Page 78 of Marriage and the Midlife Crisis

I watched, transfixed, as she slid behind the wheel and pulled out of the lot moments later. Exhaling harshly, I put my truck in gear and headed home to our lonely bed.

Melanie texted me to let me know she’d arrived back at the condo safely about ten minutes after I walked in the door. It was the only time she had initiated contact since the night she’d left, aside from reaching out to let me know that the boys were in town and knew about our split.

Me: Thanks for letting me know. I had a wonderful time tonight. I hope you did, too.

Melanie: I did, thank you.

Melanie: Maybe I should be the one to invite you out the next time, if we’re recreating our courtship?

I thought back to the end of our second date, when I’d been too focused on getting my dick to calm down to remember to officially ask her out again. I’d called Melanie first thing the next morning, intent on rectifying that oversight. She’d beaten me to it, asking if I’d like to have dinner the next night, since her parents were taking Tanner to see an animated movie that had just been released. We’d made out on her couch after dinner like a couple of horny teenagers, and I’d had to recite engineering calculations in an effort to keep from coming in my jeans.

Me: I’d love that. Name the place and time, and I’ll be there. Better yet, maybe you’ll let me pick you up?

My grip tightened on my phone as a few minutes passed before she replied.

Melanie: In keeping with the spirit of our dating do-over, I should cook dinner for you. I don’t really have what I need to make an actual meal here at the condo, but I could come to the house right after work tomorrow to do it, if that’s OK.”

If that’s OK? Why the fuck would she think she needed permission to come home, and in what universe did she think I would turn down the chance to have her here, even for just a few hours?

Me: It’s more than all right, sweetness, and you NEVER have to ask. This is your home and it always will be if I have anything to say about it.

She ignored the awkward turn the conversation had taken and simply asked if lasagna would be all right.

Me: You know the answer to that. I’d walk on broken glass to have your lasagna. You still have a container of your homemade sauce in the freezer, so I’ll set in in the fridge tonight to thaw. Tell me what other ingredients we’ll need, and I’ll stop at the grocery on my way home to get anything we don’t have here.

Melanie: Perfect. I’ll text you a list. Mostly the cheese, I think, and the meat.

Me: I’ll pick up something for us to have for dessert, too.

I wanted to have her for dessert, but I was absolutely certain she wasn’t on the menu, and I wasn’t about to push my luck.

As I slid into bed a couple of hours later, dessert was still on my mind. Melanie, not whatever sweet treat I would find at the grocery.

My cock had been half-hard since I’d dropped her off at her car earlier, and that wouldn’t change any time soon if I kept thinking about her like that.

“Fuck,” I ground out as I quit trying to fight it. I flung the covers back to get them out of the way, then wrapped my hand around my growing erection. I closed my eyes, imagining Melanie there with me. I swiped my thumb over the head of my dick, catching the precum beading there, then slicked it down over my shaft.

I couldn’t remember the last time I got off, even with my own hand. It was probably in the shower, a day or two before I flew to Las Vegas if I had to guess. My balls were full and heavy, and I spread my legs a little, then pumped my hips in the same rhythm as I pumped my cock. If my wife were here, I’d have her riding my face as I worked myself over. I licked my lips, as I imagined it, almost able to taste her sweetness. The thought spurred me on, and I tightened my grip as I shuttled my hand up and down, adding a slight twist at the top. I had a vivid memory of the last time I’d had Melanie in this particular position – well over a year ago – with her thighs on either side of my head and her hands gripping the headboard while I fucked her with my tongue. Her juices covered my face when she came, and when I finished just seconds later, my cum splattered all over her gorgeous ass.

That memory was all it took to send me over the edge. Suddenly, a tingle raced up my spine, and my balls drew up tight. I came then, shouting Melanie’s name as my body jerked and shuddered. Afterward, I lay there for several moments, trying to catch my breath while my cum puddled, and then cooled, on my stomach.

How the hell I had gone for so long without pleasuring her like that, I would never know.

“As soon as she’ll let me, that’s gonna fucking change. She won’t be able to walk, and my jaw will ache for days,” I vowed, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and heading off to the shower to clean up.

I couldn’t wait to see her tomorrow night, even though I knew my balls would be aching by the time she left. I just wanted to have her here, where she belonged.

Chapter 27

Melanie

Ryan wasn’t home yet when I got to our house. A light snow had started falling just before I left the office, and I decided to park in the garage so I wouldn’t have to worry about scraping snow from my windshield before I drove back to the condo later tonight.

I entered the house through the service door connected to the garage, which opened up into the combined laundry and mud room. Dropping my purse on the bench, I unzipped my boots and left them on the rubber mat underneath, before hanging my coat and scarf on one of the hooks mounted on the wall. One of Ryan’s baseball hats was hanging on one side, and one of his hooded sweatshirts was hanging on the other. The hoodie was one of his favorites – a gift from Grady several years ago – featuring a picture of golf cart and the words, “We ride at dawn.”

I ran my hand down the well-worn sleeve, the material softened by hundreds if not thousands of washings after all this time. Before I even registered what I was doing, I lifted it off the hook and buried my face in the fabric. The scent of Ryan’s cologne – the same one he’d worn for probably ten years now – was deeply embedded in the fibers.

I’d always heard that smell is the most likely of the five senses to trigger our memories, and at that moment, I literally held the proof of that fact in my hands. My mind was flooded with memories of Ryan, one after another, until tears filled my eyes and I had to blink rapidly to keep them from falling. I knew he would be home any minute, and I didn’t want him to see that I’d been upset. I used the end of the sleeve to carefully dab under my eyes, then hung the sweatshirt back on the hook and took a deep breath to compose myself.