Page 82 of Open Secrets
I open my mouth, but she doesn’t let me interrupt.
“And what job will you really lose, huh? Rapists are literally presidents now, Lyle. Presidents.” She throws her hands up, incredulous. “And you think you’ll be banished from the world because of one mistake? Please. You’re not that important.”
The words cut—but not the way I expect. Not like an insult. More like a lifeline being thrown to a man too stupid to stop drowning himself.
I stare at her, something inside me cracking open. Not breaking—expanding. She’s right. She’s always been right about me.
“You’re not that important,” I repeat, and suddenly I’m laughing, a rusty sound I barely recognize. “Goddamn, Maria.”
Her lips quirk up. “I’m serious. The world won’t end. We won’t end.”
I reach for her hand, pulling her closer. “When did you get so wise?”
“Around the time you got so stupid,” she says, but there’s no bite to it.
I lean in, pressing my forehead against hers. Her breath catches as my hands find her waist. Something quiet passes between us—that same feeling that’s been there for years, never quite gone no matter how many arguments or deployments or silences we’ve endured.
“I love you,” I whisper against her mouth.
She answers by closing the distance, her lips soft but insistent against mine. The kiss deepens, and I back her against the counter, lifting her onto it in one fluid motion. Her legs wrap around my waist, ankles locking behind me.
“The kids?” I manage between kisses.
Her hands slide into my hair, pulling me closer as she whispers against my lips, “Bed.”
I glance toward the hallway where our kids are sleeping.
“A hurricane won’t wake them,” she assures me, reading my hesitation.
“Still,” I say, my voice rough with want, “we shouldn’t scar them anymore.” I add this last part softly, remembering the arguments they’ve overheard, the tension they’ve felt.
She nods, already kissing my neck, her lips finding that spot just below my ear. A shudder passes through me as she bites downgently, then soothes the sting with her tongue. The contrast of sharp pain and soft pleasure makes my knees weak.
I slip my hands under her hips and lift her from the counter. She wraps her legs tighter around my waist, and I stumble slightly, knocking into the refrigerator. It takes me longer than necessary to navigate the dark hallway and stairs, but I manage to get us to the bedroom in one piece, kicking the door closed behind us.
The moonlight spills through the blinds as I toss Maria onto our bed. Her hair fans out across the pillow, her eyes glinting in the darkness. I turn back to lock the door, pulling my shirt over my head as I make my way back to her.
She watches me with hungry eyes as I strip completely, my clothes dropping forgotten to the floor. The mattress dips as I climb in beside her. Maria wriggles out of her remaining clothes, tossing them over the edge of the bed with a playful smile.
She giggles as I kiss her chest, the sound vibrating against my lips. I reach out, fumbling for the lamp, and switch it on. Soft golden light bathes her skin, highlighting every curve, every familiar line of her body.
She groans against my lips, turning on her right side to reach for the lamp. I catch her wrist, transferring it to my right hand while her other arm remains trapped beneath her pillow.
"Lyle," she moans, her voice catching as my lips trail down her neck.
"I want to see you," I tell her, my voice husky with need. The soft glow illuminates every inch of her body, and I drink in the sight of her.
"I'm not..." she whispers breathlessly, "I'm not a young woman anymore."
I stop immediately, lifting my head to look at her. With my left hand, I grasp her hip possessively, feeling the softness there that wasn't present when we first met.
"This is mine," I say firmly, my fingers pressing into her flesh. "Every year, every stretch mark. Mine. Don't you dare try to hide from me."
She looks away, unconvinced, vulnerability written across her features. I soften my approach, leaning down to kiss her lips gently. "I love you," I murmur against her mouth. "Your body. You hear me?"
I move my hand to her stomach, the place that carried our babies. My fingers trace the silvery lines there, each one a memory of the life we've built together.
She nods slowly, her eyes finding mine, vulnerability giving way to something warmer.
