Inspired by Image 15 There’s a skip halfway if you just want the sex.
“How am I supposed to feel, Marina?” he asked, swirling the brown liquor in his glass. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“I have been asking myself the same for months.” She sat on the blue-and-white-striped sofa across from his plush recliner, her fingers anxiously rolling the stem of her wine glass. The past year, if not longer, had been building toward this moment, but neither of them wanted to acknowledge how much it would impact them.
Jonathan was a widower by 27 and knew managing a household of 4 on top of a career was going to be more than he could handle by himself. The first year saw plenty of volunteers–his family and his late wife’s–offering their help for days to weeks on end, but it was a slow-moving chaos that eventually burned through them all.
The neighbor girl was a reliable stop-gap through it all, available whenever a crisis arose. Otherwise-directionless at 18, she offered to help full-time and Jonathan jumped at the chance. It was a relief knowing his kids were cared-for through his long hours at work. At 20, she moved in.
People talked but neither of them paid the gossip any mind. They knew there was nothing inappropriate going on and they were busy keeping the household running. The years passed too quickly for them ever to give much thought to what would happen after, despite the milestones of one graduation, then another, then another.
The focus was forever on the kids, but as of mere hours ago, the last one had left for college.
“And…?”
She shrugged and a laugh broke out. “Join a convent?”
“You’re too young to give up like that.”
“Am I? I don’t know if you noticed, but… it’s been 17 years since I started. I’ve lived here almost as long as I did next door.”
He grimaced, thinking about how little time he had with his late wife by comparison. Ten years together, eight of marriage, five in this house. Three births. And yet, it was Marina who he had really spent his life with, who helped raise his kids. While he’d always have them–and she had her own relationship with them too–he couldn’t help but feel that her time and dedication had put whole stages of her life on hold and left her with little of her own.
“It’s not like you have to decide now. You’ll always have a place here, however long it takes.”
“That’s one thing–and I do appreciate that very much–but–”
“And I’ll keep paying you the same to do all the things you do. And a severance to help you get started when it’s time.”
She leaned forward, holding her wine glass in her lap. “Unnecessary. You’ve been overpaying me for years. How much do I even do here anymore?”
“Nonsense,” he said, shaking his head. “You do what needs doing, and I pay you what that’s worth to me. You’ve kept all this going for years and you deserve your share of that. Don’t you think?”
Pressing her lips together, she nodded somberly. “Thank you.”
“Would you do it all again?” he asked, staring into his liquor like it held his answer.
“In a heartbeat,” she said without hesitation, happiness washing over her face. “Would you?”
“Absolutely. No regrets?”
“Regrets, no. Maybe questions.”
“Questions?” His eyes twinkled–ever-so-slightly, but she noticed. “That sounds intriguing.”
“Too much intrigue for too little wine.”
“Pour one. Spill the other–call it an exit interview.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
On her trip to the kitchen, Marina grappled with the implications of no longer being the nanny. Two decades of habits, of context, of decorum, no longer needed now that the nest was empty.
She poured her glass deep. And returned with another whiskey rocks for him.
“The week after my 25th birthday, we all went to the fair together. They slept the whole ride and crashed when we got back. You invited me down for a drink–like this. I was in my blue satin PJs with the little shorts. You had an… energy. It felt different.”
He nodded back slowly. “I remember.”
“I told you my feet hurt from walking all day. You offered to rub them for me.”
Again, he nodded along.
“It felt good–maybe too good. But I didn’t mind. I loved the attention and I’d never been touched like that before. It felt like it meant something. Something more than what you were doing, or even what you wanted to do.”
He brought his glass to his lips, letting brown liquor trickle into his mouth while his eyes locked with hers.
“I twisted my hips so my shorts gapped. I wanted you to see how much I was enjoying it.”
His expression didn’t change. He didn’t say a word or make a sound. He didn’t flinch. Same as the night in her story.
“I thought I’d finally have you that night.”
Her statement hung in the air like a question. He sipped then set his glass on the end table next to him.
“The truth…” He paused, already committed, but choosing his words carefully. “…You almost did.”
His words stole the air from the room. They confirmed what she had always suspected that was her best shot. And it was her last. His indifference was a fatal blow to a decade of hopes that one day, he would. And maybe he’d even marry her.
She already lived there. Took care of the household. Helped raise his kids. Nothing would really change, she’d just get to sleep in a bigger, warmer bed. And have a long-term plan. A real commitment.
