Reading Gone Wild

Another exhausting day. The schedule of the kids' activities has been overwhelming for a few weeks, and it is taking a toll on my wife and me. We usually get along perfectly but today we each snapped at the other about some stupid thing. After we get the kids in bed, she goes back to the bedroom for her night-time routine, and I sit back on the couch, reflecting on the day.

Can you miss someone after spending the entire day with them? That is how I feel. We have been so tired in the evenings, we just zone out on our phones before heading to bed. Romance and intimacy have been on pause.

Even if we were in the mood, the kids are staying up later, and their rooms are right next to ours, which means we must wait longer for them to be asleep before any sexy activities. These days that is too late. Despite my efforts to stay cheery, it does affect me when we go so long between, and probably contributed to my short fuse today.

Already it is getting late, but I still want to spend time with her, if we can manage to stay up a little bit longer. A moment with her makes everything better.

I take out my phone and text her.

Me:

I'm sorry I was in a bad mood today. I miss you.

I wonder if she will be confused by my words, but I sense she feels the same.

A minute later she responds.

Her:

Me too. I miss you too. Too much stuff going on!

Me:

Yeah, it's good for them but not so much for us.

Her:

Agree :(

I lay my head back, stare at the ceiling and take a deep breath. I want to take a small step in the right direction, even if we are both fatigued. I text again.

Me:

I'm thinking of reading out here for a while. I'd love for you to sit with me.

It's odd that I feel nervous, asking my wife of many years to sit on the couch with me. But somehow it feels like a bold move. I guess it is hard to change momentum.

Her:

That sounds lovely. I'll be there soon.

Picture Ryan Gosling in the Barbie movie yelling "Sublime!" That is me, but quieter.

Me:

Do you want some wine?

Her:

Yes please :)

I get up and pour a couple glasses of wine (fuller than usual, so we don't have to get up for seconds) and grab my reader. At our loveseat, I set my reader and glass on my end table, and her glass on her end table, and turn on her lamp. We each have established sides after many reading sessions. I settle in on my side, the left side, with wine in my left hand, and reader in my right. I'm still dressed from the day, with khakis and a long-sleeve Henley. She likes the feel of the waffle-knit shirt, so I'm happy to keep them on instead of pajamas.

She walks in wearing gray sweats (God I love those sweats, they fit her ass perfectly), a camisole (and likely a loose comfy bra underneath), and a flannel, half buttoned. The makeup is off, the hair is down, and the contacts have been replaced with glasses. I'm sure she would disagree, but she looks equally beautiful to me now, compared to her best date night look. She is carrying a thick book that I recognize as one of her slow burn romances, which she particularly likes.

She smiles at me as she approaches and turns to sit. Her ass looks amazing. I briefly consider, as I do every time, laying my hand palm-up on the seat for a flirty ass grab when she sits on it, but it feels out of place. Too forward after several days of no flirting. How can I be nervous to flirt with my own wife? This feels like a first date after the hellish weeks we have had.

"Thanks for the invite, and the wine," she says.

"My pleasure. Thanks for coming," I respond.

She sits facing forward, with the wine in her right hand, and holds the book open in her lap with her left. We start reading. While we are sitting together on the same loveseat, I don't feel particularly close to her. I was hoping she would move in for cuddles. I consider making a move to pull her in, but reading is one of her wind down activities, and given the drought in our bedroom, she may take it as me pushing for sex. Tonight, I just want to reconnect. So we sit together, facing forward, and sip wine and read.

I finish a chapter and look over at her. She is more than halfway through the book and fully engrossed. She has pulled her knees up, and her book and wine are somehow both fitting between her legs and chest. My eyes linger on her sweatpants, tight against the curve of her butt and thigh. I leave my reader on my thigh and set my now-empty right hand on the cushion, between us. Hopefully she will notice my bold advance.

A few pages later, she finishes her wine and sets the glass on the table. Then she moves that hand to her book, and drops her left hand onto mine, all without looking up. She gives my hand three squeezes, which makes me smile. I give her three back and make small circles on her knuckles with my thumb, and we direct our attention back to our books.

After another chapter I finish my wine. I put the glass away and scoot a little closer to her. I lift her hand to my lips and give it a gentle long kiss. After I set it back down, she releases me, which makes me sadder than it should. But then she starts to scoot towards me. Instinctively I raise my right arm to give her room. She turns and presses against me, so her back is against my side and her head against my shoulder, facing away from me.

