Page 37 of Lost in Love

I frown. “You’ve seen mine.”

“Yeah, and it’s cute. But I have no desire to see my own.” He points to the screen, his eyes kind of glazed over and confused. “Like that.”

I make the mistake of looking at the screen, and somehow an ad for gay porn has popped up and playing. “Oh, no. Nope. Change it.”

He does and then I notice his very eager hard-on when there’s two girls on the screen. “Did you take Viagra again?”

This earns me a laugh and his eyes cut to mine. “No fucking way. I still have a headache from that.”

I flop back against the mattress and throw my hands over my face. “This is weird. Maybe we shouldn’t do it.”

Sliding off the edge of the bed, he positions his phone on the dresser and then pushes the record button. “We’re doing it. We don’t have to watch it, but we’re doing it.” Back on the bed, his fingers brush under my chin and angle my face toward his. He leans in enough that our noses brush together. “I love you,” he whispers.

My lips part, waiting for the kiss that doesn’t follow. “I love you too.”

Instead of kissing me, he positions me in the center of the bed. He looks unsure. Like now that he has me here, he doesn’t know what to do with me. I can’t say I blame him. I think we have stage fright.

“What exactly are we supposed to do?”

“Pretty simple. We fuck.”

With his hands splayed out on the mattress, he’s leaning in. His lips brush mine and then he presses his mouth to mine earnestly. Slowly tasting me in a way that I swear would weaken my knees. He kisses me until I can’t breathe, and I don’t know where my mouth ends and his begins. I try to think back to the last time he kissed me like that, but I can’t remember it.

And then I think, okay, if he can’t talk to me, maybe this kiss is his way of communicating that “hey, girl, I’m with you in this.” I don’t know. Maybe Sam Hunt’s the only one who talks like that, but a girl can dream.

He kisses me again, this time with hunger, need, and intention, and I sigh into his mouth, eager for more. When we break apart, I wrap my arms around him, shivering at the cool air in the room.

He pulls away and my mouth trails down his jaw, neck, shoulder, anywhere to keep the contact between us. I think he’s been watching too much porn these days because then he whispers to me, “Your pussy is soaking wet for me.”

I want to say something snarky. Like, duh. Or, maybe if we had sex more. But I don’t. Instead, I hum in response and continue kissing him, eyes closed, lips parted and nails digging into his back. I arch my back and push my chest into him, my eyes wandering toward his phone on the dresser.

He catches me and uses the hand that’s not in a splint to force me to look into his dark eyes. “Don’t look over there. Look at me. I’m the one who can’t get enough of you.”

I know what you’re thinking, girl, he loves you and why are you complaining about him not being there for you. Noah can express himself this way, and tell me everything I want to hear now, but when I really need my husband, when I fear I can’t go on and handle even the day-to-day things because of this tremendous grief inside me, that’s when he shuts down. I don’t get the I love you or the I can’t get enough of you. I get the cold eyes and distant words.

“Noah… I….”

“You what?” he asks, pumping his fingers inside me now. “You ready for me to fuck this sweet pussy of yours?”

I level him a serious look. “What the fuck did Bonner do to you?”

His eyes flutter shut, and he releases a low hum as he slowly drags his finger from inside me, up my stomach and to between his lips. “It’s not what he did; it’s whatyoudid.”

Noah can lay it on when he wants to and now, he looks so hungry, so feral, raw and untamed. I can’t remember the last time I saw this side of him.

Moving between my legs, we skip the foreplay and go straight to fucking because I’ve never liked all that teasing. I like to just get down to business. He kisses me again, I’m sure as a distraction maybe, as he carefully makes sure his asshole isn’t in view of the camera I suppose, and then enters me slowly.

I’d like to say everything goes smoothly, and it does, for the most part. Like the way his hips move in a slow, rhythmic motion until I’m fully stretched around him. But it’s when he says, “I’m going to fuck you hard. I want to keep this pussy sore so you know who you belong to,” that I realize this is about to be completely different than any other sexual experience we’ve had recently.

What the actual fuck happened to my husband? Did the doctors inject him with something last night? Did Bonner? As his cock slides in and out of me, I burst out laughing in his ear.

I can feel his smile against my neck. “You won’t be laughing for long,” he grunts, slamming into me and taking my breath with it.

He’s absolutely right about that. His movements are quick and deep, so savage and unlike any I’ve experienced in the last two years. It’s as if he can’t possibly get enough of me. For a good portion of the next five minutes, I keep looking at our dresser. It’s like being watched, and then finally, I relax and begin to enjoy it. No. That’s the wrong word. I fucking love it. Every touch, every kiss, every bite, it’s so full of emotion and need, I can’t help but think maybe this is our breaking point. Maybe we just needed to fuck like porn stars.

I think at this point it might be best to just give you the highlights. Like him licking my asshole. That part is weird and extremely pleasant at the same time. You’re laughing, aren’t you? Or did you cringe? Don’t worry, I showered, if that matters.

Another highlight? The position called the full nelson. We try dozens of positions during our two-hour long fuck, but it’s nothing like that one. We knew nothing about this until Bonner. I must thank him because it’s amazing!

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