Page 13 of I see you Beauty

But he doesn’t stop kissing me, and his hand wanders under my dress and up my bare thighs to my panties. I take a deep breath as he runs his fingers over me. And again, I can’t help the images that flood my mind. Because in my imagination, if only for a millisecond, I see Ezra reaching under my skirt and running his rough fingers over my panties. Jesus Christ! Enough already!

“June went to see a movie with her friend. They left just as I was coming to get you,” he explains. Between kisses, his caresses over the fabric intensify.

I want to say something, but I’m running out of arguments. His movements feel too good. Thomas rarely takes much time for foreplay, so I really welcome his touch and finally let him change my mind because, in a way, I’ve missed him too. And I’m also firmly convinced that having sex will banish a particular unwanted gentleman from my thoughts.

However, the sex between Thomas and me has changed. It used to be frequent, passionate, and extensive. These days, we have brief encounters maybe once a week due to his demanding work schedule. As a result, we often skip the foreplay, which I enjoy and need to get in the mood.

But not today. Thomas’s hand makes his way into my panties, and he rubs me with increasing intensity. I let him guide me back to our bed, gasping excitedly at his mouth as our tongues dance. My fingers slide over the thin fabric of his shirt, and I undo button after button until I reach his belt.

Excitement sweeps through my body, and I want him to play with it. To have me at his mercy, to control me and my lust. As if in a frenzy, I get down on my knees in front of him and free his hardness. I look up at him with a lascivious smile and lower my lips to his tip.

“That’s how I like it,” Thomas moans and grabs my bun with one hand to guide me, taking away the control I’ve just gained over our pleasure play.

Instead of taking a sensual and playful approach, as I intended, Thomas now pushes himself roughly and quickly into my mouth. His grip on my bun gets harsher as he thrusts uncontrollably. I can already taste the first salty drops on my tongue.

“Shit, Cora. You’re making me so hot,” he groans, jerking me to my feet and impatiently guiding me onto the bed.

A moment later, he’s on top of me, pushing up my dress and pulling my panties aside. Once again, the foreplay is over, leaving me with a bitter aftertaste.

I try not to lose any of my excitement and instead willingly wrap my legs around his hips so that he can immediately push himself deep inside me. When he enters me with a powerful thrust, I moan gratefully and squeeze my legs a little tighter around his torso. I want to feel him inside me so much deeper and more intensely. The next thrust makes me arch my back, and a stifled cry leaves my lips. The tingling that sweeps through my body feels so good.

“God, Cora!” Thomas moans against my neck and thrusts himself into me with increasing speed.

“Slow down,” I beg him in a fragile voice because it feels so intoxicating right now, and I don’t want it to end.

But instead of listening to me, Thomas rams himself into me faster and faster. His moans grow louder, and I can feel his cock twitching deep inside me. Before I can say anything, he comes with a loud rumble. A few seconds later, he collapses on top of me, out of breath and sweating. Our hearts are beating hard, yet this hot knot of tension is still throbbing in my belly and desperately needs release. The tingling in my core is driving me crazy.

“That was incredible, Cora,” Thomas whispers in my ear, kissing me gently and lying beside me. I don’t even know what to say. Of course, I don’t get off now and then, which is usually perfectly fine with me, but now I’m in danger of bursting if I don’t come in the next few minutes.

I turn to my husband and kiss him again while my hand moves between his legs. But—to my further disappointment—Thomas is no longer hard, which means that’s it for today.

“What’s gotten into you? Someone’s needy today,” he states with a grin and pushes my hand away.

Deep down, I curse him, scream and rage, and shake him to his senses. But on the outside, I smile gently at him, and after kissing him again, I leave the bed.

“That’s all right. I’ll have a pizza delivered, and we’ll spend the evening in bed,” I reply with my perfectly rehearsed smile.

Thomas nods contentedly and quickly gets rid of his clothes.

“You see, it was a magical evening, after all.” He’s grinning from ear to ear, and I want to slap his face. I’m so frustrated right now. God damn it!

Shocked by my thoughts and growing resentment toward my husband, I hurry into our bathroom and undress. I clean myself up while everything inside me is still begging for attention. I grudgingly put on my robe and go downstairs to order a pizza. As I wait for the delivery boy, I treat myself to a large glass of wine, ignoring the frustrated throbbing of my core.

I feel a slight buzz after glass number three, and the doorbell finally rings.

I open the door and pay the young man with a generous tip.

When I get upstairs with the food, two glasses, and the opened bottle of red wine, I am furious to see that Thomas is already asleep and snoring.

I would love to throw the hot pizza in his sleeping face and yell at him for his rudeness. For the love of God, I wanted romance, love, and fantastic sex to complete the evening. I tried to forgive him for his misbehavior after he would have sworn to me over a nice dinner that it would have been the last time. I want everything to be perfect. The way Thomas always wanted it. The way he always intended our lives to be.

But everything is far from perfect right now. My life is a chaotic mess. It’s like sand running through my fingers, and I can’t hold on to it, no matter how hard I try. The refined grains continue to escape and show me how powerless I am. What am I even thinking?

My eyes fall on the bottle of wine in my hand. I’ve probably had too much to drink. But now that it doesn’t matter anyway, and the evening is over, I might as well empty the whole bottle. I take my cell phone out of my purse and go back downstairs. In the kitchen, I put Thomas’s glass back in the cupboard and store the pizza in the fridge so we can eat it tomorrow.

June texted, saying she’s staying with a friend tonight, but she wants to eat with us before she goes back to campus tomorrow. The problem with her failed midterm is already a distant memory. June is reluctant to confront her doubts about studying law and tries to push those feelings aside. I can't help her if she's not willing to face the issue and consider switching majors. She needs to determine her true passion and make that decision on her own. In the meantime, my role is to offer support when she faces setbacks, like failing another exam. Eventually, she will have to address these concerns and have a conversation with her father.

I lock the front door and switch on the alarm system, as June won’t come home tonight. Armed with the bottle of red wine, I decide to sit outside. I switch on the fairy lights in my pavilion and enjoy the peace and quiet. Under the pavilion, there’s a Hollywood swing and two spacious wicker armchairs. A small folding table sits in front of the swing for drinks. Normally, I’d choose the swing, but tonight, the armchair is more fitting. I can lean back and gaze up at the starry sky—exactly what I need right now. No brooding. No thoughts. And indeed, no memory of my encounter in the garden center!

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