I stand at the door next to him, watching as the storm grows stronger. “Stop that,” I sigh impatiently. “You know I can’t control the weather.” “Yeah. But you can control how far down my waist your hand reaches.” “But baby, it’s been three month-” Regret twists his face as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Yeah, it’s been three months since you fucked me. But you got your jollies off two weeks ago with my hairdresser. Did you forget about that? I didn’t! My edges sure as hell haven’t! Now I got to find a new stylist, and you lucky I’m not finding a new you!” I scold. Where did he get off? All that we’ve been through these past few months, and he goes and fucks my hairdresser. Of all the fucking people, he fucks the one person that could lay my hair down. It’s my fault though. Always in the salon bragging about how my man can do this, and how he lay it like this, and how no matter how bad he tear it up, my hair continues to be flawless. All those thirsty trifling heifers in there; I should’ve known someone was plotting. Truth is, I did miss his touch. He’s the only guy I ever made love to. Sex with him was always intimate, sensual, and orgasmic. We’ve been trying to have a baby, at least we were, up until about a month ago. At first we were overjoyed: we’ve been together 10 years, married 2, and figured it was time to start a family. After months of trying, we went to the doctor to check our fertility. His boys were swimming, but my uterus was tilted, making it hard for them to reach my eggs. The doctors suggested a surgery, and since then, things haven’t been right. With my body, or between us. We attempted to try past the recommended time after the surgery, but it still hurt. A couple weeks ago I found out that my hairdresser’s been throwing her box at my husband for months now and he usually refused, but since sex had been so complicated with the surgery and everything, he finally broke. That same night he came to me begging for forgiveness, saying he “regretted it” and “felt dirty.” I’ve hardly even been able to look at him, let alone sleep with him. I love Joe and don’t believe in divorce so I’m willing to work through the infidelity, but to think that he’s been with someone besides me truly hurts. I remove his hand from my waist and walk into the kitchen. He shouts my name as he follows me. “Don’t you fucking walk away from me. I know I fucked up. I know I haven’t given you enough time to cope but I miss you! That’s all. It was me missing you and trying to fill a void. I thought about you the whole time and couldn’t even cum. I felt so wrong baby, and I know I said this to you before but I need you to hear me.”
He kneels down, begging once again. He wraps his hands around my legs, holding me in place so I can’t walk away from him again. He sobs into my belly, kissing me, telling me how sorry he is. One of those kisses hits a spot and sends a slight tingle through me. Always receptive, he feeds off my body’s reaction and continues to kiss on my stomach, placing them lower and lower each time, trying to apologize the best way he knows how. The sexual frustration I feel inside takes over and I lean back agains the counter, legs relaxed. His loving pecks turn into a long sensual French kiss upon my lower lips. His lips intermingle with mine, swapping my juices for his saliva and vice versa. Though my knees collapsed, and all my weight is now on his chin, he still manages to maneuver his tongue beneath me. I bring him to his feet and kiss him. I missed his lips against mine, the way he tangles his hand up in my curls, breathing me into him. He scoops me up by my waist, down onto the floor and out of my sweatpants.”I’ve missed you so much” he says as he lifts my shirt over my head and licks my hardening nipples. His mouth reaches back up to mine and kisses me tenderly as he pushes himself into me.
I let out an awkward moan as thunder cracks in the background. The pleasure was momentarily interrupted by a slight pain; even now, I was still healing from the surgery.
“You okay baby?” He looks down at me eyes full of concern. I kiss him for reassurance.“I’m okay, keep going. I’ve missed you too.”
He pulls in and out of me slow, keeping time with the rain. The way he lays on top of me has his body slightly grazing my clit with each stroke, adding to the already immense pleasure I feel from my husband being right where he belongs.
I have three orgasms. In the hazy clarity that follows sex, I know I’m not ready to fully forgive him yet.
….but this was a good start…