Page 93 of One Week
“To us,” I echo, raising my glass to his.
We’re tucked in a cozy corner of our favorite restaurant. It’s a Tuesday night and very quiet. A fire burns in the corner — it’s electric, but still a nice touch. The decor is modern, tasteful and soothing; crisp linens and neutral colors. It’s so quiet here, and it’s so unlike home, where toys, socks, and books litter the floors, where there’s always too much clutter, no matter how often I attempt to purge and organize.
I dig an artisan cracker into the melted brie between us. “It’s nice to have a quiet night, once in a while,” I say, “and it’s nice to not have to cook.”
He smiles. “We should do this more often.”
“Yes,” I agree.
Conversation has been stilted ever since the trip, but he seems to be trying. It’s completely understandable. How is a man supposed to deal with something like this? His wife goes off for a week, and he knows she’s been with a man she cares about. And she’s probably still thinking about him.
“I’m moving on,” I tell him. “I’m focusing on us and our family.”
“Me too,” he says.
“I really want this to work,” I go on. “Eli is the past. You’re the future.” I think this might be the first time that I’ve uttered Eli’s name since I came back. I just want John to know that I’m trying too. He’s not alone in this.
He smiles. “Thank you.” He gazes down at his plate and goes quiet. I’m not sure if he’s hurt or just plain sad, but the joy I used to see in his eyes long ago, is gone.
Our entrées arrive; filet mignon, potatoes and salad for him, and scallops and pasta for me. We dig into our meals without a word. It tastes as delicious as I remember — this is one of my favorite meals here. I tend to always order the same thing. There’s something to be said about familiarity, about knowing what’s ahead. There’s a comfort in that.
We indulge in dessert and coffee, and take a long walk downtown because the night is gorgeous. All in all, it’s a wonderful date.
When we get home, the kids are fast asleep. John quickly pays Anna. She thanks us, and is out the door in a flash.
John shoots me that look. That look that tells me he wants me. We’ve been together so long, we communicate with looks only. I know his ‘I’m mildly irked’ look, his ‘I’m right’ look, his ‘I’m exhausted’ look, and his “I don’t want to talk’ look, and so many others. And I definitely know his ‘I want you’ look.
We’ve been sleeping in the same bed again for a week now, but we haven’t made love. We haven’t actually had sex since before Valentine’s Day, since a few days before I found out about Amanda. I try not think about her now. She’s gone. I try not to think about Eli either. He’s gone too.
Chapter Forty
I REACH FOR JOHN’S HAND. He still sends shivers through me, with just a touch, with just a look. I want him. He’s not always the easiest man to be with, but I’ve always been strongly attracted to him. And despite what he’s done to me, and what I’ve done to him, that hasn’t changed.
He leads me up the stairs, and I follow eagerly. We haven’t even taken off our jackets or shoes. I’ve dropped my purse on the floor, and locked the front door.
We quickly check in on the kids. They’re both so adorable when they’re asleep. As soon as we step into our bedroom, John closes the door quietly behind us. He pushes me against the door, and presses his hot mouth against mine. It feels nice to kiss him, familiar. He tastes like coffee and the crème brûlée we shared.
I’m turned on, and I want him. I miss his touch. I slide my hands over his strong shoulders, and slide off his jacket. He mimics my actions, and my spring jacket falls to the floor. I reach for my shoes, but he stops me. He slides his hand under the skirt of my dress, and trails a finger along the lace edge of my thigh-high stocking. “Leave the shoes on.”
I reach for his button shirt and undo it slowly, all the while staring right into his striking eyes. John has amazing eyes too. Eli’s are a unique shade of blue and green, whereas John’s are a stunning bright blue. They sparkle like the Mediterranean Sea.
He leans down and presses his mouth against my collarbone. He licks softly. “I’ve missed you,” he breathes into my skin. I think about Amanda then. I don’t know why I’m letting her in. I wonder if he’s kissed her exactly like this. I blink her away.
I close my eyes and try to enjoy his touch. It feels foreign. I suppose it’s been so long. How strange that my husband’s touch should feel so odd. He claws at my hips and swiftly spins me around. My face is pressed against the door. He pulls my hair over my shoulders and kisses the back of my neck, just like I like it. I wonder if he’s ever kissed her nape too, hoping she’d like it as much as I do.
Stop it.
When his hands reach under the skirt of my dress and toy with the lace of my panties, I feel desire for him. I want him. I don’t care about the past. Now is all that matters.
I pull from him. “Let’s go on the bed,” I whisper.
I kneel on the bed, still completely dressed. This is how I want it. I don’t want to make love — I want to fuck. “Take off my panties.”
He inches closer, and pulls me against his groin. I can feel his hard-on, and I love it. He digs into my dress and obliges. “God, you’re so fucking sexy, Gabbie,” he says quietly. The slow pull of the flimsy fabric against my sex makes me wet. He loves to take his time — always has. He pulls the panties slowly over my stiletto pumps, one at a time. I bury my face on the bed, and arch my back. I’m his tonight and no one else’s. He slides a finger along my sex, teasing me. I close my eyes, think about Eli, and imagine him there behind me. I open my eyes and try to forget him. He doesn’t belong here.
“Please, John,” I beg.
John slides his fingers along the heel of my shoe, and the silky fabric of my stockings but he doesn’t take them off. He undoes his fly, and presses into me. I close my eyes, knowing that he’s not going to make me beg much longer.
