Read The Anniversary Gift (Re-Connections) Online
Authors: Elle Dawson
The Anniversary Gift (Re-Connections)
The Anniversary Gift
b
y Elle Dawson
The Anniversary Gift
©
Copyright 2013 by Elle Dawson
www.ElleDawson.com
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imaginations or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without expressed written permission from the author.
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to one of my best friends, who shoved me from my comfort zone and encouraged me to explore a world of passion and love.
I will forever be grateful.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Books are not written in isolation...there are many people, many memories, many experiences, hopes and dreams that combine into a flow of thoughts that finally…finally…become a series of words that transition into a fantasy land for others.
Thank you to my editor, critique partners and friends – you know who you are – for sticking with me through the changes and modifications. I couldn’t have done this without you.
My lips seem to know what they’re doing, as they kiss their way down her neck. I’m not sure why, as this type of exploration feels so foreign. She moans, which raises my confidence and I move my fingers to the top button of her blouse. With my tongue flicking her earlobe, I slip that first ivory button free and then slide lower to free the next and the next. My lips are on her jaw now, my tongue tracing a lazy path until it slips into her open mouth and seeks the sweetness inside. Her legs wrap around me, causing her skirt to move up her thighs, a welcome invitation for me to explore what’s hidden beneath.
My heart is beating wildly
… can I do this?
Yes!
She’s beautiful … tight, soft flesh … and the puckered nipples peeking at me through her now open blouse reassure me that I’m doing something right.
Stepping back, I look upon her loveliness, and push the silk of her blo
use over her shoulders then slide the straps of her lacy bra down her arms, pulling the cups down to expose her perfect creamy white breasts. I cup them with my hands, rolling the nipples between my fingers, pulling softly while pinching the rosy peaks.
“Kate
,” she moans.
“Kate
.”
“K
ate!”
I jump in my chair as my name reverberates in my head
. The dream of the woman I was making love to moments before is now a living nightmare in the flesh.
“I do not pay you to d
aydream,” snaps the nightmare, who also happens to be my boss. With an angel’s face and body, Laura’s beauty is only skin deep. She has the stinking pits of hell as a personality.
“I expect these reports by
five sharp. I also want a preview of your Boston presentation by tomorrow at noon.” She turns away, leaving me shaken from the dream and the rude awakening.
Her?
I was daydreaming of
her
? Kissing
her
? Fondling …
her
?
What is wrong with me?
I could see it now. Having sex with Laura would be a never-ending litany of micro-management. “Lick harder … put your fingers here … you’re doing it wrong.” I shudder. No way would I ever choose Laura to help fulfill my husband’s fantasy. Besides, no way will I stick my tongue inside of her … there … when I have to kiss her ass all day!
Not …
going … to … happen!
As I watch her disgustingly perfect ass walk away
, I shake the daydream away and attempt to focus on my work. Then, to my horror, my eyes fill with tears as a flashback from last night and my husband’s words echo in my head.
The Previous Evening…
“Our ten year anniversary is coming up soon, have you thought of anything special that you want?” Ethan asks.
Such an innocent question, spoken over a plate of
spaghetti and meatballs, and I am shocked that he even remembers. Honestly, our anniversary hasn’t even crossed my mind, isn’t even on my radar, is in fact close to two weeks away.
“I’d love a weekend away, just the two of us,” I repl
y, although my inner moral compass slides south, shaming me for the lie. My perfect anniversary present would be a week
away
from him, alone, at a spa, lying on a beach, alone … alone … alone.
“That sounds fun, I think we can manage a quick getaway,” he
says. “I’ve been thinking of what I’d like too … a lot. I know things have been strange and distant between us for a while now and I hate it. I hate the distance, the coldness. I miss you and I want to change it, and I think I have the perfect idea.” He pauses, takes a lengthy drink of beer and then a bite of spaghetti.
Is his face getting red?
Do I see a bead of sweat?
Another drink of beer and when his fork moves
twirl up another bite, I can’t wait another second.
“What?” I ask.
He takes a deep breath and then lets it out noisily and says “let’s add some spice to our sex life. Not that you aren’t perfect and amazing and wonderful in bed,” he was quick to add. “Don’t you think it would be fun if we added another partner … had a …” he takes another drink of beer, “… threesome?”
Have you ever watched a movie where the camera zooms in on a face, very quickly, and then retreats just as fast?
I swear that was what I saw … a fisheye of my husband’s red and now sweaty face. My mouth falls opens, my breathing stops, I can only stare.
A threesome?
