Michael felt anxious as he eased his car into his side of the garage.
No, he thought as he checked his reflection in the rear view, he felt downright scared. Here he was showing up empty handed on Valentine's Day. It seemed incredibly stupid, especially since he wasn't exactly getting any gold stars for husband of the year right now. He'd shown up drunk as a skunk, four hours late for dialogue night two weeks ago. His wife's last text had just been "forget about it."
He hadn't forgotten, she wouldn't let him. He and Meghan never fought, she just talked around him. "Tell Daddy what you did at school today," she would prompt the kids.
But he could tell that his wife was quite often million miles away.
So he was empty handed at 6:30 as he watched the garage door to go down behind him. Michael thought it was odd to be this apprehensive after all this time. It was their fourteenth Valentine's Day together, maybe even fifteenth; Michael would never confess to Meghan that he didn't quite remember. It was their twelfth year of marriage and it wasn't like any one day was going to make them or break them after they'd promised till death do you part.
Was it?
He checked his hair and his tongue in the rear view mirror and smelled his pits in his blue button down before exiting the vehicle. As he walked into the kitchen, he realized first off that the house was dark and quiet. Nothing was cooking on the stove. There was no little patter of feet. There was no echo of the television talking somewhere in the background. Their house was never quiet until the kids went to sleep and he definitely wasn't late.
He checked the living room, nope, no kids, no television. Shit, what if something happened? He checked his cell phone for some sign of a catastrophic occurrence, maybe a text message that said they were all at the emergency room or something but there was no such announcement. "Meghan?" Michael called out and his voice vibrated back in the emptiness. There was no reply.
Michael trudged upstairs and noticed that there were no lights on in any of the kid's rooms either. He wondered for a moment if this wasn't Meghan's way of paying him back for skipping out on dialogue night. Maybe she'd insisted that he be home, all the while knowing that she was taking the kids to Chuck E Cheese. No, he scowled to himself, that wasn't like her. She had a plan, a clear plan that she'd known about ever since she saw the stupid air fryer in his Amazon cart. It had been his original Valentine's Day present idea. That had been when Meghan had told him not to bother with presents. Not even a bouquet, not a cheap box of waxy chocolates, nothing to bolster him up enough to maybe get in her pants. Something was going on.
He walked into their bedroom and stepped into the light. The first thing Michael noticed was that there were candles everywhere. There were candles on both nightstands, on the dresser, even across the table that Meghan usually kept littered with books. He'd stepped into a dance of flickering flames.
"Jesus," Michael said as he noticed the second thing. Meghan was naked.
Really naked.
His wife was always clothed. She wrapped two bulky towels around her while still behind the shower curtain. On the three or four times a year that they had sex, she just flipped up the bottom of her baggy tee shirt. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd touched her bare skin. Michael wasn't sure if it was just because he hadn't seen her naked in so long or if it was because she must have been doing Pilates or hiding this perfection under tee shirts for too long because she was breathtaking. Fuck, he was instantly hard and suddenly, he couldn't possibly get to her fast enough.
Meghan's long, almost black hair, was fanned out, long and loose and wild, over the white pillows. There were three of them, as usual, under her head. Her arms were at her sides, bent at the elbow, with her hands folded right under her breasts. It was almost as if her fingers were a substitute for a push up bra. Damn, her breasts looked even better now than they had before the kids. They were fuller and were tear shaped instead of the more girlish round shape of years past. Her nipples were darker too and Michael wondered if it were the light or just because he was so goddamn horny but they seemed to be harder than he'd ever seen them before.
Where had she been hiding them? Michael wanted to know as he felt the old pleasure, like the pleasure from the first time as it eased down his spine. His eyes had rested on her dark, stony buds long enough. He had to keep them moving, there was so much to take in. Michael felt like a starving man, staring at a sumptuous buffet. His whole body seemed empty and in need.
"Hey, you're on time," Meghan noticed but when she talked to him in that innocent, little girl voice, none of it sounded like nagging. She sounded like one of those horny girls in online chat rooms that Mark occasionally wound up spending twenty minutes with while stroking off. "How are you?" his wife asked. Her eyes were heavy lidded and maybe it was eyeliner, maybe it was all the candlelight, but she had a look there. It was just a glimmer, like she'd already been fucked. Michael couldn't be sure, it had been so long since she'd given him that sensuous gaze, maybe it was just wishful thinking.
"Good," was all he said as he knelt on the bed. "What's all this?"
