Greeting the Day with It

My husband has got to be one of the sexiest men in the world. I think his masculinity is what does it. He’s rough and tumble with a hint of class. He’s always on a mission, making calls, building things, directing logistics, and buying materials. That’s what I saw out of the window Saturday morning.

I was sipping coffee and enjoying the fact that I’d slept in. My body was refreshed and soft like I’d been kissed by the youth fairies and could take my time starting the day. My husband was already in his weekend work attire of blue jeans, work boots, and a blue Hawaii t-shirt. I heard him through the glass tell his son something like, “When I move the truck, you need to watch this latch to make sure it doesn’t slip” and “I’ll meet you at the work site in 10.”

Spreading My Pussy Lips

He’s been telling me for days now how incredibly beautiful I am. I walk in the room and his eyes fall to me in what seems like goddess worship. He throws his hands around my waist and kisses my lips with such passion I’m left wondering if it’s the spray tan or my new hair color or a lighter breeze in the air. I love him too and find him irresistibly handsome, but I don’t say it every time I see him.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining at all about this. It’s a great feeling to be wanted, needed, desired so badly you can’t get out of bed in the morning without prying your naked body away from his desperate grip. Once I’m free, I look back to see that awful look on his face, like I took candy from a baby, like he’s going to wither up and die if I don’t get my fine ass back under the covers with him.