Nice Nails

"Where'd you get that idea?"

"Just passing by the lab one day. I thought I heard someone talking about it."

He didn't provide further explanation. I knew that was the end of the conversation.

When he was finished eating, I took his plate and was about to set it in the sink when he shook his head. I piled it back up and served him a second helping.

"Oh! I forgot the rolls. It will only take a minute to warm them up." I turned around and dropped a bunch on a pan and popped them in the oven. When I faced forward, he was staring at me. His eyes were softened, like he was seeing me in a new light.

I leaned against the stove, tapping my long pink fingernails feeling self-conscious under his gaze. A few minutes later I retrieved the bread from the oven and then placed a couple of the rolls on his plate. When I grabbed my own, I accidentally touched the hot cookie-sheet, burning myself. I cursed quietly as I walked back to my seat across from him.

He studied my hand.

"Let me see that."

"I'm fine," I said with a smile. I wasn't lying. It wasn't that big of a deal. Nevertheless, he slid off the chair and came to me.

"Bring it to the sink."

"What? Why?" I asked, eyeing him. I realized that he was kind so rarely, it made me question his motives. Growing up, it was like that with my dad. Anything nice from him always had strings attached.

"Just fucking do it," he said. There's the Bram I knew.

I climbed off the chair, following him to the sink. He turned the cold faucet handle and held my hand underneath the water. I could smell the muskiness of his sweat.

"You don't have to do this," I said softly. I liked the closeness, but I was also feeling bashful. He ignored me. "You know, maybe some ice later--" I began.

"Your nails look really pretty," he said, causing me to stop mid-sentence.

"Are you serious?" I blurted out, smirking at him in surprise. When he saw my face, he tossed my hand aside, then backed away from me.

Continuing, I said, "Damn it, I'm sorry. I meant thank you, Bram. I just didn't expect it." There was no way to get through to him now. He finished his food and then went back upstairs.

I knew that I had to make this right, somehow. I speedily washed the dishes and then booted the laptop up. Reed_B would be there for him. I'd make sure of it.

Once online, he immediately wrote to me.

"I don't know what to do," he messaged.

"About what?"

"My life. My wife. My job."

"Bad day?" I wrote. When he didn't answer I sent, "Just take one thing at a time."

"But I'm miserable."

"Miserable with a 10?" I asked, trying to lighten up the mood.

"Well, not that part," he wrote and then added a blushing emoji.

I added a laughing emoji then wrote, "What's going on? Let's start with your life."

"My life would take hours. My family is a shit show."

"Family can be complicated," I wrote. "And your wife?"

"With my wife, I just tried giving her a compliment and she laughed at me."

I paused then answered authentically. "Maybe she didn't think you were serious. Try it again?"

"Yeah, okay. Maybe I made her nervous. I don't compliment her often."

"I think you're on the right track."

"Okay, thanks, man."

"So, what's going on with your job?"

He began typing but then stopped. I waited, listening to see if he was moving upstairs. Then, he resumed.

"Have you ever heard of Nimble?" he wrote. I waited while formulating my answer.

"I may have heard of it."

"What do you know?"

"It's something scientific," I guessed, based on the soldiers leaving the lab. He put a laughing emoji.

"I probably shouldn't have mentioned it."

"Well, your secret is safe with me. Especially since I have no idea what it is."

"Thanks :) I appreciate you listening. I hope I can return the favor but I gotta run. Talk to you tomorrow, bro."

"Night."

I hopped off the computer and went straight into the shower. When I got out, I could see him at the coffee table pawing through documents. He glanced up at me but turned his attention back to his project. Were these the kind of papers he handed to Mark the other day?

I got dressed into light blue silky shorts and a soft gray t-shirt, then laid in bed, reading. I wanted something else to do but I wasn't sure what activity to try. It would be so fun to watch some stand-up comedy and laugh together. Then, I heard him coming up the stairs.

Without leaving the staircase he rested his elbow on the banister. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his biceps in his dark blue short-sleeved polo shirt. I continued reading, feeling self-conscious but I couldn't ask what he was doing. He might yell.

"Hey," he began. I turned to him trying to maintain a neutral expression. "I, uh," he paused. "I know I don't say it enough. Or ever actually. But I think you're," he paused, swallowing. "Well, you're beautiful, Alexandra." He glanced down at the floor.