Meghan unbuckled her fingers and began to trail just the tips down her flat belly. Jesus Christ, she really had been doing the keto diet, or whatever the fuck she kept track of macros for. No carbs looked amazing on her. Her waist was clearly delineated by two long lines that ran from the crease under her breasts to the top of her hips. Michael wanted to let his tongue lead him all the way down the path. "I've been thinking lately," she murmured, "I don't want to be this woman."
As the words came, her fingers continued to slide down her skin. Every inch of her shimmered in the light and Michael realized as his eyes wandered down the vast stretch of her smooth legs that she looked to be wet and slippery all the way to her toes. "What are you talking about, baby?" Michael asked in a dry, parched voice that seemed too far away to hear.
His eyes rested on her hips. Yeah, Pilates or reps or starvation, he had no idea what it was but they were almost the girlish hips that he'd noticed when they first met. Toned and tight, just a tad rounder than she'd been but in the most perfect way. She was now a sexy woman instead of a beautiful girl. Her ass was a heart, which only seemed to be fitting, given the day. "I'm talking about this, being this woman that makes chicken nuggets," Meghan swept her hands down her hips and writhed on the bed as she touched the place where hip met thighs. "I'm not just a mom, you know, Michael?"
He should answer but something else called to him with a siren song. Fuck, Michael couldn't believe it took this long to notice. "What happened to your," he cleared his throat and just pointed. Her pussy, now that her thighs had moved just a bit, was visible and accessible and candlelight illuminated her. There, between her legs, she had been stripped of hair. There wasn't one bit of hair. No bush, no beaver, not even a landing strip. Her snatch was out, something to stare at, something to see and Michael had never seen her lower lips like this. Splayed and puffy and round and fuck, if her flesh there wasn't gleaming in the candlelight as well. Was she already wet? What the fuck had he been missing? "To your bush," he managed to finish and was fairly certain that he needed to wipe his chin.
"Oh, I got waxed," Meghan shrugged as if it were no big deal.
"You got waxed?" Michael suddenly had the vision of her, his sweet, wholesome wife, the woman who wouldn't even spell swear words anymore now that the kids could spell them out, naked, legs spread, getting waxed like a porn star. "Who did it?" he wanted to know. He needed to know. Suddenly all of the images from softcore lesbian porn he watched began marching through his imagination. Girl on girl, Meghan was at the center of a mass of writhing, naked females. She was all bare and yielding and some other woman's face was just inches away from her ripe, damp, little snatch.
"This guy," Meghan shrugged, "it was at the eyebrow place in the mall."
"A guy?" Michael puffed up his chest although she'd knocked the wind out of him. Shit, that blew the whole thing. His wife had been more naked with another man than she'd been with him since their honeymoon.
"Honey, I'm trying to talk to you," Meghan whispered and her hazel eyes were so yielding and so full of heat that he thought he might just tumble inside and lose himself there, in her desire. "I don't want you to just think of me as the kid's mom," his wife wound her hands slowly up her inner thighs to her knees. She touched herself, right in front of him and Meghan made a little noise, it was a little purr as she brought her fingers back down. "I don't want us both to just get off watching porn, you know, alone." She sounded so sad and Michael didn't know what was more shocking; the fact that she knew that he mostly jacked off to porn in between their three, sometimes four, fucks a year or that she apparently watched it too. "I want you to want me again," Meghan said before she slipped the tip of her index finger in her mouth.
Fuck, did he ever want her. "Are you crazy?" Michael asked as he loosened his tie. "I want you so fucking bad right now, baby." His dick had already popped halfway out. The head was through the opening of his boxers and had made a mess of precum on the backside of his zipper.
Meghan released her finger and as she eased the tip with the shining droplet of saliva to her nipple, she told him, "then I want to show you what I like." She said it in a husky voice that stirred the fire in his loins. His eyes were riveted on her as Meghan drew a circle around her pointed, dark bud.
His wife gasped and Michael felt the need in his gut. Then the words sank in and he felt his forehead crease.
What the fuck was that supposed to mean, show him what she liked? Michael wasn't sure if he were more offended or turned on. She'd never done this though, touched her own nipple in front of him. Fuck, her breasts were hidden away under the tee shirt. For years now, they were a shadow in a shirt, a suggestion that rocked back and forth when they fucked. Michael wasn't sure if he'd ever seen them like this. "Okay," he agreed, "show me," Michael whispered as he pulled the tie from the enclosure of his collar and unbuttoned the top button. As he watched, it felt like he was choking. Somehow all of the air was being squeezed out but Michael suspected that was just really the feeling of all of his blood rushing to his dick.