“That was the first time I had to see you as a woman. You had a crush on me since you were younger, before you moved in. It was transparent, easy to ignore. I was able to keep you in that box, seeing you as a schoolgirl with a crush, for so long. But I couldn’t anymore. Not after that.”
Marina studied his face as he talked, as she sipped her wine and rolled the stem in her fingers.
“By then, the age gap wasn’t so scandalous. We were still in different stages of life, but it didn’t feel as inappropriate, especially given your role around here. We were already functionally partners. I didn’t want to complicate that. It felt risky. But also exciting. I wondered when it might happen again. How that might go. What I might do.”
Consternation sat heavy on his face as he re-wet his palate. “I tried to distract myself. Other women. They all felt like… mistresses, but to whom? My wife who had been gone for a decade? You?”
“Why do you think I never really dated much?” Marina interjected, her eyebrows high.
“But you never tried again. With me.”
Her shoulders scrunched. “I couldn’t handle rejection again. And I felt bad for ever putting you in that position.”
She let her shoulders back down, taking a somber little sip. “It got easier. I still felt like I had you. I hadn’t lost anything. I stopped trying but I was never out of reach.”
Swallowing hard, he raised an eyebrow. “Never?”
Her eyes slipping nearly closed, voice as soft as the subtle shake of her head, she replied. “Never.”
The word was simple. Short. Yet it held sufficient mass to bend space and time around them. His mind filled with flashbacks of every pass she had ever made toward him; hers filled with all the times she wanted to and didn’t.
The heaviest silence loomed as each waited for the other to break it. She couldn’t help but feel like it was her move to make, and he agreed.
“So how am I supposed to feel, Jonathan? What am I supposed to do now?” she purred at last. Her mouth was as dry as her humor. Her wine swirled with abandon in spinning glass.
His answer had been ready for years, but those same years added too much weight and importance to be cavalier with his words. “Do you still have those PJs?”
“I can do better.”
She, likewise, had been ready for years. Her plan slumbered in her closet, tags and all, wrapped in red tissue and tied with a ribbon. Opening it would have awakened too many feelings, too much fantasy, and she didn’t need to see it to feel its reassuring presence as it waited for its calling.
She gulped her wine, hoping it would soothe the pit in her stomach and the tightness in her chest. “Shall I?”
“I–” He cleared his throat, washed it down with a hearty sip. “I think I would love that.”
Marina practically bounced off the couch and bounded toward the stairs, but stopped halfway to turn back, take a grounding breath, and connect with his gaze. “Are we really doing this? What I think we are?”
“Anything you want,” he said softly. She knew that tone; she knew he really meant it.
“Ok, I– Can I have… 20 minutes?”
“Take however long you need. I’ll be here.”
“Not going to change your mind?” she asked anxiously.
“Not possible.”
Marina thought the routine of her “everything” shower would ground her, but she still shook with nerves and excitement as she lined her eyes and painted her lids. In all the times she had tried to tempt Jonathan, she never felt this kind of pressure to get it right. The inevitability of it was the worst. And the best.
She slid the neat package from under boxes of unused things from the top shelf in the back of her closet and unwrapped it with care, setting piece after piece aside. The white demi corset with sheer and solid stripes and a deep plunge. The matching lace underwear that would be soaked before she left the room. The stockings. The ballet-style slippers.
By some miracle, they still fit, though not the same as when she bought them. She thought it made her look angelic and innocent, though her abundant curves now rebelled in a manner that bordered on lewd.
With one last look in the mirror, one last slow turn, and one last deep breath, she glided out from her room. Down the hall and then the stairs, her stomach was in her throat. And her tits felt like they were choking her.
As she crossed the floor, he didn’t say a word. His eyes said plenty. He wondered where she would stop. What she would do next. Whether he should hold back and how much.
“May I?” she asked, looking down at him, their knees nearly touching already. With a soft hand on his shoulder, she sat sideways on his thigh, kicking her slippers off and putting her feet on the arm of the chair. Her arm slid around his neck and sat there as lightly as it could. His hands were similarly tentative, settling with the faintest grip on her waist.
Should she lean into him more? Kiss him? Or just take a moment to enjoy more closeness than they’ve ever shared. The smell of his aftershave and brown liquor. The feel of his breath on her cleavage. His hands. ON HER.
“I hope this is ok,” she said, noticing his eyes fighting with his mind.
“You look fantastic.” Between glimpses at the shelf the top of her corset created, he noticed the pale freckles that sat on her cheeks. The way her mascara showcased her beautiful, big eyes. The heat of her body in his lap. The fact that her lips couldn’t stay still. He imagined how they must taste. “I didn’t know what to expect, but this…”
His face drifted closer and so did hers. He felt her voice as she spoke quietly, “What catches your eye?”
