Infinity. (Infinity Series) (31 page)

She spins away from my hands and begins riding me with her back to me. I fucking can’t stand it when I can’t see her. She knows this. This is some sort of mind game that she’s playing with me and I don’t approve. I grab her hips and pull her off of me. “If I can’t watch your face and see your boobs bounce, then I don’t want to have sex with you.”

Charlie rolls off of me and flops back against the bed. She smiles giving me her know-it-all grin. “Then I’ll just fuck myself. It’s your call,” she says as she inserts three fingers inside of herself.

She could make the pope say
fuck
.
I fall on top of her and slide back inside. We pick up right where we left off. “I love you.” She smiles underneath me.

“I love you, too. Now kiss me like you mean it.”

She leans forward, and I meet her halfway. She takes my mouth with her tongue while I groan, feeling her kiss all the way in my toes. I’ll never become immune to her. Her kiss still shoots electricity through my soul as much as it did when we began dating in college.

I grab her hips and roll us so she’s back on top without ever breaking our kiss. It’s only when I feel her pulsing around my cock that I let go and enjoy my orgasm, feeling completely swept away in the moment.

At some point, she scoots off my chest and cuddles into my side. “You’re a good man, Colin. Whatever the media calls you, we know the truth. All the rumors were a lie. You walked away from football to be their dad. That’s what we tell them,” she says in a dreamy voice.

Her words hit the spot; they’re what I needed to hear. I bend my neck and kiss her head. “Wise words, Doctor Collins. But it’s not you who has been called the most selfish player ever.”

She sits up, apparently now wide awake, and pulls the white bed sheet over her bare bottom. “You didn’t murder anyone, Colin, for God’s sake. Or any of the other horrible things that other players have done. You just happen to be the most famous player to leave at the top of your career. You weren’t like the other guys, who had to be tapped on the shoulder and asked to retire. I get that this is a sports-driven, crazy country. It just irritates me that everyone assumes the worst instead of just accepting your explanation at face value.” She leans forward, totally violating any personal space that I might have considered a safe zone and says, “You did nothing wrong.”

“The football league and my sponsors beg to differ with you, Doctor Collins. I read something tonight that said my retirement cost them an estimated two-hundred million dollars, just in the first year.” I pull her to me and hold her as if she’s my lifeline, letting that tidbit of knowledge sink in.

Her only response is “Oh.”

Repeatedly stoking her hair, I sing, “Let It Go.” Her lips curl up in a smile against my ribs as I watch her eyes flutter shut succumbing—finally—to her fuck coma.

Charlie on bed-rest for her entire pregnancy gave us lots of time to work through the problems, hurt feelings, and resentments plaguing our relationship. We learned to actually communicate with each other and voice our issues. It was a novel exercise for both of us. Most of all, I learned that to fully forgive someone is also to forget. I finally forgave Charlie for choosing Harvard over me, and I’ve come to accept that she’s put our family ahead of her career. Those months were tough, but we joked that at least we couldn’t run away from each other. She was a prisoner to her recliner, and I had the media acting as my warden. This is by far the strongest our marriage has ever been.

If I hadn’t walked away from football, I wouldn’t have Charlie pressed against me now, or my children upstairs asleep in their beds. That I do believe.

Colin

My wife falls asleep in a position that can only be deemed comfortable by nomadic rogues and pirates. I use the remote next to my side of the bed to the turn off the lights, and I pull her more closely to me so her head can rest on my chest.

The dad in me says that I should get up and unlock our bedroom door so if one of the kids needs us they can come in. Instead, I listen to the horny-ass husband that says I’m not disturbing the gorgeous woman woven around my body for all the tea in China.

I slump in the bed, and there’s not a chance of me sleeping comfortably like this, but I don’t care. Put it on my “I don’t give a fuck list.” My wife, snuggled around me like climbing ivy and those three precious heartbeats upstairs? This is what life’s all about.

I let her head fall against my shoulder while I pull the covers just over the top of us, giving me some warmth, when I hear the door handle jingle. Charlie’s mom sixth-sense kicks in, and she rouses for just a second.

