Elmo studied himself in the bathroom mirror. He could not remember ever being so excited about anything. But he was 56 and she was only 37. He hoped she never regretted taking vows with him.
For fifteen years he had wanted her. Every night they spent watching movies, talking, and laughing he had longed to hold her. They were best friends—so, why hadn’t he given her an occasional friendly hug? Macy had probably wondered about that, he thought. But he had always feared that the slightest touch of her skin would ignite his pent-up desire for her.
But now they were married. And he was about to make love to his beautiful wife. So, there was no longer anything to fear—except the question of whether he could fully satisfy her.
He sensed her expectations were very high, and he hoped he could meet the challenge. Because, with all his heart he wanted to please her in every way. He would do anything for her. Perhaps his eagerness would compensate for any deficiencies.
Elmo walked out of the bathroom into the darkness and saw her standing at the full-length window, admiring the Dallas skyline. They had come so close to losing it all. If Carsie’s arrow had been just a few feet lower…
Greg Tenorly, had saved both of their lives. The death of his bride would have done irreparable damage to Elmo’s heart, leaving him neither dead nor alive—a pitiful zombie, wandering aimlessly through each meaningless day.
But all that ugliness was behind them now.
The silhouette of Macy’s shapely hips against the city lights made him pause and enjoy the view. She turned to speak, which drew his eyes to the profile of her glorious breasts.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said.
He walked toward her, still eying her chest. “Yes, it is.”
She loved that he was in awe of her body. “Elmo, I’ve dreamed of this night so many times.”
“Me too, Baby.”
He began to kiss her.
She untied his robe and surveyed every inch of his chest and stomach with her warm, soft hands.
He gently massaged both of her breasts and felt the response of her nipples to his fingertips.
She journeyed lower and found him so wonderfully firm, and sensed the rising heat and moisture within herself.
“Make love to me, Elmo.”
“Oh, Baby.” The stroke of her fingers was driving him out of his mind.
He pulled away from her hands. “There’s just one thing I’m a little worried about.”
“What is it, Sweetie?”
“I’m a lot older than you. What if I can’t satisfy you?”
“Oh, Elmo. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Well, I’m not so sure about that.”
“But, Baby, can’t you see? The very fact that you’re concerned about satisfying me proves that you will.”
“Huh?”
“Just do what I say,” she said.
“Okay. That sounds like fun.”
She slipped the robe off his broad shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Then she pulled off her silky-thin gown, scooched onto the bed and began to spread her legs. “Come here, Sweetie.”
After that, he didn’t remember doing anything. It was as though it all just happened to him. To them. It was like a dream. His best dream ever.
Her anticipation had grown to a fever pitch, so it didn’t take long for her to go over the edge. And it was such an enormous event that Elmo could only assume the night was over—until she started up again. And she just kept coming back for more.
It was the beginning of what would be a life of loving and living together in the greatest joy either of them could have ever imagined.
*
He glanced down. In the light from the TV, Greg could see the spot on his pants growing. It was a natural response of the body, preparing for something that…would not happen. Not tonight anyway, he thought. Not on Cynthia’s couch.
She leaned in for another kiss. It was even more of a turn-on when she initiated it. He ran his left hand through her soft, red hair, which seemed to release the faint, peach scent of her shampoo. He wanted to bury his nose in it—to inhale her.
He placed his right hand on her knee and began to work it upward and under her skirt.
She encouraged him by massaging his gums with her tongue and filling his lungs with her sweet, hot breath.
“So, y’all are watching CSI too, I see.” Beverly was standing behind them in the doorway.
“Uh, yeah, Mom.”
“It’s a good one.” She walked down the hall to her bedroom and closed the door.
“That’s it.” Greg whispered loudly as he stood up.
“What?”
“I can’t take this anymore.”
Cynthia stood up. “It’s okay, Baby. It’s gonna get better.”
“But she’s fine. Why can’t you leave her here alone while we go out? You leave her every day to go to work.”
“I know—but that’s different. I’m afraid she’ll be scared at night.”
“Well, I just can’t live this way.”
“What are you saying?”
Greg dropped to one knee. “Cynthia Blockerman, will you marry me?”
“But, Honey, my mom will still be living here, even if we get married.”
“Yes, but then we can go off to our bedroom.”
“I see.”
“And lock the door.”
“So, you want me to marry you so you can have sex with me?”
“Well…yeah!”
“That’s all you’re interested in,” she said demurely.
“No, of course not. But we’ve already got everything else. It’s the only thing missing.”
“In that case—_yes!_”
He jumped up and hugged her. “Oh, Baby… But it’s got to be soon.”
Cynthia giggled.
“I’m dying here,” he said.
“Hey, you’re not the only one who wants it. It’s killing me too.”
“Good. Now, kiss me.”
Greg wondered how soon a wedding date Cynthia would agree to.
They could elope. Yeah! Just go to a justice of the peace. Would he still be up at this hour?
No. He was just being silly—and horny. Cynthia deserved a beautiful church wedding—which was fine with him. And at least there would be no jilted lovers trying to spoil their day.
But still…maybe he would hire a guard for the balcony.
Just in case.
THE END
*
For more information about Robert Burton Robinson and his novels, please visit RBRbooks.com