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“Honey, I’m home.”
Gerard practiced it in his head all the way home on the train, leaning his head back against the glass for as long as he can stand the vibrations. It sounded ridiculously cheesy, even for this, and he had almost decided not to say it at all. But when he opened the door and saw her standing there, it didn’t feel fake at all.
“Welcome home, darling.” Frankie comes forward and kisses his cheek, takes his briefcase gently from his hands. She smells like vanilla, a little bit like sugar cookies. When she takes a step back, he can really admire her. She has a cardigan on, sleeves long enough that only the very tips of her tattoos can be seen poking out over her wrists, and a sweet A-line skirt. A string of pearls, a little bow in her hair, and the gentle swell of her belly under her dress: she looks like a picture of darling domesticity in days gone by. She doesn’t even look like Frankie, really, piercings out and hair curled over her ears to hide her plugs. It isn’t hard for him to nudge a hand under her chin, tipping her face up for another soft kiss, a softer one than he would ever give his Frankie. Her eyes are bright when she pulls away. “Did you have a nice day?”
“Nice enough.” Gerard tugs at his tie, loosening it as he follows her towards the kitchen. She sets his empty briefcase down next to their coat rack. On the way to work, it held the tie, the suit jacket, a little pomade. All the pieces he needed to be this guy for her. “Those guys at the bank, they can be real morons sometimes.”
“Oh, darling, you shouldn’t say that.” Frankie clucks her tongue. In the kitchen, he sees that she’s set the table already, every piece of silverware and napkin in place. It’s neater than even that time her mother came to dinner, and the kitchen smells wonderful. “Go on and sit down, I’ll have dinner on the table in just a second.”
“Why isn’t it already there?” Gerard takes his seat and sprawls, settling his knees as far apart as possible, taking up space. “I’ve had a long day. I expect my wife to have dinner ready for me.”
“I was just keeping it warm for you.” Frankie brings a steaming dish of meatloaf to the table, potatoes, green beans. Gerard wonders if she ordered it from somewhere or if one of their friends (or moms) did the work. The fact that they still have a kitchen to sit in is proof enough that Frankie didn’t do it herself. “There you go, darling.”
Gerard doesn’t really know what to say at that point, so he just grunts and hopes it’s dismissively masculine enough for her. He waits while she dishes him a plate of dinner first, then starts eating while she’s filling her own plate.
After dinner, they watch TV Land for an hour or so, sitting a neat cushion apart on the couch, and then go get changed for bed. Gerard has an undershirt and boxers to sleep in, and he’s already in bed when Frankie emerges from the bathroom in a blousey nightgown that ought to be the most unsexy thing in the world. When she crawls into bed beside him, though, he scoots closer to her, desperate to feel how warm she is. He’s been going crazy not touching her; he never realized how much he did, until they started playing this game and he couldn’t. She gasps softly when he rests a hand on her hip.
“Do we have to, darling? I’m so tired.” She looks over her shoulder at him, lower lip plump and appealing. “The baby makes me so tired.”
“Damn the baby,” Gerard grumbles, and almost bursts out giggling. He covers it, leaning in to bite at the crux of her neck gently. She gasps again, but a sad pained one, nothing like the sounds she’s made when he bit down twice as hard. “Roll over.”
Gerard doesn’t even remember the last time they had straight-up missionary sex. Frankie likes to ride, loves being in control, and she loves to be on her hands and knees and make him take the control. It’s nothing like her when she sighs and rolls obediently onto her back for him. Gerard pushes her nightgown up, tugs her panties to her knees, and pushes in without prepping. She’s wet enough to take him, loving their weird little pantomime, but it’s still a stretch. She bites down on her lip while he fucks her; it’s so strange to look down at her face and see her with her face scrunched up, like someone’s making her do something boring if not especially unpleasant. He has to close his eyes then, because he can’t get off when she looks like that, and he promised her this. He thinks of the night that she made him wear a leash the entire night, even out to dinner. He was petrified that someone he knows would see them, someone from work, and he’d never been harder. That’s a good memory, easy to imagine the feel of leather around his neck, the sharp tugs when she wanted to remind him who was in charge. Always in charge.
He comes and rolls off of her as unceremoniously as he can, rolling over onto his other side and pretending to snore. He feels Frankie rustling around behind him, denied her own orgasm and so frustrated. He remembers the feel of her firm belly against him while he fucked her, and he thinks about their kid, who’s going to have the weirdest fucking parents a kid could ever have.
After a few minutes of fake snoring, Frankie plasters herself against his back, grinding her hips against his ass. “Mortarboard, jesus, I can’t wait any longer.”
Gerard grins and arches back for a moment before he turns to face her. He kisses her hard, like he wanted to when he first got in the door. He grabs the hem of her nightgown and can’t help but laugh. “Where the fuck did you get this?”
“From your mom’s closet, shut the fuck up and eat me.” Frankie grabs his hair and shoves him down, but he’s only too happy to go. She smells incredible, and he doesn’t waste any time, licking into her cunt, still open from getting fucked and tasting like his come. He eats himself out of her, holding her open and holding her down when she starts to kick. He’s been concussed before; he knows better now.
He goes until she comes, then takes a break to breathe heavily against her thigh. She only gives him a few gasps for air before she forces him back, making him bury his face in her again. He teases more this time, now that he knows she’s already done it. He gives her little kitten licks and kisses and nudges until she’s practically screaming at him, about to crush his head between her thighs. This is his wife.