“Your lips.”
“You can have them.” She took his hand, brought it to her jaw, landing his thumb across them. His body tensed under her as his thumb slid over them. “You can have the rest of me too, but… start there.”
“You haven’t changed your mind?”
She grinned, shaking her head, and moved in, saying “Not at all” before her lips reached his.
The kiss tore through their tension, but their bodies remained unmoved even as their mouths continued to dance. Their tongues met and traded places, savoring each other, exploring the most genteel of acts as fully as they finally could. Any thought of more seemed lost in the moment.
His hand slowly dropped from her jaw, sliding down her neck and across her delicate collarbones, only to glance down her side and stop before her hip. She wished it would continue down to her thigh, either to grip her tightly or just enjoy the texture of her stockings.
She was no braver. Her hands remained locked around the sides of his neck, refusing to let him pull away from her mouth if he dared try. He imagined her fingers sliding between his shirt buttons, her nails grazing over his chest.
His excitement swelled under her as she shifted in his lap, pressing her chest into his, trying to encourage a bolder exploration of her body. With her legs stacked, her butt now sat exposed to the room, begging to be touched, to be grabbed, if only he’d notice it in a reflection.
It was her move to make, once again. It had to be. She couldn’t wait any longer for him to realize how excited she was–how ready–how badly she wanted him. His fingers weren’t going to slip between her thighs unless she asked or put them there herself. And she had waited long enough to feel him on her skin.
Sliding off his lap, she stood, knee-to-knee again. “Help me out of all this?”
She turned and felt his fingers work on the back of her corset, a slow release of pressure as her body regained its natural shape. Clutching it around her, she thought about what now sagged and hung, and tried not to mourn the form she had when she’d made her last rejected move. She knew she looked sexier then, but she hoped it mattered that she felt her sexiest now.
“These too?” he asked with a tug on her garter clips.
“Please. All of it.”
He rolled her stockings down with ritualistic care, pausing for her to lift each foot in turn. Then he looked back up, her arms finally letting her corset slip. One item remained–her underwear, tiny but monumental. She felt his stare as it too slid off at his meticulous hand.
Standing there, exposed and vulnerable, she saw her silhouette reflected in his eyes and hoped he liked it as much as she did. His affirmation was quiet, visible in the lines his pupils traced as he stood up and his hands found her hips, in the sweet kiss he leaned down to give her. There was no hesitation when his hands left her hips to find his shirt buttons.
As his shirt opened, her hands took its place, sliding down at the pace of his unbuttoning, then back up to push it off his shoulders. She kissed him with her palms flat on his chest and heard the sound of cotton and leather hit the floor in waves.
Then she felt it. His cock reached through the space between them to kiss her mound and she nearly melted.
“Do you want to go somewhere more comfortable?” he asked.
“Right here,” she cooed, dragging him by the hands as she tip-toed back to the couch and laid down. He dropped to his knees and began kissing the outside of her thigh. She curled her finger in his face and told him, “Up here.”
He followed, settling himself over her, his hips between her thighs but distant. Hesitant. “Are you… on anything?”
“I had no reason to be.”
“So, should I– should we–”
“Only if it makes you more comfortable.”
“And if…” he stopped, as if speaking the words had the power to make such things happen.
“I said I’d do it all over again. I meant it.” The words came easily to her, as if she’d rehearsed them in her head for years even if it had been a while since the last time. “You can finish inside me.”
Her perspective shocked him as much as the idea itself. The decision felt heavy but she talked about it like they were discussing whether to have another bottle of wine with dinner. Maybe it felt somehow smaller to her, or maybe she had more time to digest it.
She knew better than anyone what the next 18 years would look like.
He wondered if that’s what she wanted.
She did too.
“Do you want me to?”
“I do. Yeah.” Her voice was soft and the gentle nods of her head cemented her sincerity.
“I…” he trailed off, trying to slow himself down. “I do too. I want to feel you.”
“Good,” she said with a mischievous grin. Her body wiggled as she felt his hips closing toward her.
His approach was gentle and her lips welcomed his, as soft and warm as her personality and as wet as the brown liquor she still tasted on his mouth. Feeling his heat, his presence between them made her tremble with anticipation.
His head was full of doubt about how she preferred it, whether he’d match up with her experience, and if any of this was even ok despite every word they’d spoken and every indication that she wanted this, whatever this may be.
