"God, just let him get back to me in one piece, please!" I would never ask for anything else. It was the plea, the bargain, the mantra I kept repeating in my head during the nine months my husband, Liam had been deployed in Iraq.

He did come back in one piece – the wound in his left leg would take months to recover from and bound him to a wheelchair and therapy, but he was back. In a way, I knew something was off the moment I saw him exiting the airport. Something was missing and the man who whispered promises of return in my ear nine months ago was not the man who got back. He flinched at my touch at best and looked right through me at worst.

I knew I had to be patient, to give him time to put what he saw and what still haunted him behind. And at first, I was the ray of sunshine, the support, the ever-forgiving. It didn’t take long until I started to disappear, too. My smile was all grimacing, my eyes sad, and even the way I moved was tired. I dragged through the days alongside the man, who used to be able to tell something was bothering me with just a glance.

It was the second day of our stay at the "Paradise" resort. It offered mineral water treatments and physiotherapy, so I thought the procedures and the change of pace would help us get out of this stupor we floated in for what seemed like forever. It didn’t. The happy laughter and splashing coming from the pool were a constant reminder of our own silence. Curled on a balcony chair, I stared at the people enjoying the sun outside.

The loneliness during the months he was away was now replaced with a different one, and it pierced me to the bone. We lay in the same bed at night, but we could have been on different continents for all it mattered. Always vanilla in my tastes, I found myself trying all I could think of out of my comfort zone – skimpy baby doll dresses, which made me blush just looking at, lingerie that left little to the imagination, going down on him while his eyes were still heavy with sleep. He just wasn’t there, I wasn’t there.

Desperate to elicit a reaction, any reaction, from him, I was even ready to share him, to bring another person into what was the most personal act I could imagine. This so-called vacation of ours was the perfect opportunity; we were away from anyone and everything we knew, so we could leave what happened here behind us when we left, regardless of how it went.

The woman who responded to my Internet ad was about to arrive any minute now, and I was a ball of nervous energy. Could I actually do this? Would I be able to bare myself in such a way? I wasn’t sure, but I had to try before my marriage became another statistic.

The knock on the door was barely there, yet it made me jump. It was showtime. A woman in her early twenties, almost a girl, stood in front of me and introduced herself as Astrid.

"Hello, Astrid. I’m Faith and this is my husband, Liam." I gestured toward him, still sitting in his wheelchair, not even glancing in our direction, and led Astrid to the canopy bed in the center of the room.

She sat down in the center and took my hand in hers. Leaning down, I took a breath of her hair, slid my nose down her cheek, and placed a soft kiss on her lips. I had never been particularly interested in same-sex experiments, so I wasn’t quite sure how this would go. Seeing Liam’s eyes focusing on us instantly, however, gave me the courage to slide my hands down Astrid’s throat, then past her shoulders, pushing the straps of her maxi dress down. She wasn’t wearing a bra, rosy nipples peaked over milky skin, and I couldn’t help but admire the flawless view. The buds were not hard, though, and her hands were now fidgeting with the duvet beneath her. She was nervous. For a moment I wondered what brought this inexperienced girl into our bed, and what did she need the money for, but then quickly pushed the thought away. I couldn’t afford to dwell on her misery. I had my own to deal with and it was staring stoically at both of us.

I wanted Liam to have a good look at what was going on, so I didn’t push Astrid on her back. Instead, I knelt in front of her, mimicking her posture. With the knuckles of my hand, I traced the outlines of her breasts, circling closer and closer to her nipples without actually touching them. I ran my fingertips from her lips, down her throat, along the small molds of her breasts, and back again, until I could hear her breathing becoming heavier and heavier with anticipation. Then, slowly and painstakingly, I outlined the contour of each pinky tip, my touch as light as a butterfly, as reverent as a whisper. Her breath hissed, and I deliberately slowed down, even more, catching each nipple between my thumb and forefinger but not rolling or pulling.

My lazy exploration was doing what I wanted it to do. Astrid placed her hand over my fingers and squeezed them around her nipples. I let her apply just the right amount of pressure she craved until her back arched in pleasure. Only then did I bare myself, not bothering to unclasp the bralette I had on, I just pushed it down until my breasts sprang out. Astrid’s lips parted and I slid my forefinger inside. Her tongue twisted around it and she sucked, providing the lubrication I needed. I ran the same finger down her nipples, and then on mine. Grabbing my tits with both hands, I pushed them over hers. The friction was delicious—skin over skin, nipple over nipple, breath over breath.

The way her hands were gravitating toward my pussy, I could tell she was ready for more. I was, however, not going to put my mouth on her or let her do the same to me. If this worked the way I wanted it to work, I didn’t want Liam to taste another woman on my lips.

"Touch yourself," I urged her.

