Caution: Hot and juicy adult language erotica below (don’t burn yourself)!
He fit himself around her as she stood over the sink full of dishes.
“I’m tired.” She tensed, anticipating his disappointment.
His hands slipped into the water beside hers. He was warm, comforting. She allowed his hands to take hers, a soft caress that eased her nerves. His forearms, muscled and covered in tattoos, always made her smile.
“I know.” He replied. “I can tell…you’ve had a difficult day. Do you want me to finish these?” He kissed her neck, and lingered there a moment, drinking her in.
“No. I’ve got this. But stay with me; tell me something about your day.”
He sat at the kitchen table and shared the highlights of his work day, then told her a joke that he had heard, and watched fascinated as she laughed so hard that it made her cry. He loved seeing her free of her worries. When she was done, they moved to the sofa where he read to her from a book he was into until her eyes closed, and she lay surrendered to sleep.
When he woke her, it was to bring her to bed.
She watched with heavy lidded eyes as he removed his clothes and set the alarm. She appreciated how he took care of himself, his body hard from years of sport and work. Another night, she would have slipped to her knees with the least of an invitation, but this day she had nothing to give.
He slid into bed and she instinctively turned over so that he could wrap his body around hers. It was their usual habit. First, he spooned her then she spooned him. They never varied from this ritual. It was comforting; it was their thing. His erection pressed into her back. If he had insisted she would have given in. But his hands stayed firmly around her waist, tucked under her side.
She woke up once; he was touching her back softly.
When she murmured a sleepy ‘thank you’, he whispered back that he fucking loved her and that she was his oxygen. It would have been so easy to take her then, she was warm, and pliant in this dreamy state. She liked being taken in her sleep. If he had rolled her onto her belly and let his lips travel down her back to that bottom that he was so addicted to, she’d show little resistance.
But he turned around so she could spoon him. And she felt safe.
He’d given her that.
Her dreams took the same curve that they did every night. A nightmare from childhood that woke him as she whimpered in her sleep and through which he scooped her on top of himself to hold her tight. A party in California where she knew no-one but where everyone knew her; and finally, her memory of their meeting where he had bumped into her as she rounded an aisle in the grocery store, and fixed her with a stare so bold that it made her blush and soak her panties. She woke up with that familiar ache in her sex.
He was already awake, watching her.
“Good morning.” He grinned at her. “Feeling okay?”
He knew her well—she was ready most mornings.
She hid under the covers. “Yes.” She gave the muffled answer.
He got out of bed. She stared at his ass, and wished he would get back in. But she knew that he wouldn’t. He was giving her time to anticipate his touch. He was good at this game.
She brought his coffee to the bathroom and stood watching as he lathered himself in the shower, his hand sliding gracefully over that erection that seemed to never leave him. He looked at her, eyebrow raised; it was his invitation to watch till the end or leave.
She stayed. He was doing this as much for her as for himself.
He was unreachable through the day. She imagined him as he worked, at the construction site where he welded. She hated that his job was so hard, but was proud that he was so good at it. He would be dirty when he got home; she would run his bath, and bring him his drink.
He called as she was leaving work.
“Hi. I’m home already.”
“You are? How come?”
“I’ve made reservations for dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”
She laughed. “Mind that you’re taking me to dinner or that you’re blatantly trying to seduce me?”
“I’m going to do a hell of a lot more to you than seduce you.” He growled out at her, and hung up.
She shook where she stood and felt that rush of energy that began at her crown and ended at her toes, making a few stops in between. Her nerves were in a jumble as her mind raced through the dirty things he said when he stripped her and how he loved to make her beg.
He gave her thirty minutes to get ready. He had laid out her dress and shoes. He held the car door open for her and kissed her hard before he shut it after her. By now she was sure that she wouldn’t be able to eat.
His lust was palpable, and he wore his suit to perfection.
“You look beautiful.” He said as his lips grazed her ear. Taking her hand, he led her to the table and ordered.
“Are you going to make all the decisions tonight?” She asked, pretending to be slightly put off.
“No.” He replied, with a wicked glint in his eye. “You can decide what you want inside you first; my tongue, my fingers or my cock.”
And he laughed as she gripped the edge of the table.
He’d be damned if he took something from her that she wasn’t ready to give. He treasured her, and she was worth waiting for.