Page 2 of Resistant

A warm feeling of affection mixed with longing washes over me as I watch him. I’m still smitten with him after all these years. I’m lucky. We were both determined to stick it out during difficult times. I know how fortunate I am to be married to him. Most of my friends didn’t have a happy ever after. I certainly never expected one.

My family life as a child wasn’t ideal, and I didn’t have an example of a healthy marriage growing up. I still bear my scars from growing up in what would end up a divorced household. Money always seemed to be tight. My mother was always stressed out trying to provide for us on her own. My dad was absent most of the time.

While other kids I knew from broken homes spent weekends with their dads, mine didn’t seem to be interested in spending time with me. His indifference left me feeling like I was not enough in so many ways, not smart enough, not cute enough, not athletic enough, not girly enough, not good enough, just not enough.

Add to that the revolving door of men my mom kept around and her propensity for marinating her internal organs with alcohol, it was not an idyllic childhood.

I remember hiding in my bedroom, wedging a chair under the doorknob and silently waiting for the violence to end. Anxiety rolling in the pit of my stomach, and the odors of hard liquor and cigarette smoke were my constant companions.

Worst of all was the constant fear and effort it took to avoid her boyfriends who tried to get into my pants. The instability and the necessity of fighting off grown men without help led to my eventual diagnosis of PTSD. I often find myself paralyzed with fear when others engage in fight or flight.

When Wyatt started pursuing me, I always held some of myself back. It took me a long time to trust him, and I had a complete aversion to sex. A dichotomy for me because my body completely disagreed with my aversion to intimacy. My body ached for Wyatt, and it left me sleepless more often than not.

He was patient with me, helping me to see who I could be and teaching me that not all men were like my father, or worse. He was the first person in my life who cared about my opinions, dreams, and helped me discover how to reach for them.

We dated for a few years while I learned how to be myself without my mother’s influence in my life.

Wyatt proposed one night while we lay on the hood of his truck gazing at the stars. My heartbeat thumped in my chest and Wyatt stroked my fingers with his own, his eyes shining at me in the low light. I wanted to say yes, right then but my fear kept me from embracing a future life with Wyatt. I was not sure marriage was the right path for me. Wyatt spent the next year convincing me marriage between the two of us would be unlike anything else I had experienced so far.

He never gave up, which resonated with me and helped me to accept that I was worth loving. As a result, my devotion to Wyatt and our children has only grown stronger and my sole purpose is to keep them happy and do what I can to keep them safe.

I lick my bottom lip as I watch Wyatt walk away shirtless. His chiseled body is shiny with sweat and his running shorts don’t leave much to my imagination. I feel an ache begin to build between my thighs and I scramble after him, almost tripping over my feet in the process.

I shriek as he grabs me around the waist and hoists me over his shoulder. He stalks to the bedroom, and my torso bounces against his back with every step. He locks the door and sets me on my feet in the bathroom.

Wyatt stands behind me, his chest curls around my back. I giggle at the sensation of his chest hair tickling my neck and shoulder. He grabs my hands and places them on the mirror, caging me in. He gazes at me in the mirror.

“Eyes on me, wife.” His guttural command makes me tremble.

I peek at him in our reflection, and I see the heat boiling in his gaze.

“Keep your hands on the counter, Do. Not. Move.”

I feel my body switch over to complete surrender under him. I whimper, feeling his fingertips caress my hips and thighs as he tugs my shorts down to my calves.

“More, I need more.” I moan and he stands back up.

“How badly do you want this, Brynn? Tell me.”

He strokes his cock through his shorts, a greedy torment because I know he won’t allow me to touch him. My eyes are locked on his fingers as he strokes and I feel wetness pooling between my legs.

I stutter around the dirty thoughts racing through my mind. Mental visions of him slamming me up against the door or tying me to the shower rod and eating me out until my voice is hoarse flip through my mind and I shiver in anticipation. I glance back at him; he’s continuing to stroke his cock and he looks at me expectantly.Fuck, I forgot what he asked me.

“What?”

He smirks at me in the mirror.

“How bad do you want me right now, Brynn? Hmm. Are you going to beg me for it?”

“So bad, Wyatt.”

He laughs.

“That’s avoidance my sweet wife. Tell me.”

“I’ve been fantasizing about you all week. Yesterday, I had to take a shower in the middle of the afternoon to give myself some relief. My panties got so wet today I had to change them…twice.”

His thumbs delve under the sides of my panties, and he rips them right off me. The force of it pushes me on my toes and I feel the sting of the elastic snap on my hip bones. I bite my lip stop myself from crying out. My lip burns, and my hands begin to tremble against the mirror. I feel more wetness seeping between my thighs, and I shamelessly press my now naked ass against his shorts.

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