Chapter 51 Sex with my husband's driver
POV: Rema
It's been three months since my husband left and I've been alone. He wouldn't touch me even when he was around and it was tiring.
I need to touch myself most of the time. I lie on my back in the middle of our king-size bed, the sheets cool against my bare skin because I kicked the duvet to the floor hours ago.
The room is dark except for the glow of moonlight slipping between the curtains and paints a silver stripe across the ceiling.
It’s quiet, too quiet, the kind of quiet that presses in on you when the house has been empty for months and then suddenly isn’t, but still feels empty.
Jalen came home three months ago and he stayed for three days.
Three days, and he had slept on the very edge of the mattress like he was afraid the middle belonged to someone else.
Three days of polite kisses on the forehead, of “I’m tired, baby,” and “long day at debrief,” of him rolling away when my hand slides over the hard plane of his stomach searching for warmth he used to give without thinking.
I understand it. I do. War carves pieces out of people and sometimes the pieces don’t fit back the way they did before.
But understanding doesn’t stop the ache between my thighs or the way my nipples tighten every time he walks past me shirtless, dog tags glinting against the chest I used to trace with my tongue for hours.
Tonight, I was alone after he promised to be here and I haven't seen him.
I had missed the steady thump of his feet on the treadmill, the clank of weights, the low growl of exertion that used to be aimed at me when he had pinned me to this very mattress and took me apart slowly.
I can’t wait anymore…I needed to get someone to fuck me if my husband wouldn't perform his duties.
My palms glide over my collarbones, fingertips brushing the hollow of my throat where his mouth used to brand me.
I close my eyes and let the memory flood in: the last time he was truly mine, six months ago, the night before he deployed.
He had been insatiable, hands rough with urgency, whispering, “Need to remember how you feel, Rema. I need to take you with me.”
He had spread me open on this bed and licked me until I cried, then flipped me over and took me so deep I felt him for days afterward.
My breath hitches as I cup my breasts, thumbs circling the stiff peaks.
They’re heavier than they used to be, fuller, aching for the scrape of his teeth and the wet heat of his mouth.
I pinch one nipple hard, the way he does when he is losing control, and a soft moan escapes before I can stop it.
I slide one hand lower, over the tremble of my belly, tracing the faint silver lines he used to kiss and call his road map home.
My thighs fell open on their own, shamelessly. I was already slick.
Two fingers slipped through my folds and I bit my lip to keep myself from crying out.
I was swollen, sensitive, dripping. I imagined it was his hand, those calloused palms that knew exactly how to spread me, how to circle my clit until my legs shook.
In my mind he was kneeling between my thighs, watching himself sink into me, eyes black with want.
“Please, Jalen,” I whisper to the empty room, hips rolling against my own touch. “Please touch me.”
I plunge two fingers inside, curling them, searching for that spot he finds so easily.
My back arched. It was not enough, never enough, but it was all I have. I added a third finger, stretching myself the way his cock does, thick and unforgiving.
My palm grinded against my clit with every thrust and the pressure coils low and vicious.
I could hear his voice in my head, the low rumble of his voice calling me baby girl, telling me how tight I am, how wet, how he’s never going to leave this pussy again.
I remembered the weight of him on top of me, the drag of his chest hair over my nipples, the way he had bitten my shoulder when he was close, marking me inside and out.
My free hand claws at the sheets as the first wave crests.
I picture him coming home early one night, catching me like this, spread wide and desperate, and finally, finally losing the iron grip he keeps on himself.
In my fantasy he growled, crawled up the bed, replaced my fingers with his tongue, licked me clean and then pounded me so hard the headboard cracked.
“Jalen…”His name broke on my lips as I came, thighs clamping around my hand, pussy fluttering and gushing over my fingers.
The orgasm was sharp, almost painful in its intensity, rolling through me in endless pulses until I was sobbing quietly into the pillow that still smells faintly of his cologne.
When it faded, I was trembling, sweat cooling on my skin, fingers still buried deep inside myself.
I eased them out slowly and brought them to my mouth without thinking, tasting myself the way he used to taste me after he made me come, licking me off his lips like I was the best thing he has ever had.
I thought I heard the voice of someone coming, but the house stayed quiet.
I curled onto my side, pressing my thighs together to ease the ache that never really left, and let the tears come.
I missed my husband so much, he suddenly changed and stopped coming home.
I missed the way he used to need me more than oxygen.
I missed the way I felt like his, wholly and completely.
And tonight, if he finally comes home, I'll fuck him whether he likes it or not. I wanted to be fucked desperately.
I can't keep up with touching myself anymore.
I stood up and started moving to the pool to clean up, wearing only a bikini.