Grady
This time is different.
There is no hesitation when she pulls me toward the bedroom. No distance, no veil, no hesitation. Rose undresses me with shaking hands, eager and hungry all at once, as if she’s memorizing me.
She looks her fill and then I do the same. I’ll never get tired of seeing my wife’s supple flesh free of all lace and cotton. Bouncy and flushed a healthy pink, her curves make my heart pound and my cock ache.
“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. If I had my choice of women, I would still pick you,” I whisper against her lips.
It’s the honest truth. No flattery here. In a garden of women, I would still pick my Rose. Thorns and all.
Her breath shudders as I kiss her scarred skin deliberately, tenderly, tracing every raised line.
She clings to me when I lay her down, her legs wrapping around my hips, her mouth seeking mine with a quiet desperation that wrecks me completely.
I take my time, sinking my cock as deep as our bodies will allow.
It takes every ounce of control I have not to come inside her immediately.
Everything about her sets my body on fire.
The way her nails dig into my shoulders when pleasure overwhelms her.
The way she says my name when I thrust into her.
She meets me stroke for stroke, both of us chasing the same overwhelming wave of pleasure.
When she shatters beneath me, I follow her over the edge, holding her tight, my face buried in her neck.
After, she rests against my chest, tracing idle patterns over my skin.
“I love you,” she says quietly.
I kiss her forehead, pleased beyond words that this woman has chosen me.
“In this life and beyond,” I say. “I’ll love you past my dying breath.”