“But it wasn’t.”
“No,” I say, pouring the pudding into the crust and smoothing it over with a knife edge. “It wasn’t.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Not much. I miss being part of a couple. I miss being with someone. But Bryce? No, I don’t miss him.” I rip off a piece of Saran wrap and cover the pie before slipping it into the refrigerator. Luke’s looking at me when I turn around, but I’m relieved to see there’s no judgement on his face or in his eyes. It gives me the courage to keep talking, to be honest about what I’m thinking. “That’s sort of pathetic, huh? To stay with someone for five years only to realize you’re not in love with them anymore and don’t miss them when they’re gone?”
“Forty-five would be a lot more pathetic,” says Luke. “Whenever I meet a couple who’s stayed together for the wrong reasons, it always makes me sad.”
I nod at him, hoping he’ll say more.
“I think it’s good you got out when you did. I mean, you could’ve married him, had kids with him, spent your life with him…that would have been far worse.”
“Yeah,” I say. His words comfort me and I’m grateful for them. They make me wonder about him, too. “How about you?” I ask. “Do you miss Wendy?”
“Sure, I do. Everyday. She was taken from me, you know? There’s shock and then there’s loss. I’ve had to deal with both.”
“I guess it’ll be a long time before you don’t miss her anymore, huh?”
“I’ll always miss her,” he says softly, holding my eyes with his.
I don’t know why my heart tightens when he says this, but it does. It pinches inside of my chest, and I turn back to the sink and wash my hands, trying to assuage the ache.
Back to cheap and meaningless sex today?
Leigh’s question slips into my head. She’s right, of course. Cheap and meaningless sex doesn’t lead to heartache. Conversation and sharing does that. Probably best to stick with our original agreement and keep deep thoughts out of it.
I turn around and cross the kitchen, bracing my hands on his shoulders before sliding them over his chest as my knees hit the floor. My hands land on his thighs and my fingers work soundlessly to unbuckle his belt and pull down his fly. Without looking at his face, I reach into the waistband of his boxer briefs and take out his semi-erect cock. Slipping my lips over the head, I tongue the warm, soft skin, suckling gently as one of my hands works the base with circular, up-and-down strokes.
Luke groans, leaning up on the chair to push his pants down, which frees his balls for my other hand. I handle them with care, massaging them while I lick and suck his erection. I moan frequently because I read somewhere that the vibrations from moaning make a blow job extra awesome, and because I want him to know that I’m enjoying this too.
I feel his hands touch down on my head, his fingers winding into my hair, fisting it around his hand and pulling. He tests me at first, to see if this is something I will tolerate, and I suck a little harder, a little faster, to let him know that it turns me on.
“Oh, fuuuuuuck,” he hisses, his breath quickly becoming more shallow and rapid as he pulls harder, making me groan. “That feels—God, Amanda, that feels so…”
I open wide and take him as deep as I can without gagging, reveling in the feeling of power I have as I feel his balls tighten in my hand and his cock starts to quiver against my tongue. When he comes a second later, I swallow as hot streams of cum sail down my throat in three or four powerful surges.
I wait until his groans of pleasure subside, gently stroking his cock with my tongue before leaning away, and looking up at him from my subservient position on the kitchen floor.
“You’re a goddess,” he breathes, his eyes searching mine with a hint of worship as he cups my jaw. “It’s been a long time since…Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“How can I return the favor?”
Because I’ve been shopping and baking this morning, I haven’t had time to shower, so a direct return of the favor isn’t high on my list right now. It makes me self-conscious for a guy to go down on me if I’m not fresh. Next best thing would be…
“Fuck me,” I whisper, bracing my hands on his bare knees and standing up. I pull off my dress and shimmy out of my panties and bra so I’m naked before him.
“Gladly,” he says, pulling his work shirt and t-shirt over his head so he’s as naked as I am. “How?”
“What do you mean?”
“How do you want me to fuck you?”
My breath catches because it sounds so dirty.
“From behind,” I say, choosing the position I find the most impersonal and yet, the most satisfying. “Doggie style.”