wondrous and intoxicating. The softness of her hair, the sleekness of her skin. The strength of her internal muscles clenching, clenching, clenching.

I brace one hand against the wall for support, take hold of my shaft with the other and stroke. And, as I do, I relive every detail.The way her lips look when they’re stretched around my dick. The way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks. How her arms reach out to clasp me tight. How her legs wrap my hips. How her body welcomes me, eagerly, passionately, wetly.

The way it feels when our hands are clasped on the bed above her head, fingers entwined, breath coming hard. Words of love—whether spoken or unspoken, grunted, whispered, chanted or prayed—all get lost amid the shudders, the sobs and the groans, amid the coming together, mindless and hot.

Slowly, my awareness returns to the present. To the water still needling my skin. To the traces of cum still sliding down the tile to circle the drain before eventually disappearing.

Eventually, my heartbeat slows, my breathing returns to normal, my muscles unclench. And for all that my children are both safe in their rooms, just footsteps away; for all that a phalanx of cats patrols my hallways and are generally amenable to being scooped up and cuddled, if need be; I feel bereft, I feel alone, I miss my wife.

Tomorrow cannot come soon enough.

Three

Idon’t drive as fast as I used to, that’s a semi-sad fact of life. I could claim that it’s due to maturity, or an increase in intelligence, or even a desire to model healthy behavior for my children’s sake. But any of that would be at least partially a lie. The truth is, I was in an accident a few years back; one that left scars, physical as well as mental. I don’t trust my reflexes the same as I used to. And I shouldn’t either—because they’re definitely not as sharp as they used to be.

It’s been an adjustment, as well as a blow to my ego. This ‘getting old’ shit is hard, that’s for damn sure. It ain’t for the faint of heart.

But, even with all of that, we still should have made it to the airport in plenty of time to meet Scout’s flight. Unfortunately, that’s not how things worked out…

As soon aswe reach the tiny airport’s one and only terminal, Cole catches sight of someone selling flowers from a cart on the sidewalk. Which I’m pretty sure is not legit. Even at Christmas time. That would be a local matter, however, and this is not myjurisdiction. Cole drops my hand and runs for the cart, ignoring my calls for him to stop.

“You can’t just run off like that, bud,” I tell him when I catch up with him. “You need to hold my hand and stay with me. Do you understand?”

“But it’s Santa!” Cole explains. “I wanted to thank him for bringing Mommy home. You said I should always say thank you when someone does something nice for me. Didn’t you?”

“Sorry,” the young man in question grins sheepishly. “I guess it’s because of the hat, huh?”

I shrug because I suppose he’s right. He’s youngish-looking, dressed in plaid flannel, jeans and work boots. I would have called the look underfed lumberjack, myself. But I guess the red thermal vest and stocking cap said Santa Claus to Cole. On the other hand, who’s to say? There’s no telling what goes on in the mind of a four-year-old.

---