Him
… me … and who? Another man? Another woman? My mind is racing as I attempt to assimilate my thoughts. I snap my mouth shut but it falls open again as my lips work to form a response.
A threesome!
What does this mean?
Is he having an affair and this is his way of merging wife and mistress? Or is he simply tired of me? Has the five pounds I’ve gained since our wedding put him off? Gravity isn’t kind, so is the slight sag in my breasts unsightly?
A threesome!
Completely worked up now, I stand and simply walk away.
Not a word, I just turn and leave, walk up the steps, into the bathroom and turn on the water to the tub.
As I stand there waiting for the tub to fill, tears slide down my face as feeling returns to my numb body.
I turn to the mirror and begin to undress, scrutinizing myself as each inch of skin becomes exposed during the process.
“
What’s wrong with me
?” my Inner Goddess sobs. And I don’t know how to answer her, even as the harsh light of the bathroom fully reflects my nakedness in the mirror.
I work out and eat a healthy diet, use the latest greatest
anti-aging products and for a 32-year-old woman, I look damn good. Tits slightly south, but ass high and tight, flat stomach, silky skin.
“
Fuck him!”
the Bitch in My Head exclaims.
A threesome!
I sink into the hot water, far enough down for my tears to be washed away.
Ho
w had our marriage come to this … this distant, cold roommate relationship? We once had so much passion, so much fun. We once were so in tune with each other.
I remember the first time we met, the pull I felt towards
him the instant our eyes connected. The first date and how romantic he’d been when he nervously leaned down to kiss me that first time.
I
think back to our hikes together, holding hands and talking about our jobs and sorting through any concerns we might have had. Sharing our dreams with each other too. Dreams of starting a family, future career moves, and places we might want to live.
I smile at the memory
of his proposal by our favorite waterfall. “I want to be the man who deserves your love,” he said to me that day. “If you say yes, I’ll work every day to deserve you.”
I remember my heartfelt “yes” as tears streamed down my face.
Then our wedding day comes into my mind and the look on his face when I first appeared in my white gown and veil. The photographer had snapped that moment; it’s my favorite picture in our wedding album. His look was pure awe mixed with adoration and love.
And our honeymoon …
oh yes, our honeymoon. Ten days in St. Martin filled with sex and laughter and exploration.
What happened since that day? When had things begun to turn stale?
When had we stopped expressing our love to each other? When had my bitterness and his indifference become the primary emotions of our marriage?
The first few years were bliss. He bought flowers for me every week, nothing expensive, just a small bouquet to brighten the dining room table.
He invited me out on a date every week, and we dined and danced for hours.
We used to make love nearly every night or at least several times per week.
Now? Once a month or special occasions seems to be our schedule.
We don’t really argue, but is that always a sign of smooth relationship waters
? I’ve stopped complaining about his chronic lateness, but that doesn’t mean I’m no less resentful of his inattention to time. I know he gets caught up in what he is doing, but the very least he could do is wear a watch to help him manage his day.
I growl to myself when I pick up his wet towel, but then find myself pissed off for
the rest of the day. I’m annoyed when he walks straight into his office and closes himself in for the night. I make sure I’m “asleep” by the time he comes to bed.
He used to be
my everything. When did I stop seeing him that way? When did he decide to stop trying to deserve me?
A knock on the door startles me and brings me back to the present. He opens the door and steps in.
“Let’s talk,” he says and pulls up a chair to sit beside me.
Words still won’t come
, and I can’t make my eyes turn to him, as they blur again with giant tears.
“Oh
, Kate, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you and I want us back to how we used to be. I miss you, I miss us. I just thought we could spice things up and re-connect in a new way.”
Finally, I look at him and I can see that he is in pain too. He’s always been the serious type, a deep thinker who looks at every angle before making a decision, always wanting to find the fair
outcome that is a win-win for everyone. That is one of the reasons I fell in love with him, his kind heart and sense of fairness.
I’m sure he has been thinking
of our marriage just as closely. How had a threesome become his solution?
“Why add someone else?” I manage to squeak out.
“How is adding another woman or man going to help us get closer? Won’t they just be in the way? You don’t want me any longer, just say it. You’re tired of me, and you want to move on and are too chicken shit to admit it. Tell me that I’m right.”
“No, you’re not right,” he responds
with an adamant shake of his head and a look of despondency on his face. “You’re not right at all. We don’t have to do a threesome, but we do need to talk about where we are with each other. I’m not happy, and I know you aren’t either. I don’t know why, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
As he places his face in his hands, I melt just a
little but I’m not ready to forgive and forget. Three-some … two syllables that have knocked me off my axis. But it doesn’t look like I’m the only one suffering from our failing relationship.