“I’ve got this,” I reassure her as she falls toward her pillow, snuggling into a much more comfortable position that is, unfortunately, not on me.

I jump out of bed and throw on my athletic shorts and turn the lock. When I open the door, a set of lavender eyes are looking up at me that melt my heart. “Hi,” I coo. “Is everything alright?”

Jax or maybe Liam—I can’t tell them apart—is standing there in Batman PJs with tussled white-blonde hair and a sleepy look on his face. “Liam kicked me.” So this is Jax. “It made me want Mommy.”

Perfectly logical. When I get kicked, I want Charlie also. “Come on, buddy. Let me take you back to bed.”

I pick up half of the fearsome twosome and carry him through the large expanse of our open living room and up the wooden stairs. I’ve been telling Charlie for a couple of weeks that it’s time to put the boys in separate beds—they’re five after all—but she gets a pained look on her face and stares at the ceiling.

I get it. The fearsome twosome have been together forever. But our identical twin boys are outgrowing their bed. I pick up Jax and place him inside of the bed with rails to prevent them from rolling off and breaking something. “I love you, little man. Go to sleep for me.”

“Daddy, am I going to be a football player like you?” my precious son asks me.

I smile and reply, “No, baby boy. You’re going to be a train engineer.”

His face lights up. “I’ll be a super train engineer.”

I look at him like the lovesick fool that I am, and kiss his hair. “Yes, you will, Jax. Yes you will.”

Instead of going back downstairs and getting into bed with my sated wife, I stop off at Ainsley’s room. It’s decorated like a princess lives here. Oh wait! She does. I tiptoe to her bedside and kiss her beautiful forehead while I pull her white blanket over her shoulders. She’s as gorgeous as her mother, but with my build. This six-year-old, reading, writing, mathematician owns me like I didn’t know that I could be owned. All Daddy’s need their boys, but dear God, who knew that I needed my daughter so much. She makes me a better man every damn day of my life.

She rolls over and snuggles some pathetic stuffed animal that she’s claimed as her everything. I smile down at her, hoping that this ratty dog will chase away whatever bad dreams plagued her earlier. I give her another kiss on her forehead and whisper, “Sweet dreams, beautiful,” against her hair.

Pancho, always on guard duty, escorts me down the stairs and back to the bedroom where my girl is taking up the whole bed. I sit down on my side and attempt to reposition her so I’ve got a little more room. No luck. She rolls onto her stomach, and throws her leg over my hips. I glance over at the three-fourths unused large bed so grateful that after as many years that we’ve been together, plus all the fights, traveling, three kids, and life-changing events, she still clings to me in her sleep. Who cares if I sleep well? It’s not like I have practice tomorrow.

****

Sunlight wakes us every morning. We don’t have curtains or blinds, because we live in the middle of nowhere. There’s no need to protect our privacy. It’s really the best way to wake up. We positioned the house so our bedroom faces north. That way we catch a few more minutes of sleep. As I emerge to wakefulness, I realize that my sleeping partner is gone, and must have been up for some time because the bed is cold.

The telltale signs of morning cartoons and smell of bacon frying in a pan makes my stomach growl. Sounds like the twins won the morning TV battle and chose
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
. We only have one television in our house on purpose. We could eliminate some of the arguments if I’d agree to put one in the kids’ playroom, but it’s not going to happen. Learning to share is a life skill. It starts with compromising on what shows we watch.

I lean back against the headboard and look down, realizing that I’m still in my athletic shorts with giant morning wood. My options include lying back down and thinking about my fifth-grade English teacher that had a mole on her chin with a black hair growing out of it, or I could take a shower and rub one out using Charlie’s conditioner. Or I could try to persuade my wife to give me a quick pity-fuck in the closet.

I go with the third option. “Charrrrleeee…” I call. “I’ve got a BIG problem”—And I do emphasize the word big— “in here.”

“Ainsley, if you don’t want to watch what your brother’s are watching then read a book. It’s a lovely morning. Go read on the back porch. Or better yet, get ready for swim team. We’re leaving in forty-five minutes.”

“But Mommy, when is it my turn to choose the show?” she whines.

