I really had no idea that sex with someone could be so goddamned good. My husband is not a romantic man. Most of the time he's goofy and a little slow on the uptake despite his intelligence. He's the kind of man who lives in his own world, completely oblivious to other women checking him out. That is fine by me. The only woman he does notice is me. He's not a man of words, but gestures. I know his love through his touch; his need for contact with my body and the way he kisses me.
I watch him undress; unceremoniously shedding his clothes after a long day preparing for bed. He gets this shit-eating grin when he knows he's about to get laid. He leaves me and heads for the bathroom for a quick freshening up as he ties his bathrobe closed.
When he comes back to the bedroom I'm waiting. My eyes following his every move like he's a piece of steak. The candle on the bedside table flickers and the warm glow makes him look even more enticing. He hangs his robe and stands next to the bed. Our eyes lock and the intensity of our stare negates any need of foreplay.
Desire.
It brews swiftly and percolates. Hungry lips find one another and begin wrestling, each fighting to prove our need for the other. In a matter of seconds his fingers find me. He knows my body. It's his favorite instrument and I'm finely tuned to his ear.
The need to touch and explore is not singular. I love to feel his hardness, his thickness and the heat emanating from him. I use his own wetness to allow my fingers to glide over him and wrap my fingers around his hardness. I crave hearing those moans bubble from his throat. He more he enjoys it the harder his fingers work in and out of me. Our kiss is broken when he moves out of my reach and the abruptness of his departure confuses my already foggy mind until I see him reach for my favorite lube.
He settles between my legs as I breathe in the scent of the candle. This time we have, just him and I is more precious than I can put into words. The familiar and awful squirt of the lube makes me chuckle followed by his knowing touch relaxes me. I completely surrender to him.
He begins deliberately, deliciously slow. I can feel myself stretch to accommodate his slick hand. We haven't done this in a long time and I'm not used to it. My body is an open book to him. He reads it, memorizing the line and contours. This is a road he's traveled many times and it's his favorite drive. He knows when the pain becomes too much and steadily backs off. He gives me time to recover. He listens to my breathing, my moans. He is never deterred by a shout of pain. His continuous persistence is mind blowing.
