“You know, babe, we didn’t fuck in the dressing room on Tuesday because it just didn’t feel right,” my husband said last night in bed. It was late, maybe close to 11pm and he was laying on his chest while I rubbed his back. Lovingly I scratched his skin with my long nails and listened as he sighed relief with each passing. I adore him.
“What didn’t feel right about it? It was a sexy night and we had alone time…” I asked truly curious. “We haven’t had the opportunity yet to make love in a legit dressing room!”
“Yeah, but we will,” he murmured. I could tell he was relaxed and happy. “I felt a deep more intimate connection with you at the awards show. Our love is more than just fucking, Stella. You were drop dead gorgeous, but I was enjoying just loving you.”
My heart melted. “I loved it when you held my hand. You were incredible.” I bent down and kissed the back of his neck taking in the delicate scent of sweat. He was too tired to bath, which is abnormal for him. This week has been hard for sure. Late nights, martial art fights, and lots of work, work, work to make our budget right.
Yesterday I wrote him a card telling him how much I appreciate him. He was touched by it, surprised even, perhaps I spotted a tear in his eye. My card now has permanent placement in his man cave between to my boudoir photos and his dad’s guns. How did I get so lucky?
“You really are the One,” I said sweetly and truthfully. “My one and only. This is it. What a great feeling.”
I finished rubbing his back and turned over. Like a magnetic, he automatically shifted his body to wrap itself around mine in our unique puzzle piece position. He was warm and strong and felt like the best part of me. For a moment it felt like we really were one. Our legs intertwined and his arms engulfing me gave way to his dick awakening long enough to sniff out the scene.
In my ear, my husband began to breath like a dog smelling a potential place to pee. It was cute and endearing, really. And he said his tired body was coming to life as usual when he was close to me.
“I’d love to make love, my king, but you need your sleep. I know this means we miss a day. Perhaps it’s day 12 of 2019…” I whispered into the dark night. “Hell, I stopped counting at some point. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is this. This is perfection. This is everything.”
“I love you, my queen. I love you with all my heart,” he said once and then once again before tightening his grip on my breasts and dosing off into a good hard sleep.