Chapter 30

"How adorable! The entire family has gathered to honor the Old Good Daddy," I heard a familiar voice nearby.

"Anastasia," Jane hissed, turning away from her and lighting a cigarette.

I was surprised she smoked.

"Did you have to hear that sob story as well?" She sighed and leaned against me, an umbrella draped over her. "Oh, poor Ranold, he lost his family and was raised by a mafia boss. Every year is the same. What you all find in this story? Ranold is a big boy. He doesn't need you to sympathize with him."

"Don't you remember how you cried the first time you heard this story?" Jane asked calmly.

"Ahahah!" Anastasia burst out laughing. "Why do you remember those times? Or do you miss the days when I was single?"

"Not at all," Jane said as she turned to face Anastasia.

"Oh, please," Anastasia said as she leaned in closer to Jane. "Don't you remember Seattle?"

"Try to forget every moment of that," Jane said, extinguishing her cigarette.

I sensed a tense relationship between them. You appeared to be trapped between two fires. The high school reunion, where two ex-girlfriends started arguing about the past. I felt uneasy. They had a lot to talk about, but I didn't want to be a part of it. Furthermore, I was staring at Ranold, trying to guess what he was thinking. Jane's description of his past seemed accurate. I'd never stood on the grave of a close friend or relative before. But I had also lost someone. My father and older sister had not yet arrived. So I could imagine his anguish. Standing on the grave, knowing you'll never see them again, is far preferable to uncertainty. At the very least, you know they'll never return.

I took one step forward. Jane and Anastasia were still arguing about something, but I was not paying attention. I could feel Ranold's loneliness. I wanted to reach out and touch him. To help him. To be his support, as it is expected of a good husband. I reached out my hand to him, wanting to squeeze it tightly, but quickly pulled it back, realizing what I was doing. I was attempting to comfort Ranold Hamilton by holding his hand. I felt a deep fear inside for a brief moment. Why did I want it so badly? Why did I consider it? I was about to take a step back and clutch my fists to my chest when his warm hand grabbed mine.

I shivered. He was clutching it tightly while staring at the grave. Something hurt deep within my chest. I squeezed the jersey. It started to rain. A few icy drops landed on my hand.

"Let's go home," I said softly, and Ranold Hamilton turned his head.

I entered our flat for the first time since my heat. Because of the weather, it was dark inside. I took off my jacket and hung it on a hallway hook. Ranold was in the bedroom. He was standing in front of the window, watching the New Orleans. I turned on the kitchen faucet to wash my hands before starting to cook. I had no idea why I had done that. Maybe because I didn't want to go to the bedroom. I still have no idea. We were separated by a wall and two medium-sized rooms, but it seemed he had no intention of bothering me in any way.

"The lunch is ready," I quietly said as I entered the bedroom, wiping my hands with the towel.

"Should we move to a larger apartment?" My husband asked, turning to face me.

"We only have a kitchen and a bedroom here. I didn't live or work in the flat. I had only been sleeping here. But, perhaps it's time to make a change in order to be closer to my husband?"

I didn't know what to say, so instead of answering his question, I just said I'd set the table.

"Don't you want to eat?" He gently took my wrist while sitting at the table with the fork in his hand.

"I'm not hungry," I said with a slight smile.

"I'll make you some tea, take a seat," he said as he stood up from the table and began to make me some tea.

We ate our lunch in silence. Well, not completely silently. But he was eating with gusto and complimenting my food. And he was also curious about how I prepared it. We talked about some topics, and I was surprised at how much my husband knew. I told him I needed to sleep after lunch and left him in the kitchen. I showered and went to bed. I didn't know how long my dream lasted, but when I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was my husband in a towel, walking from the bathroom to the kitchen and back. I frowned slightly, unaware what was going on. Then I noticed him talking on the phone. When he disappeared behind the bathroom door, I sat up on the bed. The rain had ceased. The windows were splattered with billions of tiny raindrops. They glistened in the barely visible sun rays.

"Are you awake, Olivier?" My husband asked, standing directly in front of me.

I flinched and backed up. My heart skipped a beat.

"Didn't I wake you up?" He asked.

"No," I said quietly.

He was wearing a T-shirt and pants and staring me down when his legs pressed against the mattress and he appeared very close to me, settling right between my knees. His hot palm ran down my thigh from the knee to the belly, as if it were a ritual. Even though I was wrapped in a blanket, I could feel the warmth of his hand. While I was distracted by his hand movements, he managed to lean on my lips and kiss me quickly. I blushed and grabbed his shirt.

"Wait," I said quietly. "I'm always lost when you do this to me."

I just blurted it out, not thinking about where it could lead me.

"Should I be more delicate in order for you to remember everything?" He whispered these words into my lips before kissing me.

His kiss was too soft. I couldn't even feel it. Then he did it again. Once more. And once again. He kissed me gently and slowly, as if he wanted me to remember everything that had happened that day. He didn't use his hands, and he didn't kiss me anywhere else. I could taste his lips and feel his breath. Even simple kisses were too much for me.