I really want to hold her tight with my arm, but I leave it on the back of the couch and let her make that decision. Once she is settled, she grabs my hand and brings it to her left shoulder, so my arm is across her chest. I'm taller than her and we fit together perfectly this way. She rubs my forearm, and I flex so she feels my muscle under the fabric. I hear her let out a contented sigh, then open her book against her knees again and continue reading.

I read one more chapter and consider calling it a night. I leave my reader on my leg and just sit, enjoying the cuddles, the feel of her body growing and shrinking with each breath, the warmth against me. It feels like home. We haven't exchanged a word since we sat down, but I feel closer to her than I have in many days.

I lean my head back to look around her hair and see what she is reading. She has made lots of progress and looks to be more than three quarters through the book. It occurs to me that she might be getting to the steamy part of the book soon. I have taken a few peeks at her romance novels before, ones by this author, out of curiosity and a bit of horniness. They generally heat up around this spot and get very hot. I skim the page she is on and see no erotica buzzwords yet.

Often she reads erotica on her phone while I go down on her, or even during sex if she is wanting to come. It helps her get there. I don't mind at all, I think it's kinda hot, like she is using me for physical pleasure while she gets out of her own head, thinking about something else. I tell her often that I'm happy to please her when she is reading these novels too, but that hasn't happened yet.

But now the idea is in my head and won't go away. My brain says:

Just go to bed, leave her alone, if you push for something sexy tonight it will backfire, she's not in the mood.

But my cock says:

Stay here, wait for the book to heat up and then make a move.

I figure I'll stay out a little longer and try my luck, if she seems open to it.

I peek again at her book and see some promising signs that the slow burn is about to ignite. The characters are saying how much they love each other, yada yada, and starting to kiss. I decide to test the waters, and ever so slowly trace my finger back and forth along her shoulder, over the shirt. In doing so, my forearm has lifted off her chest, and I can see the top of her cleavage over her shoulder. An advantage of being tall. My cock stirs.

There is no reaction to my movement, good or bad. I give her shirt a little push and it falls off her shoulder, since it was only half buttoned. I drag my fingernails along her skin, following the bra and camisole straps forward and back. My movements are slow, and every time I follow the straps forward I go a little further, closer to her breasts. I stop progressing when I hit the top of her camisole, and just run my fingers up and down her décolletage.

At this point it should be obvious I am making a move, and I feel weird that she hasn't responded. For all I know she is getting pissed that I am messing up her reading time. Wouldn't be the first time. So as much as I want to be mysterious and cool, I figure it is best to just ask.

"Is this okay?" I whisper to her.

"Yes, I like it." she whispers back, and the next time my finger reaches the top of her breast, she gives me a soft moan.

I look at her book. The sex scene is ramping up now. I decide that tonight is the night to make my fantasy come true and try to get her off with the characters. Her moan is my green light.

My fingers trail down to her breast, and I cup it. I consider pulling down her shirt to expose her to me, but that would be for my benefit, not hers. She gets much less pleasure from me playing with her breasts than I do. I squeeze her through the camisole and thin bra, enjoying myself for just a moment before I continue down. No surprise, this elicits no moans from her, but I can't help but moan once on my final squeeze.

I move my hand down the buttons of her shirt, slowly opening them as I go. In the middle of that I must pull my arm out from between hers and replace it by going underneath, so she can read unobstructed. Once I am done, I toss the fabric to the side and place my hand on her tummy under her breasts. On the page, I see the characters are undressing and groping as well. I can see her bite her lip, her eyes glued to the page.

I lift my palm and meander my fingertips along her tummy, over the camisole. The journey south seems to take forever, my hand is moving so slowly. Her breathing picks up as I approach her waistband. The sweats are tied up with a drawstring.

Here it is, the moment of truth. Will she let me in and ramp this up? Or does she just want what we have done so far? Again, I want to hear her say she wants this.

"May I?" I whisper directly into her ear.

She pauses and looks at the doorway to the room. It is unlikely, but never impossible, that a kid will wake up and come walking in. As a rule, we only have sex in our bedroom with the door locked, unless home alone. She looks around the room, thinking.

She wordlessly grabs one of the strings and pulls it slowly. Of all the things we have done so far, watching the knot slowly unravel and fall open is the most erotic, and my cock grows to full size. Her hand and eyes return to her book, which she is holding with both hands right in front of her face. The man in the book has started going down on the woman.

I slide my hand over her sweats until it hits her thighs, which are closed. I poke my fingertips between them and push her left leg to the side, and she lets her bent leg fall to the seat. I push her other leg over until her knee hits the back of the loveseat. This shows me that she is open to whatever I want to do.

