This is a day in the life of a happily married couple, deeply in love. No drama, no hidden meanings, no worries--just the natural rhythm of their connection, intimate and sensual.
"John, I'm home," Jane's voice rings out, and the house is no longer quiet. The thud of her gym bag dropped on the floor follows a moment later. It's Saturday morning, and he likes to linger in bed as late as he can, but she, in true morning person fashion, is already back from her impossibly early gym trip. Her energy pulls him from his lazy sleepiness, leaving him no choice but to get up. He stretches with a sigh and reluctantly tosses the sheets aside, bare skin meeting the cool air they kept away. More reluctance follows, but he eventually pulls on his pajama pants, wills himself upright, and strolls out of the bedroom to meet her.
She's wearing those tight leggings that leave little to his imagination--and John knows exactly what's underneath them after all, yet somehow this makes her seem even more appealing. She's shed the loose t-shirt she wears at the gym, her black sports bra revealing the definition in her lean muscles, still flexing with the lingering pump of her weightlifting session.
He closes in to embrace her. His skin, chilled by the morning air, presses into the sweaty heat of her post-workout body, absorbing her warmth. She carries the faint scent of the fall day outside, but this is not what holds his attention.
"Good morning, Jane."
He kisses her, his hands sliding down her back to her hips--a motion he's repeated so many times it feels as natural as breathing now. The slick texture of her leggings invites his hands to explore more, and he does, her muscles tensing under his touch. She is sweet and salty, and she kisses him back.
"You missed me," Jane says--not a question but a matter-of-fact statement.
"You're irresistible like this," he replies, and it is his truth.
John's fingers find their way inside her leggings, past the damp fabric of her underwear and into the hot, sticky touch of her skin. His hands slide lower, parting her ass cheeks in a playful, intimate invasion. His erection strains through his pajama pants, pressing into her warmth.
As he's about to sink deeper into the moment, she bites his lower lip, breaking the kiss. His touch lingers on her body, but she pulls away.
"Not now, John. I need a shower first."
Her smile is bright and promising, and her eyes flick down to the bulge in his pajama pants.
"Don't go anywhere with that," she teases in a sultry voice but walks away at the same time.
John follows her into the bedroom, but the bathroom door closes before he can reach her. Now he has nothing else to do but go back to bed and wait. The sheets welcome his return--soft, comfortable, still holding the lazy Saturday spirit of his late sleep. He picks up his e-reader from the side table, but the words are blurred and unfocused. Her body lingers in his mind, the memory of her touch etched on his palms. He lifts his hands up to his face, her lingering scent still there, and pheromones rush back the sensations of her touch with a throbbing surge of blood.
He puts the e-reader aside--there's no reading happening now. His hand drifts past the waistband of his pajama pants, his arousal impossible to ignore. He strokes himself slowly, reliving her kiss, his lower lip tingling with the memory of her bite. With eyes closed, he imagines the water running over her naked body and smiles, with only a faint tinge of regret at the thought of soapy bubbles washing away her salty sweetness.
"Oh, you are a bad, bad boy," Jane whispers into his ear. "Were you thinking of me, John?"
He looks up, surprised but unashamed.
"I thought you were taking a shower," he says, his voice low and husky, touched by arousal.
"I changed my mind, John."
