She groans as she tightens her arms around my neck, pressing her chest into mine. My hands grip her ass as she rocks into my erection. I move, walking her to the wall, and pressing her back against it. Freedom wiggles and I can feel her nipples pressed through each of our shirts. It makes my hands itch to touch them.
When I’m mere seconds away from taking her to the bedroom, she rips her lips from my own, her eyes hooded with lust. “Shit, Freedom,” I gasp, the ache in my pants prominent. “What was that?”
She smiles widely. “You called me Free. You’ve never called me that.”
“And you felt the need to attack me?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around it.
“No, that was the hum between my legs talking, Sammy,” she says as she pats my shoulder. Carefully, she slides down my body, her hands smoothing out the wrinkles that now appear on my shirt. “Come on, let’s go cook dinner. I’m starved.”
She turns and heads to the kitchen, leaving me and my erection with the pile of dirty clothes to go into the washer. “Me too,” I mumble as I scoop up the clothes and follow her, the entire time, picturing what she would look like splayed out on top of my bed, naked.
I walk past her in the kitchen and make my way to the laundry room. I set the clothes on the floor, noticing instantly the weird mix of clothing. There’s a little of hers and a bit of mine, and the combination has a somewhat calming effect on me. It’s been almost two decades since my clothes were washed with someone else’s, and I find myself smiling as I look down at the dirty items.
After adding the clothes, closing the lid, and turning on the machine, Freedom hollers from the other room. “Will you restart the dryer for me?”
Curious, I open the dryer and find it full of brightly colored, wrinkled garments. They’re cool to the touch, but dry, which tells me they’ve been in here for a while after dried. “What is this?” I ask, closing the door and finding the right heat setting for the material.
“Yesterday’s load,” she bellows in reply.
“Yesterday? These have been here since then?” I ask, as I enter the kitchen and close the laundry room door.
Freedom shrugs. “Yeah.”
I sigh, rubbing my forehead. “Freedom, you can’t just leave clean clothes in the dryer.”
“Why not?” she asks, and I can’t tell if she’s genuinely curious or on the brink of laughing at me.
“Well, because…they…if you don’t…” I stop. And can’t really think of a reason besides ‘it wastes electricity by running the dryer a second time,’ and for some reason, that sounds really dumb. Trivial, in the grand scheme of things.
Freedom doesn’t roll her eyes, as I expect. Instead, she smiles, heads my way, and wraps her arms around my waist. She leans her cheek against my chest and sighs. My arms automatically go to her shoulders, holding her close. I could definitely get used to this.
“What do you say we make dinner?” she asks without moving.
“Sounds good.” I don’t move either.
After a few minutes, she whispers my name.
“Yeah?”
Brilliant blue eyes gaze up at me. I don’t know what I’m expecting her to say, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t it. “Do you want to skip dinner and go make out naked in bed?”
My cock jumps in my pants as all of the blood I possess starts to rush its way. I open my mouth to explain why we should eat now, when I answer, “Yes.”
She smiles that wide grin I can’t seem to get enough of and reaches around and slaps my butt. “Good answer, Sammy. Give me five minutes,” she tells me before turning and practically sprinting from the room.
I sigh and run my hand down my face. What am I doing? Well, besides about to make love to my wife. My wife. I spy my bag over by the entryway, and with leaded legs, head over to retrieve it. The envelope is still inside, the one I’ve been ignoring for weeks now. I head back to the kitchen and pull the contents out.
Divorce papers.
My heart starts to ache in my chest as I scan the documents. There’s not a lot of information there, but considering we’ve only been married for a month I imagine that’s sufficient. I scan them over, hating them and needing them all at the same time. I’m still battling with myself. I need to right this wrong before it’s too late. Divorce is the best way to go about that. Then, we can start over, with a clean slate.
When I get to the last page, to the lines with our names below them, I have to look away. I hate seeing her name beside mine, knowing we’re both going to sign them, effectively ending our short-lived marriage.
But then we can start new. I can ask her out, the right way. We can date and enjoy each other’s company.
Kind of like we do now.
I hear my bedroom door creak open, and I quickly shove the documents back into the envelope. I turn and stuff it in the top kitchen drawer that I use for mail and bills. The moment the drawer is shut, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. When I turn, I find Freedom there, standing against the doorway, wearing a light green bra and panty set with little white eyelets.
My jaw practically hits the ground.
Her hair is down, hanging loosely around her shoulders, and all I can think
