“Get these off,” she whispers, her voice strained. “I can’t . . . I can’t stand the clothes anymore.” Clothes we wear when Paige is home, just in case.
We move in clumsy movements, shedding our pajamas. I help her slide the shorts down her legs, my hands lingering on the backs of her thighs, feeling the heat radiating from her. When I finally kick my boxers off, the sensation of skin-on-skin is like an electric shock. I slide back over her, the friction of our chests pressing together sending a jolt of pure heat through my core.
She wraps her legs around my waist, locking me in, pulling my hardness firmly against her soaking wet heat. I groan, the sound guttural and raw, burying my face in the crook of her neck. The days of rushing are long past us. Now, we savor. Every moment as if our last.
Our bodies move in a synchronized, rhythmic sway, a slow grind that maximizes every point of contact. I can feel her clenching around me even through the last barrier, her hips tilting up to meet every press of my pelvis. The intimacy is overwhelming—not just the physical friction, but the weight of everything we are to each other.
I shift, propping myself up on one elbow to look at her. Her eyes are hooded, her lips swollen from my kisses, her cheeks flushed a deep, beautiful rose. She looks completely undone, stripped bare in every sense of the word.
“I love you,” I murmur, the words thick with desire.
“Show me,” she breathes, her hands sliding down to grip my ass, pulling me flush against her, demanding the release that’s currently screaming through my blood.
I don't need to be told twice. I shift my weight, guiding my cock to the entrance of her heat. She’s drenched, her pussy slick and welcoming, and as I push forward, she lets out a long, shuddering moan that vibrates through my entire chest. I slide in slow, feeling every ridge and fold of her as I bury myself deep inside her. The fit is perfect, a tight, wet glove that makes my vision blur for a second. I stay there for a heartbeat, buried to the hilt, just breathing her in, feeling the way her internal muscles clamp around me in a desperate, rhythmic pulse.
I begin to move, pulling back until I’m almost out before driving back in with a hard, deliberate thrust. I want her to feel every inch of me. I match the pace of her breath, my movements steady and powerful, savoring the sound of our skin slapping together in the quiet of the room. Every time I bottom out, Josie lets out a high, needy sound, her hips tilting upward to meet me, trying to pull me even deeper.
“Right there . . . oh god, Liam, right there,” she gasps, her voice breaking.
The tenderness of the morning evaporates, replaced by a raw, urgent hunger. I pick up the pace, my thrusts becoming faster, harder, more frantic. Josie’s nails rake down the length of my back, leaving stinging red trails that only fuel my fire. She’s shaking beneath me, her legs locked tight around my waist, her heels digging into my glutes to anchor me. We are a blur of sweat and friction, our hearts pounding in a synchronized, thundering rhythm that drowns out everything else in the world.
I can feel her peaking, the walls of her pussy tightening into a series of violent, delicious spasms that threaten to break my control. I groan, a guttural sound of surrender, and deliver a few final, punishing thrusts, driving myself into her one last time. Ierupt inside her, a hot, pulsing release that leaves me breathless and trembling, my forehead resting against hers as we both collapse into the mattress.
For a long time, the only sound is the ragged symphony of our breathing. The adrenaline slowly drains away, leaving behind a heavy, golden warmth that settles deep in my bones.
After, she’s sprawled half across my chest, warm and boneless, drawing something with one finger over my heart that doesn’t mean anything except that she’s happy. I’ve got one hand in her hair, stroking the strands away from her damp forehead. The light’s come up gold at the edges of the curtains, signaling the start of a day that will eventually be filled with the chaos of our children, but for now, the world is only as large as this bed. I’m pushing fifty (ish), I’ve stood in front of more people than live in this whole country, and I have never once felt as rich as I do flat on my back in this bed with my wife using me for a pillow.
“What time is it really,” she says into my chest.
“Time for you to not move.”
“We have a house to clean, meat to marinate, and potatoes to peel.”
“In a bit.” I tighten the arm around her. “Stay here. Be useless with me a while longer.”
She huffs a laugh and stays. A gray Sunday, a warm woman, nowhere to be. I’d have torched every stage I ever stood on to be sure I’d end up right here, and for a long time I wasn’t sure at all. That part’s mine to carry. I carry it quietly, with my hand in her hair, and I don’t let it touch the morning.
Eventually she gets up, because one of us has to, and she steals my shirt off the floor on the way to the bathroom. Down the hall, I hear Paige’s music, her way of alerting us that she’s awake and whatever we’re doing in our bedroom, we should stop. I love our daughter, but I can’t wait for us to be emptynesters. Then, we can sleep naked, fuck wherever we want and not have to worry about people walking in.
Hell, I might even change the locks.
The idea of coffee is what gets me moving. I’ve got two mugs poured by the time she comes down in my shirt and a pair of leggings, glasses shoved up in her hair, and she takes hers and hitches herself up onto the counter instead of a stool.
I lean against the counter across from her and cross my ankles.
“You’re trying for round two with those damn sweats on,” she says, motioning toward my gray sweats.
“They were clean.”
“You have others.”
I eye her. She does my laundry and yet these were on top of all the others.
Josie laughs. “So, you finally caved. No who, no how.” She has a wicked glint in her eye and clearly enjoying herself. “No why.”
“What or where?” I tease. “Wait, isn’t there a fifth one?”
She looks at me over the rim of her mug. “When, but I know you were at the bar so clearly that’s the when and where. What I don’t know is who and why you decided to even think about someone when you told me no.”
