take a shaky breath, but he didn’t
turn away from her as he said, “You make me feel so much more than what hurts.”
“I do?”
He took her face in his hands. “Of course, you do. You’re my
wife, baby. No one in the world makes me feel as much as you do.”
She was almost crying as he pulled her face closer to his
and kissed her softly. She was so emotional that she deepened the kiss, opening
her lips to his and wrapping her arms around his neck.
For now, this was all she needed to know. That she was still
his wife. That he still felt for her what he had before. That she was somehow
helping him get through this, no matter how helpless she felt.
Soon, he was urgent and eager, pushing her down onto the bed
and cupping her bottom as they kissed. He was just as rushed and frantic as
he’d been since he’d come back to her. It was like he’d lost all control, lost
the ability to slow down or rein himself in.
She didn’t care. In truth, she loved that he needed her so
much, even though it meant she didn’t get as much foreplay as she’d used to.
He yanked off her jeans, her panties coming down with them,
and she fumbled with his trousers until she’d managed to free his erection.
He’d gotten her shirt off, but he was still wearing most of his clothes when he
lined himself up at her entrance and pushed himself inside.
She was aroused, and it felt good, and she let out a
lingering moan as he entered her. Soon, he was taking her hard and fast,
holding her legs up higher and grunting as he thrust.
“Mark,” she was gasping, holding on and flooded with
feeling. “I love you, Mark. I love you. I love you.”
His grunts turned to helpless exclamations as he pushed into
her roughly a few last times, choking on something that sounded like, “Oh,
fuck, Sophie. Yes.”
Then his body was relaxing completely, and she was stroking
him as he came down.
They’d made love every evening since he arrived in Willow
Park, and he was often so wiped out afterwards that he rolled over to fall
asleep afterwards. But tonight, after he kissed her, making the same murmured
sounds he always made afterwards, he lifted his head to look down at her face.
“What is it?” she asked, when she realized he was frowning.
He didn’t reply.
“What is it, Mark? Please tell me.” She didn’t like the plea
in her voice, but she couldn’t seem to help it.
He let out a breath. “I can’t make you come anymore.” His
face twisted slightly. “You used to come most of the time. But I can’t seem to
get you there now.”
It was true. Partly because they were always so rushed, but
that wasn’t the only reason. She felt a flush heating up her skin, on her
cheeks and then down her neck.
“What?” he asked, the disappointment on his face changing to
curiosity. “What are you embarrassed about? It’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault,” she told him, realizing she was going
to have to tell him the truth. Maybe this was what it meant to be totally real,
even when it was hard. “It’s my fault.”
“Why is it your fault?” He sat up, looking almost defensive
on her behalf. “I’m the one who can’t seem to—”
“No. Let me show you.” She shook off the embarrassment and
stood up, grabbing her bathrobe to pull on as she walked to the bathroom.
She returned with the little vibrating sponge in her hand.
“What’s that?” he asked, looking adorably confused.
She turned it on and saw enlightenment dawn on his face.
“Remember Heidi gave it to me? We played with it a
little…before. Then, when you were gone, I was using it…a lot…when I took
baths. I think maybe I got so used to it that it takes…takes more stimulation
to make me…make me get there.” He was her husband, and she loved and trusted
him.
But she was still mortified to make the admission.
She came to sit back next to him on the bed, holding the
sponge and not daring to meet his eyes.
He reached over to take it out of her hand.
“I’m
turn away from her as he said, “You make me feel so much more than what hurts.”
“I do?”
He took her face in his hands. “Of course, you do. You’re my
wife, baby. No one in the world makes me feel as much as you do.”
She was almost crying as he pulled her face closer to his
and kissed her softly. She was so emotional that she deepened the kiss, opening
her lips to his and wrapping her arms around his neck.
For now, this was all she needed to know. That she was still
his wife. That he still felt for her what he had before. That she was somehow
helping him get through this, no matter how helpless she felt.
Soon, he was urgent and eager, pushing her down onto the bed
and cupping her bottom as they kissed. He was just as rushed and frantic as
he’d been since he’d come back to her. It was like he’d lost all control, lost
the ability to slow down or rein himself in.
She didn’t care. In truth, she loved that he needed her so
much, even though it meant she didn’t get as much foreplay as she’d used to.
He yanked off her jeans, her panties coming down with them,
and she fumbled with his trousers until she’d managed to free his erection.
He’d gotten her shirt off, but he was still wearing most of his clothes when he
lined himself up at her entrance and pushed himself inside.
She was aroused, and it felt good, and she let out a
lingering moan as he entered her. Soon, he was taking her hard and fast,
holding her legs up higher and grunting as he thrust.
“Mark,” she was gasping, holding on and flooded with
feeling. “I love you, Mark. I love you. I love you.”
His grunts turned to helpless exclamations as he pushed into
her roughly a few last times, choking on something that sounded like, “Oh,
fuck, Sophie. Yes.”
Then his body was relaxing completely, and she was stroking
him as he came down.
They’d made love every evening since he arrived in Willow
Park, and he was often so wiped out afterwards that he rolled over to fall
asleep afterwards. But tonight, after he kissed her, making the same murmured
sounds he always made afterwards, he lifted his head to look down at her face.
“What is it?” she asked, when she realized he was frowning.
He didn’t reply.
“What is it, Mark? Please tell me.” She didn’t like the plea
in her voice, but she couldn’t seem to help it.
He let out a breath. “I can’t make you come anymore.” His
face twisted slightly. “You used to come most of the time. But I can’t seem to
get you there now.”
It was true. Partly because they were always so rushed, but
that wasn’t the only reason. She felt a flush heating up her skin, on her
cheeks and then down her neck.
“What?” he asked, the disappointment on his face changing to
curiosity. “What are you embarrassed about? It’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault,” she told him, realizing she was going
to have to tell him the truth. Maybe this was what it meant to be totally real,
even when it was hard. “It’s my fault.”
“Why is it your fault?” He sat up, looking almost defensive
on her behalf. “I’m the one who can’t seem to—”
“No. Let me show you.” She shook off the embarrassment and
stood up, grabbing her bathrobe to pull on as she walked to the bathroom.
She returned with the little vibrating sponge in her hand.
“What’s that?” he asked, looking adorably confused.
She turned it on and saw enlightenment dawn on his face.
“Remember Heidi gave it to me? We played with it a
little…before. Then, when you were gone, I was using it…a lot…when I took
baths. I think maybe I got so used to it that it takes…takes more stimulation
to make me…make me get there.” He was her husband, and she loved and trusted
him.
But she was still mortified to make the admission.
She came to sit back next to him on the bed, holding the
sponge and not daring to meet his eyes.
He reached over to take it out of her hand.
“I’m
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