I could feel my chest swelling with joy as I held back tears. I could barely speak.

"Thanks, Bram," I managed.

With that, he turned around and went back down the stairs. I stared at the ceiling fan for a long time with this new information in mind. Was my dream the other night more of a premonition? Could "Good Bram" be hiding underneath my husband's cold exterior, after all?

The prospect thrilled me.

Around 11 pm I looked over the railing and checked on him. He was still working. When our eyes met, he feigned intense focus, but I could see that his face was tinged pink from blushing. I got in bed feeling satisfied, knowing that there was something that made Bram Darling self-conscious, and it had to do with me.

After I heard him get up, he switched the lights off and came upstairs. I felt anxious, almost giddy for some reason. His compliments today made me hopeful that we could be closer … in more ways than one. Was I developing a crush on my own husband?

When he climbed into bed, I pretended to be asleep. I was afraid that if he saw into my eyes, he'd realize how badly I wanted him. I waited for him to get settled. Once I knew he was comfortable, I tried to get some real shuteye, but I couldn't.

My mind was swimming as I wondered what he was thinking about and if he wanted to touch me even half as much as I wanted him to. If only he would turn around and tell me more about how he felt. I'd love to hear about what else he liked about me and then act on it. I'd reciprocate, fully.

Despite my revving engine, eventually I fell asleep. When I woke in the middle of the night, he wasn't beside me. I tried going back to sleep, but I knew I couldn't until I peed. I groggily left the bed and walked toward the bathroom.

As I passed by the partially cracked door, I could see that the computer was on. I couldn't view the screen directly, but I could see the reflection on the framed flag behind him. In the glass I made out a tall woman around my height and same figure. When I squinted, I recognized that it was an image of me.

He had taken the photo when we'd gone to the beach together in Hawaii on our honeymoon. I was standing alone in my golden-yellow bikini waving. My long brown hair was down around my shoulders, and I was wearing my silly neon-yellow flower-shaped sunglasses.

I finished in the bathroom and then sneaked back to see what else he was looking at. The door was open a little more than when I first passed by. I could now see more of him as he leaned back in the chair watching a slideshow of my pictures. He had no shirt on and as I peeked farther, I saw that he was touching himself through his white briefs.

My heart jumped up in my throat. I felt embarrassed and told myself to go back to bed, but I couldn't. All at once, I was too turned on to leave. I was starving for this kind of display.

I watched intently as he gripped it, rubbing it slowly. Occasionally, I'd glance up at the reflection of the pictures he was staring at. He seemed to really love my tits. I watched him zoom into them.

I couldn't help but enjoy while he gained pleasure from staring at my body. As I was about to open the door, I forced myself to stop. I didn't want to risk ceasing his pleasure.

Had he been doing this all three years and I'd missed it? It made sense. How else would he find release? It had been something I struggled with too.

Then, a thought occurred to me. Maybe he wanted me to approach him. The door had been opened wider when I came back, and the toilet wasn't exactly silent. Was this the message I hoped it was?

Before I propositioned him, I had to take care of myself. If my plan backfired, I'd be left all worked up without relief. I climbed back into bed and laid on my back. My fingers slipped down my tight stomach between my legs.

As I touched myself, I imagined him walking in, discovering me like this, then ravishing me. I wanted him to feast upon my sprawled-out body. I pictured him climbing over me, holding me down, then untying the drawstring of my shorts with his teeth before yanking them off. And then I wanted to feel his mouth all over every inch of me until I was so worked up that one perfectly penetrated thrust would collapse me into convulsions of ecstasy.

It had been so long since I had this alone time that within mere moments I was already on the edge. My final thought lingered on him in that room staring at my pictures and feeling the same insatiable yearning the way I did right now. The movie in my mind now had me interrupting him with my utter lust, sliding on his swollen erection, and using him for my pleasure until he exploded.

Waves of orgasm rushed over me, rising higher until I was arching upward and gasping. I was barely able to keep myself quiet as I desperately sucked in air. When I opened my eyes, to my surprise he was standing at the foot of the bed.

"What are you doing, Alexandra?"