Page 77 of Dream with Me

I swallow past the nervous lump that is suddenly in my throat. Usually, Troy’s the vocal one in the bedroom. What the heck, I’ll try it. It’s a fresh start...

“I want your hands on me, everywhere. The parts you haven’t touched. I want your fingers in me, your mouth on me, your cock filling me.”

Troy’s eyes widen, and his breathing picks up.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking sexy,” he growls. “When we have our therapy appointment tomorrow, we’re telling Dr. Linden that it’s time. I’m dying to fuck my wife. I’m desperate to make love to my wife with my hands and my mouth and my cock.”

“Not to kill the mood, but you’re not going to say it to her like that, are you?” I release a giggle.

“No, chiclet, but I’ll get us the okay. We’re there emotionally, but I don’t want to mess anything up for us, so if she insists?—”

“I think we’re there emotionally, too.” I tilt my head up and kiss him on the lips. It turns into more than a simple peck as he pulls my lower lip into his teeth, and I open my mouth, inviting him in. I don’t know how long we lay like that, kissing and caressing but avoiding the parts we both really want to touch. “I know we can’t have sex, but she didn’t explicitly say we can’t touch each otherthere, did she?”

At this point, I’m practically lying on top of Troy, my back to his front, and I move my body to try to get his hand closer to my core.

He’s quiet for several seconds, and then his hand that’s on my inner thigh inches up toward my center. “No, I don’t think she did.”

He moves his hand over my pussy and hovers there, barely touching me. A question.

“Yes, please.”

He buries his face in my hair, kissing my head. His finger touches me, sliding through my wetness, finding my clit almost instantly. I nearly come off the couch with how good it is after the slow burn he’s delivered. I try to lay still, but I can’t help it. I writhe with pleasure on top of him as he works me.

At first, when he moves off my clit, I let out a grunt of dissatisfaction. But when he moves that finger down and slides it into me, I’m no longer frustrated. God, I miss the feeling of being filled with him. He must know this is what I need right now because he spends the next couple of minutes fucking me with two fingers, and then he slows down and caresses my G spot until I’m nearly levitating.

“That’s it. Are you gonna come for me? Are you gonna come hard on my hand?”

I can’t even answer him. I simply give him some semblance of a response in the form of a purring noise that comes from my mouth. He manages to free his other hand enough that he can reach me, and while he pumps in and out of me with two fingers of one hand, he uses the pad of his thumb on the other to rub my clit. It only takes seconds, and my body is rupturing with exquisite sensations. Pleasure consumes me. He’s barely moving the finger on my clit as I ride out my orgasm. He keeps his fingers in me, waiting because this is how well this man knows my body. He knows that after I come so hard like that, I need to stay filled with part of him. So, he waits while I come down.

When I finally settle, I look up at him, my eyes getting heavy. Intense relaxation comes over me after the rocking orgasm, making me sleepy.

“Can I reciprocate?”

Right now, even drowsy, I want nothing more than to take his hard cock in my mouth.

“Not tonight. If you touch my cock, there’s no way I’ll be able to keep myself from dragging you up to that bedroom and fucking you all night.”

His words. God, his words always do it to me. I’m not happy about the lack of ability to please him. But I get it.

“Ugh.” That’s all I can manage to get out.

I reposition myself, turn so we’re facing each other, and lean down to kiss him. I love kissing this man. I always have. We get lost in each other. When we break the kiss, I lay my head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around me.

I don’t want him to go. I knowhedoesn’t want to go. But we want to bring him home right. Right for our marriage and for our kids.

After several minutes, lying on the couch, embracing, Troy whispers, “I should probably head home.”

“This is your home.” My response is almost immediate.

“You know what I mean, babe.”

“Yeah, but we?—”

“Mom? Dad? What are you doing?”

Oliver’s voice startles us, and we jump, scrambling to a seated position. We’re like two teenagers caught making out by their parents. Standing at the foot of the couch, Oliver holds Chelsea’s hand.

“Chelsea needed water, so she woke me up, and I’m getting her some.” My sweet boy. He’s just like his dad, always wanting to take care of everybody. “What’s happening? Are you back in love?” Even in the dim light, hope sparkles in his eyes.

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