"You need more endurance," my husband said as he drew the blanket down, revealing my drenched pants and trembling body. "I've only kissed you once, and you're already cum. I'm not even warmed up yet."

I turned red again, turning away from the bed and trying to get out, but... Who would ever let me go in that state: red, trembling, panting, hard breathing, excited, and embarrassed? No, not my husband. He drew me close and kissed me again. I felt his hot hands all over my body. They were patting, caressing, and fondling me. I could feel his lips kissing, sucking, and pecking me. He was savoring me as if I were a favorite dessert. His hands, lips, and body moved slowly and smoothly, as if we had plenty of time to enjoy ourselves. I was exhausted before he even entered. My body had betrayed me. My muscles were so relaxed and my insides so loose that it didn't take much effort for him to move inside me. All I could do was moan. I was moaning so loudly with all my resentment and disappointment to show him I wasn't satisfying the process, but it mostly seemed like I was sobbing and groaning for him not to stop. I despised myself for my weakness. I despised him for being so gentle, so soft, so dedicated to what he did. I despised it so much that I passed out from not being able to see and be present there.

I awoke late at night. Ranold was tightly hugging me from behind. I stood up, feeling a great weakness throughout my entire fucking body. Yes, it would be more accurate to say "fucked" body. But, hey, whatever. I had no recollection of anything. I remembered the events, I remembered what he did to me, but everything was blurred and obscured by some kind of fog. I was looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. My hair was a tangle, but I could still feel his wet kisses on my neck, shoulders, and chests. Goddamn, all over my body. He kissed me everywhere. I was under some sort of hypnosis. Everything seemed so familiar to me. Even the sensation of something sticky inside my ass.

"Come on, you need to take a shower," my husband said as he patted my waist and passed by the shower.

"Mm-hm," I replied as I followed him to the shower.

Only when I appeared next to him under the water did I realize I had blindly obeyed his words. I was scared. I just followed him after he patted my waist. What exactly did he do to me? I squeezed my T-shirt below, no longer believing my body. I couldn't even say "no" as he drew me to his naked body, only "mmm" in protest. He grabbed my wet T-shirt and pulled it up over my head, closing my eyes. He only held our hands together while I mumbled something.

"Ten kisses," he declared. "Count out loud."

His last words sounded more distant, and I realized he had hunkered down. He let go of my hands, and I grabbed the wall with my fingers. I could feel his hands on my leg. His fingers ran along my calf before patting my thigh from behind. I shuddered. He didn't even try to kiss me. Then I felt his nose run up my thigh. I gasped, opening my mouth to say "one," but he outranked me.

"No," Ranold said firmly. "It's not even a kiss."

He then smooched my skin up my knee, making me shudder.

"That was a kiss. Count," the sound of my husband's voice echoed off the bathroom walls.

"On-ne," I said, my voice trembling.

"Good," he said softly, squeezing my thigh and nuzzling his nose to my bare skin, slowly moving up and sucking the scent of my body.

"Tw-wo..." I said as wet hot lips touched my skin once more.

Ranold was creeping up on my groin. I was hard. The fifth kiss was the last one on my thigh. I was trembling and panting, aroused as I had never been before. The warm water trickled down my flushed body. The next kiss landed on my testicle.

"Si-iix!" I squealed and shuddered as I felt the warmth spread throughout my entire body.

Then he rubbed his wet lips against my dick, barely touching its trunk.

"Not a kiss," he said, and I was on the verge of bursting, begging him to stop.

He then kissed me. To be more specific, he smooched my sensitive skin right under my dickhead. I screamed and would have fallen to the ground if his strong arms hadn't caught me, grabbing my hips and pushing me against the wall.

"Ranold, please," I hushed, clutching his bare shoulders.

"Three more," was his sole response.

I wailed loudly, trying to calm my trembling body.

"Three more..." I mumbled to myself as he smooched my dickhead and then sucked all my cock into his mouth, almost immediately releasing it.

"It was a kiss," he clarified.

"Eight," I squeaked, my whole body tense.

'Do not do this again,' I begged in my head.

He sucked my testicle as he moved under my hard-on. Fuck, I thought I was going to piss and die from embarrassment, excitement, and pleasure mixed with some strange sensation deep inside my stomach. I muttered "nine" through clenched teeth. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I couldn't take it any longer. I was trembling and had no idea what had happened to my body. Deep within me, I felt something new, something unbearable and powerful.

'If he kisses me again, I'll die!' I screamed in my head.

"Ten," he said, smooching the bottom of my dick and running his lips to the very dickhead, sucking it all inside his mouth.

"Uughhh-mmm!" I squirted right into his wet, hot mouth, muttering from the depths of my chest.

I was exhausted to the core of my being. He didn't even fuck me, but the sensations were as if he had, and it lasted at least three days.