Page 3 of Indulgence
“Guys . . . get started on your homework,” I called as I dropped the bags onto the counter. “Jackson, please make sure you shower first. Dinner should be ready in about forty-five minutes.”
While putting away the groceries, I also started dinner. Life wasn’t possible without multi-tasking. I pulled out the sauce from two nights ago to heat while I started the water for the lasagna noodles. I had just slid it into the oven and had begun working on the salad when Matteo came in the garage door.
“Hey.” He smiled at me as he strolled into the kitchen “It smells so good in here.”
“Thank you,” I replied, turning my head toward him for a kiss.
Matteo was probably the world’s best husband. He was kind, patient, and level-headed. He listened and never failed to kiss me hello or good-bye. I knew that, no matter what, I could always count on him.
He picked a cherry tomato from the bowl before asking, “How was your day?”
“Long, but all right. Yours?”
“Same old, same old.” Matteo was an actuary. He assessed risks for a living. Like the guy Ben Stiller played in the movieAlong Came Polly. He analyzed the financial costs of risk and uncertainty, using a bunch of math stuff way beyond my comprehension, to judge the likelihood of an event happening, and then he helped his clients develop policies that minimized the cost of that risk. “The kids in their rooms?”
I nodded as I gave the salad a final toss before bringing it to the table. “Can you make sure Jackson showered? Oh, and fair warning, Emma is pissy because we had to take Scotty home and now she’ll miss her show.”
He took a deep breath. “Oh boy. Okay, I’ll talk to her. How much longer?”
“About ten more minutes.”
Matteo killed Emma’s bad mood, a skill he excelled at. She was such a Daddy’s girl. Dinner passed smoothly with even a few smiles from our daughter. Man, no one told us how hard this parenting gig would be when the teenage years loomed over our heads. It was exhausting.
* * *
As I stoodin front of my dresser hours later, pulling out a pair of pajamas, warm hands slipped under my top and rubbed along the waist of my skirt. “We made it through another day,” Matteo said, kissing my neck. “How about a little after-dark fun?”
I turned in my husband’s arms and kissed him. I wasn’t particularly in the mood for sex, but I wasn’t not in the mood either. Sex had become the same things on repeat lately. It almost felt like a chore. Not one that I necessarily dreaded, like folding the laundry, but a chore nonetheless. It felt as though we were always on a time limit. There was the bare minimum amount of foreplay. Some kissing, a bit of petting, and then one of us was on top of the other.
Still, I pulled my top over my head while he unbuttoned his shirt. We had to be quick because we never knew when the kids would remember a permission slip that needed signing or needed a shirt that couldn’t be found but they needed for tomorrow. Both things had happened to us before. Nothing kills an orgasm faster than the sound of your child calling your name while you have a dick inside you.
Maybe that was part of the rut as well. We were always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or at least, I was.
I kissed Matteo’s neck under his ear where he liked it the most as he shucked off his dress shirt. His dick stiffened against my hip as I stepped into him. He unzipped the zipper in the back of my skirt, and it dropped to the floor while I pulled his undershirt over his head.
A few moments later, we were both naked and laying on the bed. Matteo reached down and strummed me just where he needed to while I stroked him up and down. He licked my nipple before pulling it into his mouth. As if we could actually hear the ever-ticking clock, Matteo shifted his hand from my body to his as I let him go. He lined himself up at my entrance and pushed in. I wished I could say that I felt all the sparks and fireworks that I read about in my stories, but unfortunately, no. It felt like a penis slipping into a vagina. The same as the last one hundred times. It felt the same as always . . . good.
He moaned softly in my ear.
I scratched my nails down his back and wrapped my legs around his waist, trying to pull him deeper into me. It had been getting harder and harder to quiet my mind during sex enough to come. My brain was too busy worrying about what needed to be done next that I wasn’t able to enjoy what was happening in the moment.
Did I wash Jackson’s lacrosse uniform for his game tomorrow?
Did Emma have play practice Tuesday or Thursday this week?
Did I mail out Matteo’s mother’s birthday card?
Shit, I needed to focus or I wouldn’t be able toat leasttry to come.
Maybe if Matteo gave my ass a little slap it would keep my attention in the moment.
That was a whole other issue I had going on lately. I kept picturing the kinky sex where the girl was being hammered into in oblivion or tied up while she came over and over. It was hard to come when thinking about that while having sex missionary style.
Sweat dotted Matteo’s hairline. His forearms strained on either side of me as he held himself up and his hips thrust back and forth. He was so sexy as he loomed over me, his abs flexing as he got close to his climax. Unfortunately, I wasn’t any closer than I was while still dressed. A twinge of guilt hit me deep in my gut. I wanted to come with my husband; I did. I loved him. I was attracted to him. He made me feel special, but during the actual sex part, I felt nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada.
What was wrong with me?
I raised my hips and met Matteo’s thrusts. I panted. I mewled softly. I even squeeze my muscles together like I was doing Kegels to make it feel real as I faked my orgasm with my amazing husband, and he came with a grunt.
