The Hardest Thing

LYRIC

Deacon is letting the dog out, and I’m waiting, still texting Parker. We had a great time at dinner. We laughed, we joked. Just got to spend some quality time together.

We don’t have kids, but sometimes we still have trouble connecting, finding time in our lives for each other.

The entire time I sat across from him, I had to fight with myself to not think about Parker. He’s in my head, under my skin, and I need to get him out.

The smart thing to do would be to cut him off, and I’ve thought about it every day since this started, knowing it would be for the best, but I just can’t.

Every time he texts me, I smile. Whenever he sends me some stupid internet video, I smile. He sends me songs sometimes too.

And now, my husband is locking up the house, and I’m saying good night to my…I don’t know what he is. He certainly can’t be my boyfriend, not with the distance, and not when I have a husband.

The mistress is the other woman. Does that make him my mister? I laugh out loud, throwing a hand over my mouth. What a ridiculous thought.

What is he then?

I can lie to myself, say he’s just a friend, but friends don’t give each other butterflies in their stomachs. They don’t call each other Daddy and ~baby girl~.

The last message he sends—“good night” with a red heart next to it—makes my heart speed up.

Focus, Lyric. Your husband. Post-date-night sex.

I plug it in and delete the messages from the day, covering my tracks. It’s almost scary how easy this is, and it should make me feel guilty because Deacon trusts me so much. He’d never even think to go through my phone, to ask for the passcode.

The guilt spiral stops when he comes in, sleepy smile on his face. Our dog, a four-year-old mutt named Molly, trots happily in front of him, then sits next to the drawer where her treats are kept. I give her one, cooing at her in the baby voice I always use. It’s impossible to talk to a dog in a real voice—simply cannot be done.

As we walk up the stairs, Deacon taps me on the butt a few times, so I add an extra sway in my hips for him. The taps get harder the higher up the stairs we go.

That fluttery feeling I’ve always had with him is still there. It’s just softer, like background music I don’t really hear anymore but can always feel.

There’s a comparison in my head, but I force it away.

I will not think about Parker while having sex with Deacon. I will not.

“Come here,” he whispers, pulling me into the bedroom.

We land on the bed, lips crashing together. I force myself to stay in the moment, to be here with him, but I have to remember not to call him Daddy. He doesn’t like it, and I won’t make him uncomfortable by using it.

Even if it’s something I need.

His kiss is familiar. After a decade of kissing him, I know exactly how to move, how to be with him. It’s like autopilot, lacking excitement, but when he starts to undress me, I lose myself in him.

“Babe,” I breathe as he kisses down my neck, moving to the sweet spot behind my ears.

He nips at my ear and before I know it, I’m naked, lying beneath him.

“So wet,” he whispers, fingers sliding through me.

He works my clit expertly, the motions he knows are guaranteed to get me off fast, like only a man who’s spent a decade learning my body can do.

There’s no awkwardness, no first-time jitters, no wondering if he likes what I’m doing. It’s good. But…mundane.

I spread my legs, letting him slip two fingers inside me. He curls them perfectly and my head falls back, neck extending while I moan long and low. His other hand runs up and down my body, toying with my nipples, pinching them while I moan for him.

“Please,” I beg, opening my legs further.

His thumb rolls over my clit, and I’m already so close to cumming.

“Oh god,” I cry. My legs shake, my eyes close, and my head falls back when I cum.

Deacon uses his fingers to fuck me through my orgasm, only stilling once my body stops trembling.

He starts again right away. Never satisfied with just one. It’s always at least two before he even gets inside me. He pulls his fingers out of me, trailing them up my stomach, leaving my cum along my stomach until he gets to my mouth.

I suck his fingers in, moaning while he works them inside me. Once he pulls them out, he brings his hand back between my legs. His lips push against mine, tongue wrapping around my own, diving in, tasting me, while his fingers work against my clit again.

The second one doesn’t take nearly as long to build as the first, my body already primed and ready. I’m crying out, moaning loudly as he encourages me. It’s so good. It’s always good.

Then why, even now, do I feel like something is missing?

“Babe,” I breathe again. “More. God, more.”

His pressure increases, and he works his fingers in faster circles against my clit.

“Just like that!”

I lift my hips, humping myself against his hand while he brings me more and more pleasure. My eyes clench closed, and I’m cumming again, a cry tearing from my throat. He silences me with a kiss, swallowing each of the needy moans I release.

Once I’ve come down again, he pulls his fingers from me, rolling away. I watch as he pulls his shirt over his head, then roll to my hands and knees and crawl to him.

I unsnap his pants, shoving them and his boxers down. He struggles to kick them off as I lick around the head of his cock. I love the soft moan he lets out, how his hand goes to my hair.

I wrap my lips around him, working him slowly into my mouth.

Deeper and deeper I take him, until my nose is buried in his neatly trimmed pubes, breathing in the musky scent of him. I cup his balls, tugging like I know he loves.

His hips lift, and I look up his body, seeing his head thrown back in pleasure. I love doing this to him, watching him come apart for me. Nothing makes me feel more powerful.

I let spit pour out of my mouth, soaking his cock while I bob up and down, taking all of him with each pass I make, stroking him, chasing my hand. When my eyes start to water too much, I pull away, focusing on the tip, licking around it while I jack him off at the same time.

“Yes,” he groans.

After my brief reprieve, I slide down him again, holding still when I get to the base. And then I hum.

“Fuck,” he grunts, hands digging into my hair.

I release him with a wet pop, and he drags me up his body until I’m straddling his hips. Taking his cock in hand, I line him up with my entrance and drop down on him.

The stretch of him is so familiar, and my body welcomes him. My hands dig into his chest, my head falling back. Once he’s bottomed out inside me, I sit for a minute, adjusting.

His hands dig into my hips, and when I open my eyes, I find him staring back at me. It’s dark, but I know the exact shade of gray staring back at me. Pushing myself into him, I use his pubic bone against my still swollen, sensitive clit and ride him.

His hands slide up my body, over my stomach, up to my breasts, groping me, pinching my nipples while I ride him.

I squeeze my muscles around him, contracting while I chase another orgasm. I can feel it, and it’s going to be the strongest one I’ve had in a while.

I fall forward, lifting and dropping on him. My ass slaps against his thighs. His breath is heavy in my ear, moaning as he gets closer and closer to the brink.

“Oh god,” I whine.

“Don’t stop,” he groans.

His hands move back to my hips, helping me rock on top of him. Skin slaps against skin, wet, erotic sounds that only add to the pleasure I’m about to feel as soon as I cum.

As my orgasm nears, I shoot back up, staring down at my husband. I feel his cock twitch inside me, can tell by the look on his face he’s about to cum. And as he does, I find my third release.

And as I cum, soaking my husband beneath me, it’s not him I’m looking down at. It’s Parker. In my head, all I’m thinking is Daddy.

Fuck.

I am so screwed.