The feeling of her overwhelmed him. “Oh my god…” he breathed as he entered her.
She bit her lip and hummed back, watching the sensation wash over him. This was satisfying enough, not that she didn’t want more. She had long wondered how he moved, how he sounded, just how well they’d fit. And now, with the hardest part accomplished, she no longer had to. She could relax, enjoy, and finally know.
He gasped as their hips finally met, then a self-effacing chuckle tumbled out of his mouth. “I’m sorry. You just feel so good.”
“It can be fun, you know. It should be.”
“You’re right. As always,” he said, smiling.
“About time you started listening to me,” she jabbed back. “Only took me 17 years. I’m not sure who that says more about.”
She pulled him down for a kiss while her hips spoke a suggestion in a subtle rock. His responded by grinding back, moving his cock against her walls.
“You feel really good too,” she said between kisses. “Not like I expected. Better.” A whimper nearly swallowed her words.
Her hips slow-danced to his rhythm, gasping as his lips trailed her jaw and over her neck. His hands slid up her sides to cup her tits. His thumbs made sweeps across them and bumped over her hard nipples. Everywhere he touched tingled. Buzzed with heat. The more he gave, the more she wanted.
“You’re so damn sexy,” he said, his strokes stretching longer, deeper, at the pace of a diligent explorer. “You are incredible.”
Welcome as they were, the affirmations felt strange to her ear. He had never talked like this before; he was affirming and supportive, but only in the most platonic way. Over time, her spoken words lost their playful, sexual edge, but the ones in her head never stopped.
“You’re the sexy one, Mr. Silver Fox, and I love the way you fuck me,” she whispered as her fingers dragged down his back.
As he nibbled her ear, his breath sounded like a growl. It carried intent and gave away the depth of his desire for her. While his body worked to please her, she could feel how much he needed it too–needed the tension to end, needed this release, needed her.
On thin breath, she pleaded, “Don’t stop.” Toes curling, her ankles slid in rhythm along his calves. Her hands clasped his waist. She felt herself tense, harder than it had in ages. Heat swelled in her core and flowed out over her skin.
Biting her lip, burying her face in his neck, she tried to stifle the steam of embarrassingly desperate noises that burst from her throat. Her hips jerked wildly. Eyes shut tight. Fingertips drove into his soft body, gripping as if she might tumble away. She went silent except for her panting.
As her tension exploded and vision went white, all she could do was hold on. Her legs and arms wrapped him tight, feeling his sweat-slicked skin sliding under them. She had never cum from male penetration before. She didn’t think it was possible. She assumed sex with him would feel more psychologically satisfying than physical. But this was everything.
Her body went limp as her peak faded, but she looked up at him with glassy eyes and a grin.
“Want me to keep going?”
She nodded, managing a faint “Please.”
“I’m almost–” A shaky gasp cut him off. “Almost–”
Her grin widened and she pushed her hips up, holding her breath so she could hear every note of his climax. His strain was apparent in his face, in his quivering muscles and faltering lungs.
“I want it,” she cooed in his ear, clenching around him.
His mouth fell open. His hot breath made her neck tingle.
Moaning, her tension building again quickly, she got more impulsive with her words, “I fucking love you.”
Gasping, body jerking, pleasure captured him.
She felt his heat pulsing, growing inside her.
He threw his head back, refilling his lungs, and when he looked back down at her, said simply, “I do too.”
She pulled him tight, not wanting him to see her inability to respond. His breath felt reassuring on her neck but she knew she shouldn’t have said it. With him at his most vulnerable, it was unfair, no matter how deeply she meant it.
“It’s ok if it just slipped out in the moment,” he said softly. “Just know that I do.”
“It didn’t.”
Her words continued after a long pause, “I’ve been waiting a long time to say it.” She paused again, eyes starting to well up. “I meant all of it. I’d do it all again–all of it–and… I love you.”
“I think I’ve always known. And I think I’ve loved you back for years. It wasn’t like this–or maybe I just didn’t accept it–until it was. Until now. Today. But I’m done pretending. Done fighting it.”
“So…” She breathed deeply, pulling her emotions back from the brink, letting the warmth simmer in her chest. “What are we going to do now, Jonathan?”
“Whatever we want. We’ll figure it out like we always do. Right?”
Marina nodded meekly against him. It sounded good–it always did when he said “we”–but it meant a little more. Hit a little harder. It made her belly flutter when she considered the possibilities.
He nuzzled her neck and she could feel his smile. “You’ll always have a place here.”
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