There he went, being all nice again. That made it really difficult to stay repulsed with him. In spite of myself, the corner of my lip curled up the slightest bit. It was all it took to show him we were good. With a knowing nod, he headed up the porch steps.
Please, she begged, peering back over her shoulder at me. Anticipation was the best part. I had no reason to rush, since I had the night free.My hand caressed up her spine until my fingers were curving around her neck. The other hand slithered under her dress, caressing her smooth stomach, then slid down the front of her damp panties.
My thumb brushed over her nub. The heat of her center warmed me, casting off the chill in the air. She inhaled a sharp, ragged breath when my fingers parted her lower lips and slid into her sweltering, moist channel. Her ass ground against my cock.I slipped in a second finger, angling both digits just right to hit her sweet spot. I knew when I’d succeeded—not from the lurid scream that rushed from her lungs, but from memories of all the other women those fingers had pleasured.Like that, I stated firmly, driving my fingers deep then pulling back to thrust in again.
Like a machine, I found myself getting her off while staring up at the clear night sky, savoring the moment and silence instead of another woman falling apart in my arms. There was no unnecessary commotion filtering in through my crowded head—only the hissing of the wind, the distant chirping of nature, and the heavy panting of the girl grinding against my hand.A calmness settled over me, satisfying something deep inside. Aside from my time at the lake house, which I hadn’t visited since I’d taken Oliver when he turned one, I didn’t find myself out in nature much. My life was scheduled and strategic in every way, and vacations rarely fit in.
The longer I was out there, the more I missed the lake house and the peace I’d felt there. To my disappointment, that tranquility was interrupted by the creak of the back door, but I was too relaxed to care—so relaxed I wasn’t even hard.
The door closed, and immediate footsteps followed. But Liv was lost in her moment, and I wasn’t about to disappoint. I slid in a third finger, her tight ripples of flesh expanding around my fingers, and watched the dark figure approach. It wasn’t until he stepped into the lit area that I recognized Caleb.When I finished writing, I read through it once, then read it again. Even now, the words were as clear in my mind as they were on the pages Jane now held in her hand.
It’s late at night, and as I sit at my desk, the house is silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock. You’re asleep upstairs, and though I long for the warmth of your body against my own, something compels me to write this letter, even though I’m not exactly sure where to begin. Nor, I realize, do I know exactly what to say, but I can’t escape the conclusion that after all these years, it’s something I must do, not only for you, but for myself as well. After thirty years, it’s the least I can do.Has it really been that long? Though I know it has, the very thought is amazing to me. Some things, after all, have never changed. In the mornings, for instance, my first thoughts after waking are—and always have been—of you. Often, I’ll simply lie on my side and watch you; I see your hair spread across the pillow, one arm above your head, the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Sometimes when you’re dreaming, I’ll move closer to you in the hope that somehow this will allow me to enter your dreams. That, after all, is how I’ve always felt about you. Throughout our marriage, you’ve been my dream, and I’ll never forget how lucky I’ve felt ever since the first day we walked together in the rain.
I often think back on that day. It’s an image that has never left me, and I find myself experiencing a sense of déjà vu whenever lightning streaks across the sky. In those moments, it seems as if we’re starting over once more, and I can feel the hammering of my young man’s heart, a man who’d suddenly glimpsed his future and couldn’t imagine a life without you.I experience this same sensation with nearly every memory I can summon. If I think of Christmas, I see you sitting beneath the tree, joyfully handing out gifts to our children. When I think of summer nights, I feel the press of your hand against my own as we walked beneath the stars. Even at work, I frequently find myself glancing at the clock and wondering what you’re doing at that exact moment. Simple things—I might imagine a smudge of dirt on your cheek as you work in the garden, or how you look as you lean against the counter, running a hand through your hair while you visit on the phone. I guess what I’m trying to say is that you are there, in everything I am, in everything I’ve ever done, and looking back, I know that I should have told you how much you’ve always meant to me.