“Yup.” She takes a sip of wine and says, almost defensively. “Just a little wine won’t hurt. It’s been a long day. I have some milk I pumped if Martin wakes up.”
“It’s fine, Bris.” I take a sip of my wine and shrug. “I trust you to have it all worked out.”
Her smile comes after a few seconds of silence, and then she resumes eating. I don’t know what this silence is about. After spending all day with Martin and Nina, I’m so bone tired I don’t have much to say. I don’t know how Bris does so much for them and still manages to be a boss at work. Every time I step into her shoes, even if it’s only for a little while, I gain respect for how amazing she is.
“Mrs. O’Malley called today,” she says when we’re done with our food.
“Yeah?” I bend an inquiring look on her. “What’s up?”
We make our way to the living room while she tells me about this letter Patrick buried in the garden. Possibly the last thing he ever wrote to his wife before he lost his grasp on reality and time.
“God, Grip, if you could have heard her,” Bristol says, sinking into the overstuffed cushions of the sectional and tipping her head back to stare up at the ceiling. “She was crying, and she sounded so . . . lost. So lonely.”
“Well, it hasn’t even been a year since he passed.” I settle beside her, deciding to ignore any awkwardness and squeezing in as close as I can. “They were together fifty years. I can’t imagine.”
I’ll never forget Mrs. O’Malley calling to tell me her husband had died. She sounded lost and lonely that day, too. I guess it takes time. I glance at my beautiful wife, eyes closed and long lashes fanning over the shadows under her eyes that bother me so much. I wouldn’t ever recover if I lost Bristol. Not really. I could probably pick myself up and go on. But “going on” is not the same as what I have now, which is living. Absorbing every experience with her at my side. Understanding that everything is sweeter, richer, brighter when she’s with me. Even so, maybe I pushed her too far when I asked to bring the family on tour.
“We’ll come,” she says softly, eyes still closed.
“Huh?” My head swings around to study her delicate profile and stubborn jaw. “Come where?”
She turns her head and meets my eyes. Her hand covers the few inches separating us and tangles our fingers.
“On tour,” she says, biting her lip and smiling. “The kids and I will come on tour with you.”
“Seriously?” I bark a surprised laugh. “What . . . for real?”
“Yes, for real.” She scoots a little closer and drops her head to my shoulder. “That’s where I was all day. Sarah and I had an emergency meeting to see how we can make it work. What we need to do and shift and adjust.”
“Can you?” I rub my cheek into the silkiness of her hair. “Make it work, I mean?”
“I think we can.” She nods and angles her head so our eyes meet. “We will because we have to.”
“Have to?” I lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees and look back at her still pressed into the cushions. “Babe, if I pressured you—”
“Of course, you pressured me,” she says with a laugh. “You pressured me for years to be with you. You pressured me to move to New York when you went to NYU. You pressure me every time you think you know what’s right for us.”
Put like that, I sound like a domineering prick.
“And you know what?” She leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees, mirroring my posture so our lips are mere inches and a breath apart. “You’re right.”
“I am?” I can’t resist. I close the space and kiss her, reaching up to gather her hair into my fist while I trace her lips, slip inside and suck her tongue.
“Hmmmm.” She moans into our kiss. “You are.”
She slides off the couch to the floor and scoots between my knees. Her fingers nimbly undo my belt buckle and unfasten my jeans, brushing my cock as she goes.
Okay. I’m intrigued.
“Mrs. O’Malley’s call persuaded me, and a conversation I had with Kai today helped, too,” she says huskily, her eyes blazing into mine. “But you know what really convinced me we aren’t spending enough time together?”
In an economy of words, I lift my brows since obviously her question is rhetorical and the sooner she tells me, the sooner we’ll fuck.
“I couldn’t remember the last time I sucked your dick.”
Said dick goes steely in my pants.
“That is a sad state of affairs,” I agree, helping her out by shucking my jeans and briefs off and spreading my legs to make it easy for her to reach my dick.
“I’m about to rectify that,” she says, lowering her head and taking me into the hot wet heaven of her mouth.
“Damn it,” I hiss, my hand palming her head and shoving my fingers through her hair. “You give good head, Bris.”
“Hmmmm,” she hums, sending a vibration from one head to the other until I think my brain may explode from pleasure.
I sit up and take control, holding her still and thrusting in, fucking her face until I’m just shy of coming in her mouth. Oh, no. I have better plans for this load. I pull out, swiping my thumb across her swollen shiny lips and joining her on the floor.
“What are you doing?” she asks breathlessly.
It’s my turn to undress her, shimmying her jeans down along with her thong. Disposing of her tank top and cardigan.
I bend her over and suck the curve of one round cheek into my mouth, working it until I know it’s marked.
“Jesus, this ass, Bristol,” I say against the reddened skin. “I love your body so much. I love you so much.”
“I know, baby,” she breathes out.
I turn her so her elbows are on the couch and settle behind her to take long swipes of her pussy with my tongue.
“Oh, my God, Grip.” She clenches and a shudder rocks her body. “Again.”
I love it when she thinks she can tell me what to do. I widen her legs and take to her pussy again, licking and biting and sucking until her juices run down the inside of her thighs. That’s what I wanted. I sit up on my knees, running my cock through her wetness and dipping my thumb in, smearing it on her asshole. She knows what that means.
“Yes,” she pants, reaching back to spread her cheeks, “In the ass, Grip.”
We’ve come so far.
“You want it in the ass, Bris?” I ease my thumb in her ass and pass my other hand over her breasts, pinching her nipples. “I’ve only got two hands here. Division of labor. Can you touch your clit for me?”
“Yes,” she chokes, reaching between her legs to touch herself.
“Finger it for me, Bris.”
Her breath is ragged, and I hear the wet sounds of her finger passing through the creaminess between her legs.
“That’s my girl.” I line my dick, shiny with her juices, up with the hole I’ve owned so many times now. I plunge in and almost blow it at the first stroke. I stop and hold, giving myself time to pull it together.
“Grip, move. Fuck me.” Bris grabs a cheek in each hand, spreading her ass for me, thrusting back. “I need it hard.”
I think that’s the only way I can give it at this point. I grab her hip and thrust forward again and again, over and over until I’m lost in a fury of pounding and grunting. I pull her up so her back is to my chest and keep working her ass and pinching her nipples. Bristol’s fingers stroke frantically over her clit, and she keeps thrusting back to meet every aggressive stroke. Her moans dissolve into sobs and she shakes with an orgasm as I empty myself inside her, burying my face in her hair to muffle a roar.
We stay like that for a few seconds. On our knees. One of my hands cupping her breast, the other wrapped around her hip. My dick in her ass. I refuse to move. This is Nirvana. Not just anal sex and the blow job.
Though, let’s be honest. It gets no better than that.
Our scents mingle in the air. Deep breaths heave our chests. I press my palm over her heart, feeling the hammer of it. This is peace. My wife in my arms. My kids asleep upstairs. I’ll have them with me on a tour I was dreading because I hated the thought of leaving them.
“Thank you, Bris,” I whisper into her neck.