Erika took another two inches, using her tongue to circle the head. She’d been holding out on him—or practicing. He didn’t care which. He was only happy he’d married her. She kept giving him reasons, and seeing her on her knees, watching her take his penis inside her mouth was one of the best. He mimicked her actions now, remembering every detail of their first married night together.
She worked him, quickly learning how much power she had over his pleasure. She took him as deep as she could, struggling with her gag reflex, and never realizing how much it excited him to see her fighting to get him all inside. She pulled back to the tip, lavishing it with her tongue while she watched him with the deep brown eyes.
His penis began to pulse—then and now—and he pumped uncontrollably—then and now. It had freaked her out a bit and she started to pull her mouth away, but he couldn’t let her. His fingers tangled through her hair, bringing her back down his shaft. She picked up the pulse throbbing up and down his penis, and chased it with the tip of her tongue.
His legs had started to buckle. The muscles of his thighs were quivering now, and he increased the speed of his stroke, using both hands—one to apply pressure, one to pump him.
Erika sensed the nearness of his climax. She pulled away, taking the heat of her mouth with her. She looked up at him and asked, “What would you like to do to me next?”
He exploded—now. Back then he had pushed her onto the carpet and sank his penis deep into her until she placed her hands on his shoulders and told him to slow down. He was barely able to separate reality from the past, but he grabbed the sterile cup in time to place it beneath the arch of his sperm.
Brock wasn’t about to evict Erika from their home. She’d threatened to leave if he moved back, so he stayed in the dingy apartment on the hospital grounds. But that didn’t stop him from going back to the house every chance he got. He couldn’t shake the way Mark had been looking at her, and he wanted to find out exactly what it meant.
“Ma, we have to go or you’ll be late for your therapy appointment.” Brock waited impatiently at the bottom of the stairs for his mother to come down. She insisted on using the stairs, ignoring the elevator he’d had installed in the back of the house for her usage when she refused to take their downstairs master bedroom suite.
“I’m coming.”
He watched in amazement as his mother descended the stairs. She was dressed in a gray jogging suit, but her face was all made up, and her hair had been done too. There was less gray and more curls.
“Close your mouth, son.”
“Why are you dressed up for therapy? I thought you hated PT.”
“I do. So I might as well dress my best for it. It makes me feel better.”
It didn’t take long to figure out why his mother had obtained a sudden love of going to therapy. His name was Titus, and he was the therapist’s assistant. He appeared to be around his mother’s age—60, maybe—and he also appeared to have a thing for women five years his senior. Brock watched from the sideline, quietly observing the ratio of talking and flirting to working out. A couple of times he’d started to cross the room when Titus found it necessary to work out his mother’s muscles.
He watched the show, reserving his objections until he could speak to Erika about it. She’d gotten possession of the house and his mother when he’d moved out. Surely, he could hold her responsible for his mother’s flirtatious behavior. He wanted his mother to have a full life, but not with a man neither of them knew anything about. He couldn’t wait to get his mother home, narrowly following the speed limit. When they arrived, Erika was in the kitchen cooking dinner. His mother practically bounced up the stairs to her bedroom with her bum hip, limp and all.
“You didn’t tell me the assistant therapist has a thing for my mom,” Brock said, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“What?” she asked, amused.
“Older guy with graying temples, wears his pants too loose and his shirts too tight.” The older man actually had a solid build for someone his age.
She smiled at him and he thought it was genuine. “Are you upset? Your mother is entitled to have a personal life. It’s kinda cute.”
“What do we know about this man? And what do we know about what’s going on between them?”
“This is the first I’ve heard about it.”
“Can you talk to her about it?”
She realized his seriousness. “I’ll talk to her, but I won’t pry into her business.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I wouldn’t want something going on with them right up under my nose and not know about it until it was too late.”
She glanced at him, and reading him correctly, she turned her focus back to the stove.
“Men like to take advantage of a woman if he feels she’s vulnerable,” he pressed. “Especially if the woman is lonely.”
“I’ll look out for your mother.”
“How’s Danny doing?” He switched the subject quickly, wanting her to make the connection.
She filled him in on the young man’s progress. “He’ll be an inpatient for at least thirty days.”
“You must have been scared. Was that the new ophthalmologist in your office?”
“Dr. Garing.”
“You didn’t introduce us.”
“It was crazy.” She answered him coolly, giving him no hint of emotion, which was odd for a woman as expressive as Erika. The vigorous way she stirred the bubbling pot told him she was nervous.
“What was he doing there? Is Danny his client too?”
“No.” She turned away, checking something in the oven. “He heard all the noise and came to see what was going on. Like you did.”
“Bradley called me because you’re my wife. Why did he come?”
“I guess he came to help.”
“He didn’t say?”
She shook her head, her back still to him.
“You were talking when I came in.”
“Maybe he did say. There was so much confusion.”
“Yeah.” He watched her move across the kitchen, checking pots and avoiding his gaze. “Mark Garing, he knows you’re married, right?”
“What?” She laughed nervously.
“Does he know you’re married?”
“He knows.”
And now I know the character of the man I’m dealing with. “Does he hang around your clinic a lot?”
“What? No. What’s with all the questions about Mark?”
“I like to know what’s going on in my wife’s life.” He glared at her, searching for any evidence to confirm his suspicions. “I don’t want this situation to become more complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
“Any other woman might see seven months as a long time to be apart from her husband. She might not be as strong as you are. She might be vulnerable enough to let an opportunistic man work his way into the middle of her marriage.”
She turned to him, putting down the cooking utensils and focusing her attention on him. “Any other husband might not leave his wife in limbo for seven months. He might make a decision and let her move on with her life…no matter what direction it would