Amber Sullivan sat at the kitchen table, sipped tea, and thought about her husband and her marriage. The day before had been her third wedding anniversary, but her husband had not mentioned it, had not acknowledged it. Amber sighed and a frown crossed her face. It’s not as if he forgot it, she thought; it’s as if he ignored it, as if it didn’t mean anything to him.
Three years…and he…She sighed again. Of course, Lucas had a lot on his mind, and he was a minister, and he naturally…She wagged her head as she thought about her husband, and about the past few months.
Lucas had gradually stopped showing any affection for her, or even any interest in her. He spent more and more time away from her, ministering to his “flock,” visiting the sick, the infirm, the aged, preparing his sermons. And sex–forget about it. She gave out a sardonic little chuckle.
From the first day of their marriage, Lucas had been squeamish, finicky, prudish when it came to sex. It almost seemed as if he looked upon sex as debasing, distasteful, a painful duty to perform. And gradually he had shown, he had made it clear, that he wasn’t interested in sex.
When was the last time we did it? she asked herself. Two weeks ago? Again, she gave out a wry chuckle. And even then, it was…She wagged her head as she thought about it. Lucas had mounted her, had given her a dozen strokes, shot his load, and then had rolled off her. And that had been it….
Hammering sounds from the porch interrupted her thought. She walked to the kitchen screen door and looked out. Cliff Mason was hard at work, repairing a section of the parsonage porch.
Amber watched the carpenter for a moment, and she felt a tingle run over her and a warmth that was centered in her breasts and between her thighs. He wore a tank-top and cutoff jeans. He was black and big and muscular, and his neck, arms and legs glowed with a light sheen of perspiration. Her gaze was drawn to his thick pink lips, and she felt a fizzy tingling run up and down her body; her heart beat faster and her throat and lips were suddenly dry.
She opened the screen door and said, “About time for a break, isn’t it? Would you like some iced tea?”
Cliff Mason looked up, smiled, and said, “You read my mind.”