Page 49 of Tell Me Something

I started to move and felt his fingers dance over my backside again and massage me there.

“That’s it, I’m going to fill you completely.” He tormented me by inserting his finger.

I felt myself in a frenzy of absolute overstimulation and came harder and faster than ever before while he thrust up and found release of his own.

After tucking me in beside him, he turned off the side lamp and then brought the comforter up to cover us.

I reached over to set my alarm before I forgot and then burrowed back into his arms.

“You undo me,” he confided.

Playing with his strong hands, I traced the lines. “How so?”

“You’re so trusting of me with your body and then honor me with such pure and unfiltered pleasure. It’s a potent thing.”

“You make me feel safe enough to trust you that way.”

His kisses floated down my neck, and then his hands skimmed down the length of my legs as if he couldn’t touch me enough. “I interrupted you when you were telling me that today was your mom’s birthday.”

The bubble of mindless post-sex bliss popped. I exhaled heavily. “Yeah, it’s a silly thing, but my mother liked to dress up and have champagne on her birthdays. So my aunt and I did that today via FaceTime, which is thanks to the new iPad.”

“Where does your aunt live?”

“She and my Uncle Paul live in Perth, Australia. They own a fabulous restaurant there, or at least so I hear as my uncle is the chef.”

“You should go someday to visit.”

“I was thinking of taking a few weeks before starting law school, actually. It’s tough for them to get away in that kind of business and I don’t know when I’d get another opportunity once I’m back in student mode.”

“I think it’s nice that you do these things for your mom.”

Sighing, I figured I’d keep quiet. Voicing my thoughts made me feel guilty.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. It’s what she would’ve wanted.” I hoped he’d leave it alone.

“And what about what you want?”

I fought my irritation. “I want to honor her. Besides, it was nice talking with my Aunt J. It made my mother happy to know that we’d do this every year.”

He seemed to absorb this. “So dressing up and drinking champagne today was at your mother’s request?”

“She had this thing about birthdays and special events she was going to miss, so she planned out a lot of things. I think I told you about the bucket list. I also have a card for every one of my next forty birthdays.”

“Wait. She wrote you out forty birthday cards?”

“Yeah, she detailed out all of the major holidays and events. I have a letter for my wedding, for my firstborn, and so forth. She wanted to make sure she was a part of it, I guess.”

“I see,” he murmured.

I turned toward him, knowing he wanted to say more. “What?”

He looked thoughtful and then spoke with measured words. “I think it’s wonderful that you have something to remember your mom by, but I wonder if, for instance, on your birthday, knowing you’ll open that card and be sad as a result might make it tough.”

In one sentence he had managed to sum up everything I’d been feeling. “I’d feel so guilty not to. I promised her, and sometimes I love that I will be able to read what she wrote and recognize that she was thinking of me. But then other times I get overwhelmed because I know it’s coming.”

He stroked my face. “Can I offer some advice?”