By the end, she had hated the hours.Hated being away from the kids and me.But in order to be with us on our schedules, she gave up what had once been her dream.If I changed my hours, changed my job, could she pursue hers?Would she want that?
I finished drying our dishes, tossed the dishtowel on the counter, and jogged to the bedroom.Rounding the corner, I came to an abrupt halt, a startled laugh bursting from my lips.“What are you doing?”
She lifted her head off the bed where she lay star-fished, naked, and uttered one word.“Hot.”
“You’re hot?”I laughed, my eyes running up and down the body that so generously gave and gave and gave until the pleasure brought me to my knees.The room was far from hot, it fairly bordered on outright chilly.
Her tight, pink nipples agreed with me.
I wagged my eyebrows.“I love menopause.”
She snorted out a laugh and dropped her head back on the mattress.
Crossing to the window, I cracked it open to allow some of the frigid air inside, then sat on the side of the bed.
I traced the curve of her hip with my palm.“Hi, sweetheart,” I murmured.
She offered a faint smile, a denial of the tear that eased almost apologetically from the corner of her eye.
Dropping my gaze to her belly, I traced the stretchmarks made by my children.“You’re beautiful, Dini.”
She audibly gulped.“I don’t feel beautiful.”
“Then your feelings are lying to you,” I murmured.Shifting to lie on my side, I trapped one of her arms beneath my torso.
Propped up on my elbow, I lightly ran my hand over the silky terrain of her body.The dip at her waist, not as pronounced as it once was, but equally as alluring.The swell of her breast, erupting in goosebumps under my fingers.The plump curve of her hip that begged to be squeezed.If menopause meant more naked Nadine, I was totally on board.“I like seeing you like this.”
“I’m fat.”
My eyebrows flew together as my eyes snapped to hers.“Do not talk about my body like that.”
“It’s my body.”
I raised my eyebrows in mock challenge.“You gave it to me a long time ago.It’s mine.And I’m keeping it,” I teased.
“You don’t understand,” she moaned, throwing her free arm over her eyes.
“So, explain.”
She dropped her arm and waved her hand over her lower body.“It’s not working right.”
“What do you mean?”I smoothed my hand over the softness of her belly.
“It’s not, ugh, I hate this.”
My hand stilled, and I met her eyes.“Hate what?”I jiggled the soft flesh under my palm.“Tell me.”
She mumbled, “Sex is not as comfortable as it should be.”
I drew back slightly, alarmed.“What?Did I hurt you?”We’d made love twice in the past week and she’d said nothing.
She shook her head.“No.Not really.It’s just that I’m not,” she pressed her lips tight before continuing, “getting wet enough.”
Not really?
“You need more foreplay?”How could I not feel the difference?
She shook her head, her eyes glossy.“No.You’re perfect.It’s me who’s broken.”
