Page 24 of Sex. Love. Marriage.
(I hate the sight of blood. Andeverythingelse right now.)
STEPPING OVER SEVIasleep in the hallway, I make my way downstairs. Actually, I stumble and am lucky I don’t fall down them. That nail gun I left out, if it had power to it, I’d probably shoot myself in the dick right now.
I wouldn’t, but it’s a valid thought.
In the kitchen looking over my hand, I’m regretting my decision thoroughly. Why’d I punch the mirror? This wasn’t how I imagined the night ending, but when you’re married and have kids, it’s a game of Russian roulette.
Have I ever told you how much I hate blood? I don’t like it. Makes me woozy. You know what’s worse? Having a fucking hard-on and not being able to do anything about it. Also, that hand that’s basically a bloody mess of jagged flesh, I use that hand to you know, so that’s not awesome.
Stomping my cranky ass downstairs, I reach for my cell phone on the counter and think about who we can call to watch the kids while Kelly takes me to the ER. There’s no way around it. Even if I didn’t need stitches when I fell against the shower, I definitely need them after punching the mirror.
Kelly comes downstairs, dressed in those stupid fucking leggings and watchful of my reaction to her. “Are you okay?” she asks timidly and then peeks down at my very angry cock barely hidden in my jeans.
At first, I don’t say anything. She doesn’t want to hear what I have to say.
“No, I’m not.” My eyes snap to hers, her flushed cheeks, her hair all over the place and in that moment, something inside me snaps. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep going like this, avoiding what’s really going on between us, but I also know, I need to fucking finish. It’s the only answer. Stepping toward her, she watches me, her brow pinched together.
“I uh, I didn’t mean to—” She doesn’t finish her sentence before I push her up against the counter with my towel covered hand.
Oh, stop. I didn’t do it in anger. Just wait.
I yank her leggings down to her ankles and bend her over the kitchen island. It’s hard to get my jeans undone with one hand, but when you’re desperate enough, you manage. Holding myself at her entrance, I press the head of my cock in and wait for an objection. She shivers in a way that tells me she has none. In the next movement, I enter her from behind before she has time to object. The moment I’m inside her, Kelly grips the countertop and lets out a moan of pleasure, her cheek pressed against the tile, her mouth parted in ecstasy. I’m fucking transfixed.
Neither of us says anything. Unless, of course, my heavy breathing and grunt every time I enter her and her soft pleas for me to continue count as saying something. It feels wrong, like we shouldn’t be doing this in our kitchen where our kids could easily find us, but I think I might be past the point of caring.
I need to fuck my wife.
With one hand on her ass and the other on the counter, I slam into her, over and over again, my thighs slapping against the backs of her legs. I think Kelly comes by the sounds she’s making, but I can’t be sure. With my legs shaking, I’m too caught up in the fact that I’m going to finally finish.
She rocks forward the tiniest bit, greedy to finish herself and I take a firmer grip on her ass. So wet, so tight, bucking her hips just enough to let me know she wants this as badly as I do. Her breathing and mine are loud and harsh sounding in the kitchen, and it’s possibly the hottest thing we’ve done in the last two years. Her pussy clenches around me, and I have to grip the countertop to keep from losing it. The pressure builds and builds, my hips jerking forward, my stomach muscles jumping, and then I come, but it does nothing for me. Sure, it feels good, the release, but this pent-up frustration inside me, it’s still there. Like a poison. Like a pounding headache that feels something similar to nails being driven into your skull.
Or the flu.
Yep. Still hard, in case you were wondering. And I’m not exactly looking forward to heading to the ER with a raging hard-on because I took a little fucking blue pill from that little punk next door.
I step back, my eyes lifting to Kelly. She’s breathing heavy, almost confused. I’m panting, trying like hell to not die of a heart attack because I’m an idiot and probably took something that’s going to kill me later. But it’s my wife I’m staring at. The quietness, the calmness to her… I’m almost afraid to move, to say anything.
My back hits the pantry door and I yank my jeans up. Kelly helps me button them and then disappears down the hall to the bathroom.
Staring at my phone in front of me, I notice the lights on over at Bonner’s. Of course he’s up. Looks like he owes me one too. Grabbing the neighborhood directory off the shelf, I look for his name on it, find his phone number and call him.
I don’t say much.
“Get over here,” I growl, glaring at his house in the distance. “I know you’re up, asshole.”
He laughs into the receiver, then hangs up. Fucking jerk. I give it two minutes, which go by with me scowling at his house before I spot him exiting and up the street to our house. If he didn’t come over, I was going to hobble my way over there and drag him out for giving me that pill.
I open the front door before he can knock and wake the kids up. “I hate you,” I tell him.
He smiles and gestures with a wink to my still very hard cock looking like it’s pointing at him. “Looks like you’re happy to see me.”
I grab him by the front of his shirt and pull him into the house. “Sit there and don’t talk.”
Bonner looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. I have. Clearly. All my blood is going to my fucking dick. I can no longer think rationally. Pushing his hand through his hair, Bonner takes a seat on the couch in the living room. “Why?”
“Because you’re watching my kids so I can go to the ER.” I hold up my bloody hand.
“Whoa. What happened?” He stares at my hand that’s now soaking through the towel. “And I can’t babysit. I don’t know anything about kids. I’m the youngest of five.”
