Free My Secrets Discovered by Layla Wilcox Page A

Everest. Certainly not by the standards I was reading about in my new favorite literary genre—erotica. I know it’s fiction, and probably exaggerated, but my real-life experiences don’t hold a candle to the heat that burns in those stories.  
    My husband, Mark, was my first and my only. He popped my cherry during my freshman year of college, and we got married when I became pregnant two years later. I’ve never even had oral sex with anyone else. Mark was my first boyfriend, and then I married him. There was never time nor opportunity for me to meet or be with anyone else.
    Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband, but Mark is not a creative guy. He’s an accountant, and he likes things neat and orderly. If he ever wanted to switch careers, he could easily start a business as an organizer. He hangs his clothes methodically in the closet, light colors in front and dark in the back. His drawers could pass military inspection.  
    He is fastidious about his personal appearance as well. He works out three mornings a week at a gym, so he maintains a muscular, trim build. He still has all his dark, straight hair, although flecks of gray have begun to show at the temples and in his mustache. He is good-looking, if not handsome, with a straight nose, strong chin, and gray-blue eyes framed in thick, black lashes.
    A creature of habit, Mark devises routines and systems for everything he does, from his professional work to how he maintains the outside of the house and our cars. He loves schedules and spreadsheets.  
    Our sex life is pretty much the same—planned and predictable. On Saturday nights, we shower and go out for dinner. We have a drink before leaving home to save money and order a bottle of wine at the restaurant. We come home, change into night clothes, get into bed, and kiss briefly. After he wets his finger with his tongue, he rubs my clit for a couple of minutes, and then sticks his finger in and out of me until I’m wet. Once he feels my juice, he gets on top of me and pushes it in.
    It’s over in about three minutes.  
    My nightgown never hits the floor. It’s just raised up a bit to accommodate the act. When we were younger, there had been lots more kissing and touching, but it’s been years since our weekly sex has been more than a perfunctory act.  
    I wanted—no, I needed—some excitement in my life. And that’s how I came to be naked in our bed and about to be naughty all by myself.  
    I slid down and rested my head on the plump, feathery pillows. The cool sheets against my bare skin felt smooth and sexy, and my nipples hardened as the silky fabric slipped across my chest. I began to massage my breasts, beginning at the widest part of the base and moving in to the centers. Throwing the top sheet off me, I watched my nipples perk up and felt arousal building in my belly. I rubbed and pinched those pink nubs until they stood up hard and straight. My hips lifted off the bed in response to the yearning I felt between my legs.  
    I licked the fingers of one hand and traced them down my neck, between my breasts, continuing lightly over my skin until I reached the tiny pink knob peeking out through my trimmed pubic hair. As I circled over and over that sweet spot, my hips began rocking in a rhythmic motion.
    I spread my bent knees as far as I could and plunged my fingers down into my aching opening. I was so wide open, even three fingers couldn’t fill me. Now it was time to test my new toy. I took my free hand off my breast and felt around beside me until I felt the cold plastic. I cupped it in my hand, wrapping my fingers around the girth, and moved them up and down its length. When it was warmed, I flicked the power lever to the first setting and heard its low, buzzing hum.
    I spread my wetness over my folds with my fingers and circled my clit, groaning with pleasure as my internal contractions increased. I touched the vibrating head to my widened opening and gently pushed it in an inch or two. I