One Day You'll Be Mine(3)

By: Alana Hart & Lauren Lashley

He claimed work kept him occupied. This was the first time he’d ever provided that as an explanation. I believed he was being honest. For the past two to three months, he’d come home later than usual at least once a week; other times, he’d come home, only to turn around and leave less than an hour later, citing being undermanned at work.

I wasn’t in a position to argue. Marrying a man in the military meant you always came second. The military is always first, no matter how much that man loves you. And you just deal, because at the end of it all, you know you’re supporting your country. He’ll get to you when things calmed down.

My fingers nervously combed through my hair a few times, attempting to perfect the tousled waves I had. The deep brown color was so dull. I made mental note to get some highlights done, possibly a trim or cut to match. Something to get his attention, which was difficult to do these days.

Hollis was laid on his side of the bed, the one closest to the door, when I stepped inside. His eyes bored into the TV, watching Law & Order. His long, lean legs were sprawled in front of him, one hand behind his head, the other holding the remote on his tummy.

I stood just inside the bedroom, pausing for effect. Jordan’s door was closed. He wasn’t allowed to leave his room unless he had to use the bathroom or there was an emergency, therefore I wasn’t worried about him seeing mommy in a “see through dress.”

Hollis’ attention never turned in my direction, even as I stood there, smelling divine and glowing like one of those Victoria’s Secret angels. I cleared my throat, hand on my hip, once more, and stepped one foot in front of the other. Positioning myself at the foot of the bed, I tried again, determined to get his attention.

“What are you doing?” Now he was looking at me. But not the way I’d hoped. His eyes were pinched with annoyance.

“Do you like my outfit, baby?” My voice didn’t waiver, undaunted by his cranky attitude. One arm sunk into the mattress as my body leaned down and forward and I crawled to him. Hollis grunted indifferently as I made my way to him.

“It’s nice,” he offered. I leaned in, pressed my lips against his passionately. His lips were mildly responsive to mine, their half-hearted effort clear indications of our contrasting desires.

Moving my hand along his faded shirt, an old military undershirt, I whispered how I was in the mood. “I want you tonight.”

Hollis appeared unfazed by my behavior, but I felt his stiffness thicken when I grazed an open palm over his crotch.

Say whatever you want, flattery always seemed the best way to grab a man’s attention.

Even in the hottest of summers, Hollis preferred to go to bed wearing pajama pants. I gingerly stuck my hand inside his fly, grasped his shaft, and began pulling it forth into my view.

“Hello, lover.” I greeted it like an old friend gone too long. “I’ve missed you.”

I bent my head down, engulfing it with naked lips. I didn’t have time to put on makeup, at least not before bed. I just wanted to have normal sex with my husband and go to sleep. I caressed his swelling head with my tongue, exploring the erect terrain of his cock with my eyes closed, moaning in delight.

Hollis was the first man I’d ever been with, and we’d been together since we were teenagers. We were in our 30s and going on our 16th anniversary. Needless to say, I knew everything about him in the bedroom, so I knew just what to do to turn him on.

My husband, of over a decade, responded to my touch, cupping my head in his hands as I cupped his balls with mine. Snaking my tongue over the piss slit of his cock got his attention; his legs stretched outward and he groaned in pleasure at my ministration.

“Suck me, baby.” His hips lifted ever so slightly as he attempted to restrain himself from feeding me. “Take me nice and deep.”

Laying his balls with my affection, I sucked the right, then the left, and then the right once more. Kissing them with wet, noisy pecks made my nipples pebble. Rubbing them with my free hand, I moaned with his balls in my mouth. The ache between my legs began to build as my body started to demand action in return. I slowly adjusted myself to sixty-nine with Hollis. Instead of helping me position myself on his face and kiss me where I needed it most, he lifted my lacy number and told me to play with myself.

“Let me see you play with that pussy,” he commanded.

“You play with it,” I insisted. “Better yet, taste it.”

I felt his heavy palm slap down on me. “Bad girl. What did I say?”

Letting him run the show might have given me what I wanted. So I reached back and did as he said, letting my fingers tantalize themselves in the mystery of my wet pussy. As my slender digits churned smoothly in and out of my wetness, I smiled to myself. Taking control was fun. If I could just do this more often, perhaps I could get our sex life back.

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