My hand settles on her vulva. My index and middle fingers find the dip of her entrance through the sweats, and glide up and down over the fabric, pushing against her slightly. I then find the bump of her clit and circle it softly with the same fingers. At this, her hips rock against my fingers, and she tries to open her legs even further, her knees digging into the cushions.

After a bit of that teasing, I slide my hand back up to her waistband and poke underneath it, but over her panties. The sweats are loose and stretchy enough to accommodate my hand and wrist. Again, I feel for her entrance thought the thin cloth, which is wet and sticky. I love when she is already wet at first touch. I run my index and ring fingers along the seams of her panties, while my middle finger drags along the damp strip. I apply more pressure with my finger, as if it wants to get inside but is stopped by the cloth.

Her eyes close for a few seconds, as she gets too distracted to read. But she reopens them and focuses on the story again. The woman now is using her mouth on the man.

I am aching to feel her skin. I lift my hand again and work my fingers under the top of her panties. My fingers slowly walk towards her clit, across her neatly trimmed hairs. With my middle finger I start to rub her clit, and the reaction to direct contact is obvious. She closes her eyes and pushes back into me, and her hips rock again. Her breath becomes loud and irregular. I stop for a moment to drag my finger up her slit to coat it in her juices. Then I rub again, now sliding across her clit with ease. I keep it slow so she can focus on her book.

I read along with her while I rub her clit. When I fantasize about this, I penetrate her at the same time that the characters start fucking in the story. And so I read, teasing her, and look for where the characters start to fuck. My cock strains against my pants as I read the hot story, and I stroke it through my pants with my free hand.

On the next page, the man lays his woman down on the bed and prepares to enter her. My middle finger wanders down to my wife's cunt and barely penetrates her. She closes her eyes for a second and bites her lip again, probably aware by now that I am reading along, and of what I am planning.

A paragraph later he thrusts into her, and I drive my middle finger into my wife's cunt all at once. It is incredibly tight, hot, and wet. As soon as I am inside her, I make wide sweeping circles against her walls, reaching in as far as I can. She almost drops the book from the sudden sensation, rolling her head back and clutching my arm.

"Oh fuck..." she moans as I relentlessly explore her cunt.

She snaps out of it and gets right back to her sex scene. I slow down to a steady rhythm inside her as we both read again. Her panties are soaked from the juice displaced by my finger. We read together as they fuck, with my finger constantly moving deep inside her, my cock still rock hard in my pants.

As the characters approach climax, I slide a second finger into her tight cunt and curl them up into her. I straighten them and curl them again hard against her, slamming her walls, over and over. She breathes heavily, sighing and moaning. I want to make her come now, but I can't please her cunt and clit at the same time with one hand, which is the key to making her come. I continue pummeling her hard, content with giving her this much pleasure.

After both characters have finished, she drops the book to the floor, hugs my arm with both of her hands, and leans into me, her head on my shoulder. She humps my hand as I continue finger fucking her, murmuring "Oh, fuck..." every few seconds between moans.

"Cum for me, baby," I can't help but say, even though I know it's unlikely that she will without her vibrator.

To my surprise, she pushes her right hand underneath mine and works her slippery clit vigorously. Soon after she comes hard, bucking against my hand and body. Her fingers move in a flurry, her body jerking involuntarily, moaning and whimpering, until finally she comes back down from her orgasm. She removes her hand from her clit, panting like she just finished a workout. I slide my hand from her cunt, which is covered in its juices, and awkwardly try to wipe it dry on the inside of her pants.

We cuddle as she catches her breath. I pull her long hair over one shoulder so I can kiss the side of her neck.

"I love you," I tell her.

She shivers from an orgasm aftershock.

"I love yoouuu," she responds, drawing out the last word sleepily. "Thank you."

"Believe me, it was my pleasure."

My cock is softening in my pants. As I focused on getting her to come, I stopped stroking. Even though I didn't finish, hers was so intense I feel like I'm coming down from an orgasm myself.

"God I've missed you," she tells me. "You are so good at that."

"I've missed you too baby. Thanks for reading with me."

She reaches her left hand behind her and finds my cock at half-mast. She lazily strokes over it.

"What about him?" she asks. I can see her eyes are closed and she is close to falling asleep.

"Next time baby. You can owe me. Why don't you get in bed? I'll shut things down out here."

She stands up and starts to walk away, then stops and laughs as she fixes her panties and sweats, apparently askew from our playtime. Then she walks back to me and kisses me on the forehead.

"Thanks again," she whispers, before heading to bed.