I moved to the far side of the bed to place my glass on the nightstand, a habitual act allowing me to sneak glances at the clock without suspicion.
Soon, it became part of our cozy routine.
He closed the door, and we stripped down to our underwear, smiling as we climbed onto the king-sized bed and met in the middle.
We embraced, the warmth of our connection contrasting perfectly with the room’s chill.
However, his passion was insatiable, and our tender moments swiftly turned into desires.
“I need to taste you,” he insisted.
He noticed the tension in my neck and adjusted my pillow before settling between my legs.
Knowing what he wanted, he was generous, and we were perfectly in sync, keenly attuned to each other’s cues.
His tongue and fingers delved into me with precision, making me feel completely vulnerable.
I giggled as he repeated his favorite lines, which had never lost their sincerity over the years.
Just as I was ready to push him off for a moment’s break, it was my turn to taste.
His eyes locked onto mine, dark with expectation. I let the moment stretch, savoring the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers curled against the sheets. Then, finally, I indulged him, slowly, deliberately, with the same devotion he had given me.
A satisfied sigh escaped his lips, followed by a lazy smile. “You always know how to keep me on edge,” he murmured, voice thick with warmth.
I grinned, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “And you always know how to make it worth the wait.”
As the night stretched on, we fell into an easy rhythm of shared whispers and soft laughter, wrapped in the comfort of years spent loving each other.