“
Ethan, what’s wrong with me?” I ask. “Why aren’t I enough?”
He lifts his head and looks at me with a look of pure sadness. “Nothing, you are perfect.
We used to be perfect together. We should be perfect with each other still. Something has just gotten in the way, and I want the old us back.”
He touches me, on the knee poking up through the bubbles and his eyes change the moment his hand touches my skin.
His pupils dilate, and the look on his face changes from sadness … to something else. Hunger.
My heart skips and then pounds hard as I recognize that look
from years ago. I’m about to be fucked, and I feel a tingling between my legs. The pit of my stomach, the very core of my being, tightens as his hand runs its way down my calf. He lifts my leg and strokes the bottom of my foot, massaging the arch and releasing tension. He brings my foot up to his mouth and licks where his thumbs had just been.
“Do you remember when I used to do this?” he asks then
pushes his tongue between my toes, penetrating the space between them, sending a spiral of sensation up my body. A toe fuck, yes I remember and he watches me intently with those dark blue eyes. One toe slips into his mouth and his sucking causes my belly to constrict and I can’t stop my head from falling back. My eyes close as I absorb each amazing sensation.
After he
caresses my right foot, he lifts the left. I groan as new spirals of heat run up my leg. As he makes love to my feet, his finger do magic on my calves. Then he bites me … hard … and my eyes open in surprise. He bites me again right above my ankle.
My gasp of pain and surprise doesn’t stop
him; it seems to fuel him even more.
“Look at me,” he commands softly.
“Keep your eyes open.”
His fingers dig deeply into my legs, as he takes another bite of my flesh.
“
Oh … wait,” I whimper.
H
e shushes me and kisses and strokes the places that now feel raw. He lowers my legs and leans toward me, like a tiger stalking his prey.
“I need you
… like this … please don’t say no,” he says. “If you love me at all, don’t say no to this.”
His look is so
intent, I can only nod my consent. With that slight lowering of my head, he stands and without taking his eyes from mine climbs swiftly into the tub, clothes and all.
Oh my.
As he straddles my body, he leans into me and runs his nose up my jaw line. His hands move up my body, around my neck and up into my hair.
They fist there, creating that mild pulling sensation that I so dearly love. He pulls,
forcing my head back as his teeth trail up my neck and onto my ear before winding their way to my mouth. His lips find mine and melt onto them, and I hear him groan. I open my lips and the kiss deepens, becoming an urgent exploration of tongues and teeth. With an intensity we’ve never had between us, he explores my mouth, and then bites my lower lip raking his teeth across my soft skin.
I cry out
… with pleasure and pain … and it is like gas on the fire of his passion. He’s literally sitting on me, grinding into my stomach as his hands move from my hair to around my neck. He squeezes lightly as he continues to kiss me deeply, and I find myself begin to notice a lack of air. He releases and gives me a moment to catch my breath, then tightens his hands again.
As I feel the need for oxygen come close to a panic, he releases, watching me closely.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
Yes.
No.
Do I?
I don’t even recognize him in this moment
; how do I know?
“Do you trust me?” he asks again.
I must have nodded yes, because he hands squeeze
once more. As he releases this time, his hands slide from my neck to my breasts, and the heady sense of returning oxygen makes my skin more sensitive than it has ever been before. These intense sensations seem to all be directed into my breasts now, as he circles them with his hands, his fingers first a light stroking and then a deep kneading, a contrast that keeps me on edge.
“
Where did he learn this
,” some small place in my mind wonders but the thought slips away as he lowers his head and begins to suckle my nipple, taking all of it into his mouth. He bites me again, and this pain is so pleasurable I’m only surprised at how good pain can feel. He sucks hard, then softly, leaving me in turmoil as the contrast of feelings assault me. One nipple, then the next, all while his hands knead my breasts.
Suddenly, he stands
, water pouring down upon me from his soaking wet clothes. He steps from the tub and swiftly strips. He reaches down and lifts me up, standing me on my feet before him. He puts his arms around me and holds me as if I am his most treasured possession. He is saying words into my hair. I can’t understand their meaning, but I think that I know.
“I love you, I miss you, I crave you, I need you,” he repeats s
oftly over and over as he holds me wrapped in his arms.
When he steps
away, the loss of his warmth leaves me shaking. Concerned, he wraps me in a towel as if I am a baby. He begins to pat me dry, one body part at a time and then turns me around to dry my hair.