I decide to help, so I yell, “When you figure out how to compromise with them.”

She lets out a huff that’s loud enough that I hear it in our bedroom, and stomps across the living room. Then the French doors that lead from the living room to the back porch open and shut with a little too much force. Normally, I’d correct her for slamming doors, but my situation prevents me from getting up.

Charlie comes to the bedroom door and leans against the doorframe with a mug of coffee in her right hand. “What’s your big problem?” she asks, looking at the tented bed sheet that I’ve made with my hard cock. She shakes her head, and says, “You’re awful.”

I flash her my half-smile and say, “Up for some closet time?”

“I’ve got to get ready for work. Can’t you take care of it yourself?” She’s smirking as she says all of this. I can read her like a book. When she says serious stuff while her lips turn up it means that she wants me to beg for it, which I’m not too proud to do.

“Closet time will distract me from the big, bad media. It’s really your way of doing your part.” I sound so cocky, which is exactly the angle that I was going for. I add the last bit knowing what her reaction is going to be.

“Fine. You’ve got about five minutes of
Ninja Turtles
left. Let’s see what you can do with it, big boy,” she says as she sashays threw the bedroom and into the master bathroom, discarding her coffee mug on the sink vanity. I follow her into our sex closet. It’s actually her closet. She had a bench seat built in under the guise of needing a place to sit to put on panty hose and shoes. I know the truth. She wanted it because it makes a great place for her to brace her upper body so I can take her from behind.

I lock the closet door behind us, and watch her slip off her black cotton jogging-pants and remove her pink thong. She gives me a knowing wink before she turns around and assumes the position. I drop my athletic shorts like they’re on fire and walk up behind her, palming both of her tits working her nipples into hard points. While continuing to massage the left one, I check to see how ready she is.

My girl is slick, and I love it. She plays hard to get and she’s not affected by me, but then I feel how turned on she is. I lean over her back and whisper in her hair, “You’re sloppy for me. I fucking love you.”

She gasps as I continue to slide my fingers in and out of her, finding the right spot. Over and over I do this. It’s a fun game of torture we play. I’m not quite letting her have her orgasm, just keeping her on the brink.

Then I nibble, lick, and bite the spot on her shoulder—just above her collarbone—that makes her crazy.

“Take me. I’m going to come.” She pants as she tries to wiggle away from my nimble fingers.

I use my right hand to hold her in place, not letting her reach for my cock.

“Not yet,” I reply, checking my watch. “I still have three minutes.”

Dropping to my knees, I spread her legs wider apart, staring at her pink, swollen pussy. She’s still leaning on the bench, and seeing her in such a vulnerable position makes me even harder. I begin to sample her wetness with my tongue and smell her arousal. Dear God, I love everything about her. Her smell. Her taste. The moans of pleasure that escape her mouth. She is a fucking smorgasbord for my senses.

“Colin,” she groans. “I’m almost there.”

I chuckle to myself. I don’t know why she feels the need to tell me. I know. I feel her swell against my lips and tongue. I can taste her increased arousal. She begins to pulse like a heartbeat against my chin.

Standing up, I slip my cock inside of her as she clamps tightly against me and pulls me the rest of the way in. I feel the rush of fluid and know that she’s coming as I slide in and out of her keeping her orgasm going. She throws her head back, and hair falls over her back, and brushes the two dimples at the top of her behind.

My body feels like I’ve got electricity running through it as my orgasm spills out of me and into her soft folds. I’m a sweaty motherfucker and fall against her back, grabbing her around her small waist as if she’s my lifeline.

“Best five-minute sex ever.” I pant against her shoulder blade.

She turns around and sits on the bench and I drop to the ground, putting my head on her lap. She runs her long fingers through my damp, matted waves. “Did you sleep last night?” Charlie asks in a soft voice, tinged with concern.

“Not especially,” I reply, wrapping my left arm around her calves. She’s my damn lifeline. I need her so much.

She smiles again, and runs her hand over my stubbled cheek. “Don’t let the press tarnish this honor. You deserve to be in the Hall of Fame.”

Colin