The Tales of a Future Hockey Wife

Chapter 46: Need *

~Eleanor~

I feel needy. When I walk out of the bathroom after taking a shower, I see Ben in the kitchen wearing only a pair of tight black boxers. He didn't hear me come in as he was cooking something and the fan was on, so I took my time to stare at him. I had forgotten how pretty he is like this. You could literally see every muscle in his back move when he turned the omelet he was cooking. His daily hockey trainings have sculpted his body in the most delicious ways. His boxers hung on his thin hips tightly, showing the curve of his butt. I know butts are supposed to be a guy thing, but I have always loved Ben's butt. Memories of me digging my nails into it while he was thrusting into me flashed into my mind making me blush. I could only see the tails of the scorpion and of the spitfire tattoos on his ribcage. I stepped closer to trace the fine lines of ink and pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades, making him jump. He turned around to face me, but I could feel his muscles were tenser than a minute before. I kept my hands on his hips, but the awkward smile on his face made me want to pull away.

"Why did you skip school to come to the arena?" he said turning back around to take his omelet out of the frying pan, my hands dropping from his hips. "I thought you had another class this afternoon," he added as he placed it in a plate that was way too big for the amount of food he put in it.

"I didn't feel like staying. I didn't feel well in cross-country, and I missed you," I answer while raising my shoulders. Not that he noticed as he was still facing the oven. What was so fascinating about that omelet I'll never know. He looked straight through me when he turned back around with his plate in his hand. He placed it on the table before sitting down. "I'll go finish my homework," I added when he grabbed his phone.

So, here I am rewriting this short story for what seems like the fifteenth time this week, desiring a man who doesn't seem to want me anymore. Now that I think about it, we haven't had sex since we went away for the weekend for the owner party. That was like two months ago! It's crazy that it didn't seem to matter much to neither of us. Until today at least. I make it my mission to conquer my man all over again. No matter what I have to do to get there, I'll do him at some point today.

I cannot concentrate on what was previously supposed to be a drama, my thoughts strictly of Ben. I thought about the first time we actually did something on the weekend my parents had went to Vancouver to visit universities with Will. It was the first time for the both of us, so we were pretty bad at everything we tried, but I knew just how much better it would get. I remember feeling nervous as hell when I took off my shirt in front of him, but he smiled. He only smiled. He smiled at me, showing me his teeth and I knew it would be fine. Then, my mind wandered to when my parents rented a beach house one summer and we spent days and evenings locked in our bedroom. The image of him on top of me, alternating between his fingers and his mouth to make me cum three times before actually having sex with me keeps playing in my mind over and over again. "I love seeing you like this," he said as I was coming down from my second orgasm of the day. He didn't waste any time before diving back in, attacking me with his tongue once more. If I concentrate well enough, I can still feel him holding onto my hips as he was rocking his tongue up and down. He couldn't tame his hair for days after this, my constant pulling completely ruining his "elaborate" hairstyle. I have to force myself to stop or I'll combust right here sitting at my desk, alone. I turn off my computer, there is no way I'll be productive today.

Fifteen minutes later, I emerge from our bedroom dressed in a pair of white pajama shorts and a black t-shirt. I opted for no underwear, thinking that it would elevate my chances to get him in our bed. It's an outfit I haven't worn in about four months since I usually prefer long pajama pants from the beginning of September to the end of March. He is still sitting at the kitchen table, but he put on a pair of grey sweats and a white t-shirt. I walk past him, ignoring the look of pure confusion he gives me, going straight to the cupboard. I raise myself so that I am standing on the tip of my toes, my ass pushing against the material of my shorts. It may look staged as I am only trying to grab a glass, but I can feel his eyes on me, so I continue. I fill my glass with tap water before heading towards the table to stand in front of him.

"Want some?" I tilt the glass in his direction, but he shakes his head, focusing back on the screen of his phone. I sigh loudly, but not enough for him to take his eyes away from the screen. I take a look around the kitchen and the mess it's in. Ben still hasn't washed the things he used to cook his omelet, the coffeemaker is in the sink waiting to be washed as well, and the plastic paper his slice of cheese was wrapped in is on the counter. And, then, I see it, the red light on the oven. I immediately get up, my chair scrapping the floor, making a loud noise. I turn off the burner before turning back around to face him, an angry look on my face.

"Seriously, Ben? You forgot to turn off your burner. Again. It's, what, like the third time?" My voice comes out louder than I expected, but I don't mind. He rubs his eyes with his hands as he answers me.

"I'm sorry. I don't know where my head is sometimes." The concussion, right. The doctors said it could mess him up for a while. It should calm me down, but it doesn't.

"Well if you took your eyes away from that phone maybe you could notice things." I am very aware of the hidden message that sentence contains. It's me I want him to notice. Yes, him noticing the pile of dirty dishes or the red light signaling him that he forgot to turn off his burner would be nice, but it's me I want him to see. I want him to see me like he used to. I want him to love me like he did at the beach house five summers ago. Maybe I've lost that. Without my consent, tears start flowing down my cheeks and I can't stop them. When he tries to wrap me in his arms to comfort me, I push him away and back myself in the corner of the kitchen counter. I hear him say my name, but I don't answer.

"You pushed me away Ben. I made a move on you and you pushed me away like I was some drunk girl hitting on you after a game." Tears are still streaming down my face and he has a shocked expression on his. His eyes are wide, and his mouth forms a perfect "o." I wait for him to answer. Anything would be better than this silent, really, but he stays quiet. "You know what? Never mind," I say, my voice back to its normal tone. I leave the room without him making any move to stop me. So much for getting off tonight.