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“Ki—”
“Be quiet and strip, Jon,” she demanded after locking the door behind us. She passed into the bathroom, leaving me awkward and bewildered. I perked up a little when the bathtub started running. I envisioned our slick bodies sliding together as water sloshed over the tub’s edge.
I ripped my shirt off, tossed it onto her couch, and was working my belt off when I stopped. Kierra’s tribute photo to Rory rested by the lamp on her nightstand.
“Shit…um…I’m sorry, but it might be best you hang out somewhere else tonight,” I mumbled as I looked for a respectful place to put Rory.
He may be deceased, but I don’t want the poor man rolling in his grave from watching his wife do unspeakable things to me. The last thing I need is a crazy ex-wife and a poltergeist.
“Kiyah.”
I allowed myself into Kiyah’s bedroom and found her little body twisted in an ungodly position that made me consider scheduling her an appointment with a chiropractor until I remembered children were more flexible than someone in their thirties.
I propped the frame next to a picture of Kiyah and Rory and tiptoed out like the Pink Panther. I returned just as Kierra left the bathroom.
“I expected you to be naked by now, but that’s fine,” she purred. She crossed the room and hooked a finger into one of my belt loops. She tugged me aggressively until our bodies collided with one another. My head tilted back, and my hand cupped the back of her head when her parted lips met a long, neglected spot between my neck and collarbone. She smoothed her hand down the front of my jeans and massaged my erection, making my toes curl into the plush rug beneath us. I attempted to chase her lips, but she ran from me until she dropped to her knees. Memories of her swallowing my dick and cum rushed back. From the devious smile on her lips, I sensed the same thoughts were running through her mind. “You’re so hard for me,” she whispered, wrestling my jeans and boxer briefs to my ankles.
“Only for you.”
Because I don’t want to be with anyone else.
I bit my bottom lip and hummed my simultaneous appreciation and displeasure. Her pink tongue lapping up my pre-cum was one thing, but the forced eye contact was another.
“Follow me,” she urged, beckoning me to the bathroom. Obediently, I followed, and I was blindsided by the romantic setup. If it weren’t the candles that set the mood, then it was the rose petals that littered the bath and the sensual R&B music playing in the background. “Get in, Jon.”
“I hope you’re joining me,” I said roughly, stepping into the soothing water.
She smiled and shook her head. “Not this time. This is all for you,” she answered, pushing me back gently until my neck rested against the bathtub pillow.
All for me, huh? That concept sounds so peculiar.
I was selfless to a fault—always putting others before myself or giving until I had nothing left and expected nothing back in return. For years, I gave Eliza everything without hesitation because I thought that was what good husbands do.
That’s all I wanted—to be a good husband to her.
I remained silent as Kierra hummed to the song’s lyrics and bathed me. I closed my eyes and attempted to enjoy the experience for what it was, but there was a war waging inside of me. A part of me was telling myself that I didn’t deserve this—not when my baggage had hurt her and Kiyah and would continue to do so. I felt I was being unjustly rewarded with the best of her when I couldn’t even recognize myself at my best.
What is my best? If this is my best, then Kierra deserves better.
“You look like you have something on your mind,” she said, running the washcloth up and down my thigh.
“What gave it away?” I asked, finally opening my eyes.
“The wrinkle that appeared in the middle of your forehead.”
“Damn…I probably shouldn’t play poker,” I said, making us chuckle.
“Not unless you want me to take you to the cleaners. This reminds me that I need to pick up your dry cleaning tomorrow. I better put a reminder in my phone,” Kierra remarked.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course you can.”
“Did you used to do this for Rory?”
She bit her bottom lip and nodded. “Yeah…I did,” she whispered. “I’d do it for those nights when life gave him lemons, and he forgot the recipe to make lemonade.”
“When he’d given up all hope?”
