MILF 2 {COMPLETED}

13

Chapter Thirteen: Get Back

Houston, Texas
June 12th
Beyoncé Giselle Knowles

When my eyes opened, the sun was staring back at me through the opened blinds. The room smelled of sweet jasmine and vanilla. The sheets were pearly white and clean instead of crusted with cum and when I looked around the large room, my should be crippled wife was nowhere to be found. The room door was wide open, but the bathroom door was shut. Then my memories flooded back.

I wasn't supposed to come into this room last night, wasn't supposed to talk to her, and damn sure wasn't supposed to touch her. But we connected that way, and surprisingly I'd left more clear than I had since everything all went down. It wasn't a dirty thing, it was beautiful. Made her feel wanted. Made me feel needed.

I knew there were people that would never be able to take Onika back after what she'd done, and when I told my mother, I could tell she felt a sliver of disappointment that I didn't know if I was genuinely leaving or not. But she understood that love wasn't always beautiful. Sometimes love tested you and pushed you to your limits.

The bathroom door opened and Onika peeked her head out, her hair wet, draping down to her naked breasts, covering her nipples. I sat up and my breathing grew heavy.

"Come on baby, I'm waiting on you. Been waiting on you to wake up."

Her skin looked like mine, bruised up and covered in marks of passion. The night had been long and yet I could remember every single orgasm from the night before.

"Drink water sweetie," She pointed to the nightstand. A glass of freezing cold water sat there, dripping, waiting to be drank. Next to the water were two Advils.

As soon as she said it, my headache came on strong. I took the pills and drank the entire glass. Then I got my wobbly body out of the bed and followed her.

White rose petals adorned the floors, meeting my feet when I walked. In the bathroom, the nights were off and four three-wick candles lit up the whole room. She shut the door behind me, letting out the remaining light.

She reached for my hand and held onto me while guiding me to the filled tub. The tub could fit more than six people. I wondered how lonely she felt in this same tub for ten years.

She lead me inside the tub then walked her naked body away over to the sink. When she came back, she climbed in too, and handed me a flute of champagne. She sat with her back to me, nuzzling herself between my thighs, resting her head back onto my breasts.

"Good morning my love," She rubbed my thigh.

"You sound like you had a good night," I rubbed her, rubbed her from her neck to her shoulder. "Do you hurt anywhere?"

"Do you?"

"No, I don't."

But I should. She put it on me like a desperate woman last night, put it on me like a woman who refused to lose. And my inebriated mind refused to let her lose. If she loses, I lose. In every capacity.

She fucked me like she was me, made love to this lingam in every way she physically could. At one point she was on top, her body moving like she was stroking me, needing that power over me. It was odd and felt amazing all at the same time.

I asked her again, "You hurting?"

"No."

I nodded and laid my head back against the tub. I sat the flute down.