This month’s photo prompt gave me trouble. All I saw in my head was that scene in Titanic when Leo and Kate get their groove thing on in the back of the car and that damn handprint she left (which was unbelievably hot for someone as young as I was when the movie came out) that ended up pointing the bad guys in the right direction to where they were hiding. Still, I couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t fanfiction…until I was on the way to take my daughter to school this morning.
Apparently, my muse lives in the car. Jerk.
“Shouldn’t we take your car? It’s newer,” my husband whispers as I pull my jacket on and grab the keys to his ancient Monte Carlo.
“It may be newer, but the kids’ carseats are still latched in. Precious moments will fly by as we struggle to get the damn things out. Not to mention,” I turn, looking up at him pointedly, “Your six foot four ass would never fit back there.”
A sudden look of realization passes over his handsome face, and I have to bite back a grin when I hear my mother calling from inside the house.
“Elena, the kids are asking for you to come kiss them one more time before you leave!”
The plan is to go to the movies with my husband of twelve years. Our three children will stay at home with my mother, who has agreed to babysit at our place instead of hers because she’s finally realized that we have more toys–not to mention the kids’ bedrooms–at our place. Small blessings.
The reality of the situation? With a six year old, a four year old, and a two year old at home constantly needing attention, poor Jimmy and I haven’t had a moment alone to actually be intimate almost since Cici was born. And that’s a long freaking time to not get laid. So, I put “Operation Movie Night” into effect last Tuesday, when I casually asked my mother over coffee if she’d mind coming over to watch the kids for a few hours so we could have a proper date night.
I just neglected to tell Jimmy that we weren’t actually seeing a movie.
I run inside the house to give the children one last snuggle, making them all promise to behave for Nana and asking Joey one last time to please not put any more syrup in either of his sisters’ hair.
“I promise, Mommy. No more syrup,” he solemnly vows, though I can almost picture him crossing his fingers behind his back. Joey is his father’s son–a prankster til the very end.
It’s for that very reason that I’ve hidden anything remotely sticky that could be put in my girls’ golden hair high in a locked cabinet. Joey has made that promise before, and Ashley and Cecilia both had to get their hair washed in olive oil as a result. Chewing gum.
Jimmy kisses the girls and gives Joey a high five, since our little boy has suddenly decided he’s too old for hugs and kisses from Daddy, before following me back into the garage. He makes a small noise of protest when I hop in the driver’s seat, but shrugs it off. He’s nothing if not easy-going. One of the millions of things I love about him.
“What movie are we going to see?” Jimmy asks as he adjusts the seat to accommodate his long legs.
The brakes make a squeaky sound when I stop at the edge of the driveway, distracting me from Jimmy’s question for a moment. When was the last time we had the Monte Carlo serviced? Joey was at baseball and the girls were mad that I’d brought them to the stinky garage instead of the baseball field to watch their brother play….
Jimmy waves a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Elena, come in Elena.”
“Na-nu na-nu,” I say before sticking my tongue out at him. “Sorry, distracted Mommy moment. We’re not going to see a movie.”
He cocks his head to the side, “What do you mean? I thought…you’re kidnapping me? That’s illegal, you know.”
Judging from the shit-eating grin on his face, I don’t think he minds overmuch. I head to the property we’re building our new house on. It’s off the beaten path and, until the crews come in next week to start clearing the area for more “ranch style homes,” is currently surrounded by trees. Perfect hiding spot for parents who need a break from life and just one moment to lose themselves in each other.
“I just want to go check on the construction for a minute. We won’t be long,” I say, but the look on my face clearly states otherwise.
My husband shifts in the seat next to me, and I know he’s figured out my plan. I also know just how much he’s looking forward to it. After so many years together, I don’t need verbal cues anymore.
Twenty minutes of teasing, his hand on my thigh, and whispered promises later, I’m ready to jump in his lap before we even crawl into the backseat of his old car. I feel a little bit like a teenager again, back when we were in high school, before the jobs, the mortgage, the kids. Back when all we had to focus on was each other, but didn’t have the finances to afford a hotel room for the night.
So, when I pull the car into our makeshift driveway at the half-finished house, it doesn’t take him long to climb out of the front and into the back. The chill of the October air that blows in when we make the switch only makes me pause a moment. The heat Jimmy exudes is more than enough to keep me warm.
I’m quickly divested of my clothes, which land somewhere in the front seat as he tosses them haphazardly, desperately. Jimmy barely has time to yank his jeans down when I climb onto his lap and take his erection into my hands, guiding it inside me on a low moan.
His hands grip my hips, keeping me in place, so close to him that I don’t know where I begin and he ends.
“This is what I need,” his voice is a harsh whisper in my ear. “My beautiful, strong, brilliant wife. God, I love you.”
I press a kiss to his lips. “Love you too, Jimmy. So much.”
It’s then that he begins to move. It’s been so long since we’ve made love that we can’t take it slowly–we need each other too desperately. My breath comes in pants as our sweat-slicked bodies come together. He’s saying delightfully dirty things in my ear, things he can’t say at home, hasn’t said anywhere but in our stolen moments since the kids were born.
“Yes, Jimmy. Yours, all yours. I belong to you,” I whimper, holding on for dear life as he pushes deeper, harder. My hand slips off his shoulder, and I have to brace myself against the window of the car as my body tenses around him, my orgasm hitting me with the force of a hurricane.
I feel him swell inside me as he begins to come. His teeth sink into my shoulder, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough that I’ll feel it later. Aftershocks of my climax roll through me, milking the seed from my husband, father of my children, love of my life.
Sex with Jimmy is always intense. Always amazing. But this stolen moment with him, the care he takes in getting us cleaned up and our clothing back in order before we return home to our regular lives…it makes me realize just how lucky I am.
And when my mother lifts a brow at the handprint I left on the window as she’s leaving for the night, I just smile.
Want to see my blog sisters’ take on the photo prompt? Click the links below: