One Day You'll Be Mine(10)

By: Alana Hart & Lauren Lashley



I set my iPad mini down as I focused on the scene, and recapturing it move for move in my head. By the time I had finished, my fingers were soaking wet with my juices, and my orgasm had spread all over the sheets. Too tired to do anything about it, I closed my iPad cover, and rolled over, drifting off to sleep with post-climactic satisfaction oozing from my pores.





Chapter 4: Natalia



It’d been yet another ridiculously hot, miserable, incredibly sexless week. At this point, I’d run out of ideas for seducing Hollis. He didn’t want to make love, no matter what I’d tried.

I’d even broken down and looked at some of those ridiculous sex tip articles in Cosmopolitan, something I would have never thought I’d ever needed to do. We were in our thirties, but we’d been together for twenty years, and as such, we had the sex life of people who’d been together that long. NONE!

“Am I doing something wrong?” I asked my best friend on base, Kelli, at the commissary. “It seems like he doesn’t want anything from me, unless it’s dinner or a blowjob.”

“No, you’re not doing anything wrong. They get really lazy sometimes, especially when it’s hot and they’re working all the time.” Kelli looked over a row of Jell-O. “Which flavors should we get? I’m making Jell-O shots with these summer molds I bought the kids.”

“Kelli!” I gasped. “Don’t do that. The kids will think it’s for them.”

Kelli’s eyebrow arched. “No, they won’t. Because they don’t even use these molds, and because we’ll be downing them while they play outside as we wait for our husbands to come home.”

Kelli and I lived on the same street. Our husbands didn’t work together, but they had grown to be pretty amicable with one another. I suspect their shared love for the Dallas Cowboys had something to do with this. Both men were from Texas, and had no problem letting the world know they proudly whooped for America’s team. Considering I had no interest in the sport, I had no clue why this was such a pivotal moment in the history of their friendship, but it was.

Kelli and my friendship blossomed on its own once we realized our men would happily abandon us for each other on Sundays whenever the season picked back up. Over time, we realized we also had quite a few things in common. Sunburn sensitivity that required the highest SPFs possible for protection, for example. I thought I had the mother of sun blocks when she told me she had a secret source for an even higher SPF than I had. (She’d never shared her magical website.)

“So how do you deal with Frank does this?” I asked. She loaded up the cart with several packages of flavored gelatin, one for every color of the rainbow.

“I don’t.” Her reply was indifferent, her attention engrossed in looking over a package of jasmine rice.

“What do you mean, you don’t? That’s your husband. You have to deal with this.” How could any wife not be aggravated with lack of sex in their marriage? Sex was the highest form of intimacy.

“I stopped arguing with him about it,” she said. “I’ve been through this enough times. I found my own ways to cope.” Kelli’s feline eyes coupled with a wry smirk.

I watched her as she tossed two packages of rice in the cart. We pushed our carts, hers leading the way. I was out of it, hot and bothered, literally and figuratively. I couldn’t have cared less about being in the commissary, getting groceries, or making dinner. Jordan could eat two bowls of ice cream with sprinkles for all I cared.

Hollis could kiss my entire ass.

After the awkward exchange last week, communication shut down entirely. He hadn’t bothered to speak to me, apologize, or make amends. He carried on unaffected, as if being relieved of my attention were a benefit.

I loved to cook. It was a stress reliever for me, usually. The marriage of flavors, spices, and ingredients into a culinary masterpiece soothed my creative spirit. But this time around, I felt it stifling. I didn’t bother attempting to make any home-cooked meals. For the last week, Jordan’s binged on pizza, McDonald’s, Chick-Fil-A, and any fast food his heart desired. I simply lay in bed, reading books from romance authors like Alana Hart, feeling sorry for myself.

“Have you tried making any aphrodisiac meals to get him in the mood?” I asked, randomly. Even though I wasn’t in the mood to cook, a huge cut of steak across the aisle captivated me. Like any other supermarket, the fresh goods, meats included, were along the outside perimeter of the commissary aisles.

Kelli scoffed and shook her head. “Don’t believe the hype. That stuff doesn’t work. When he’s good and ready, he’ll find you. Until then, get you a little release and relax.” She shifted the conversation. “What would be better: Frito Pie, like the boys get back home, or nachos?”

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