Yes!

The vision of pulling my cock from her and coming all over her skin and those fucking skirts was exactly what I needed. I slammed my fist against the shower wall, my cock firing off in one of the most explosive orgasms I’d had in years. Every muscle contracted, my whole body painfully tight as the pleasure whited everything out.

Panting breaths echoed off the tile walls, along with the spray of water as it rained down over my body. I felt lighter, the pressure released, but that itching feeling still continued to crawl around my skin. That basic, overpowering need to feel her wrapped around my dick.

Jacking off did nothing but flare my aggravation. Nothing was going to change, and the situation would continue to grate on me.

Every day I was stuck stewing in that ever-smaller-growing room made my irritation grow. Her scent filled the space, her presence so large there was no way to ignore her, even when she ignored me.

I needed to fuck her solely to stem the curiosity that thrummed through my veins. To shut down the nerves that buzzed for her touch.

She was fucking ruining everything.

Why I promised my father I’d stop by for lunch after my first week of work was beyond reasoning. All my intentions of staying away were brushed aside by the guilt of all the help he’d given me over the past few months.

If it weren’t for my parents, I wouldn’t have the condo I lived in or the car I was driving. Not for financial reasons, but it was their names on both. I stayed off the radar as much as possible.

My shower did nothing to calm my mood, and I found myself in the closet, jerking hangers of shirts around. I was down to the end of the rack when something on the floor caught my eye. I’d forgotten it was there, forgotten it was out in the open, which was a bad idea.

I stared down at the small chest sitting at the back of my closet. Stared at it almost like I was waiting for it to do something. Transfixed, like it was the most interesting thing I’d ever seen, but it wasn’t because of the outside, but what lay on the inside.

The wooden box was filled with the only surviving remnants of my family. Besides a few articles of clothing, the box contained mostly photos and documents. There were also a few mementos, including my wedding band.

I reached out, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Don’t! The Beast rattled against the bars of his cage.

The box had been sealed for years, and I shook with just the thought of opening it. Simply moving it to where it sat in front of me had been a huge burden. It took hours of staring at it just to be able to touch it. Why was I suddenly drawn to look?

Stop! We can’t. We can’t take it.

The problem was, I couldn’t stop. My fingers were on the latch.

Don’t look! We can’t. We can’t. We can’t!

The panic finally hit me, and I stopped. The shaking moved up my arm, slithered around my chest, and shut every part of me down.

“Grace,” I choked out as I stared down at the lid.

I drew in a ragged breath and looked up at the ceiling, forcing back tears that began to fill my eyes. Even the beast was silent, but he heaved in my mind, like the image of her in my mind caused him to physically break down.

I scooted back on the floor and leaned against the wall. I had no idea how the thought of opening the box was in any way a good plan. It never would be. Always a dive into my daily torture and the physical reminders of a life I destroyed.

The shaking continued as I tried to remember what she looked like. The memory of her soft skin, the sparkle of her blue eyes. We were so young when we met, with big dreams.

“What do I do, Grace?” I asked the box.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember her voice, remember our last conversation.

“A boy,” I said reverently as I placed my hand on her stomach. We still had a few months, but I couldn’t wait to meet him. “What should we name him?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. We’ve never gotten this far, so I’ve been afraid to even think about names in case I jinxed it.”

“Jinxed it?” I grinned at her and shook my head.

“Hey, if someone said I had to wear the same socks for nine months in order for this to happen, I would have done it.” She laced her fingers with mine. “We can look up names tonight. Dust off that baby name book.”

We never made it home. I remember finding the book as I was getting rid of everything in the house and how I burned it to ash.

That child wasn’t the first, but the sixth. The first miscarriage happened while we were still in college. Getting pregnant wasn’t planned by any means, and taught us a very important birth control lesson. We were just getting over the shock and sliding into excitement when the cramps and bleeding started. At the time, we took it as a sign, that it wasn’t the right time.

It still hit Grace hard and as soon as we graduated, she wanted to try for real. I still had law school to get through, and the thought of a baby then scared the crap out of me. We waited until I was in L3, my third year, making sure I was going to be done by the time the baby was born.

Again, first trimester. At week eleven I got the call in the middle of a finals cram session. I rushed out and found her on the bathroom floor of our tiny apartment, crying.

It happened about once a year after that until finally we made it into the second trimester.

I stared at the box and what it represented, what I’d lost, and what I would never allow to happen again.

After a few minutes, I heaved a sigh and stood. I glanced down at it again, then grabbed a couple of blankets and set them on top of it, shielding it from my eyes, shielding me from the memories.

Once it was hidden under an entire stack of blankets and sheets, I went back to my task of finding a shirt to put on. I was still a bit shaken but managed to rifle through a stack of T-shirts until I found a long-sleeved Henley and pulled it on.

“Shit,” I cursed as I looked down at the time. Almost an hour had passed since I entered the closet.

Each episode was a time suck. What felt like only minutes could be hours to the world and almost days to my body.

Physically drained and emotionally wrecked, I headed out to another trying experience. It was always difficult being around my family.

The hard part was going to be when they asked how my new job was going and explaining that I almost lost it due to a woman. Perhaps I’d leave Delilah out of it. There was no reason for them to know about her.

She was no one, after all.