She looked hesitantly first at me, then at my husband. Her legs stretched and parted. She bared her thighs, gathering the dress around her waist, but her hand hesitated over her underwear. I could tell this wasn’t how she imagined this would go and wasn’t sure what to do, so I went behind her and let her back fall over my chest. With one hand I started teasing her nipple again while I placed the other over hers and guided it to push her lacy panties aside. When our fingers ran over her clit and down her folds, her legs parted even more.  Lubricating them as much as possible, I pushed one of her fingers and one of mine inside. She cried out and her hips jumped forward. Holding her in place, I pushed the next fingers, teasing her clit every time our hands moved in and then out.

My own clit was throbbing, screaming for attention, and I was starting to seek release by pressing myself into Astrid’s ass. She was pushing herself against our joined hands, her juices leaking and providing no resistance at all. I was planning to keep my eyes locked with those of my husband while giving the woman in our bed what he denied me, but I got lost in the sounds she made, in the musk of her arousal, in the way her pleasure ignited my own. I could hear Liam’s heavy breathing, mixed with our own, but I was not aware of much else until I heard his harsh command.

"Enough! Out!" Both Astrid and I jumped when his fist collided with the glass table, shattering it into pieces. "I said, "Out!"

His eyes were dark, the pupils dilated with an emotion I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I rose slowly to my feet, while a flustered Astrid grabbed her money from the bedside table and ran out of the room.

"Come here!" Half an order, half a plea.

I approached him hesitantly, quietly wondering, when taking steps towards my own husband turned from anticipating his eyes and touch on me to this walk of —didn’t even know what—fear, indifference, or exercise of shame?

I realized I was holding my breath until I saw him reaching for the handles of the wheelchair and pushing them down. He was making space for me. Slipping out of my shorts, I put my knees on both sides of Liam’s legs but didn’t lower myself. The shrapnel wound on his right leg was lower, but I knew it was giving him pain. Instead, I used the position to run my nipples over his lips, steadying myself on the wall behind. I was already aroused by what happened with Astrid before, so it didn’t take long until I was moaning in pleasure. Liam’s hand finally left his side, and he caught my lower back, pushed me to him, and circled his mouth around my left nipple. I arched in his hold and pushed myself against his stomach.

I knew I was dripping wet and now he knew it, too.

"God, I have barely touched you," Liam released my breast and murmured. His fingers slipped between us until he found my clit and pressed hard on it. I jerked into him, seeking more. He gave it to me, rolling, tugging, and teasing. It was almost too much—the attack on all of my senses—so I buried my face in the crook of his neck.

He took the pause to unfasten his belt and release his cock. His hands started guiding me towards it when I hesitated. Then, I lowered my right knee only and stepped with my left foot bent, hovering over him. This should be OK, I wouldn’t be applying pressure to his injured leg. His breath hissed when I grabbed him in my hands and started gliding over the length, catching my clit with the tip. If I doubted whether my husband saw me before, I had my answer now. He was harder than I had ever seen him before; the head purple and already glistening, the veins pulsing and brutal looking.

Holding his gaze in mine, I slowly lowered. We both hissed at the long-forgotten feeling and stilled for a moment. My own heavy breathing was mingling with that of my husband, but we didn’t speak, afraid even a single word could shatter the delicate balance we were toying with. Taking a moment to adjust to him, stretching me completely, I didn’t move. Then, I put the break of the wheelchair in place and took what was mine.

No woman’s touch could give me what Liam did; he filled me completely, stretched me deliciously, the missing piece of the puzzle of our marriage. I took him slowly at first, letting him slip almost completely out of me before taking him all in. My eyes were lowered to where we connected, the hottest view in the world, when Liam’s hand grabbed my neck and forced me to look up. He claimed my lips for a kiss, seeking entrance to my mouth, and I gladly gave in. Our tongues twirled, their dance mimicking the one of our bodies.

I could tell he was close; the thrusts were getting harder and deeper. He was swelling inside of me, his body temperature radiating in waves beneath me, so I tightened my muscles and squeezed him in. My fingers found my clit, seeking to find my own release. I was rarely able to climax without this extra stimulation, so I stiffened when Liam caught my wrist and placed it back on his chest.

"No! I want you to come with just my cock inside of you!"

I wasn’t sure this would work and he saw the uncertainty in my eyes. One hand grabbed me by the waist, while the other rolled a nipple. His head lowered until he whispered in my ear.

"Mine. You are mine, Faith. No one can do what you do to me. I have eyes for no one else. I ache for you only. I come for you only. Now come for me, too."

I didn’t realize I was holding back until his words soothed the deep-rooted fear inside of me that I wasn’t enough for him. I let my clit touch his base every time we touched, until I cried out my release, collapsing on Liam’s chest, letting him finally follow me in just a few deep thrusts.

"Mine," I repeated the sentiment, tracing the sunlight on his chest with my fingers. Mine.