Day 10
Have today’s conversation naked—no touching each other!
Today would’ve been a good one to sit on the back patio I’ve been hesitant for us to build. It’s surprisingly mild for early December, and the perfect night for a thick, fuzzy blanket, a mug of hot tea, and a space heater while the chill nips at your cheeks. Instead, we’re back on the couch.
“Day ten, huh? We’re getting good at this,” Daniel says. We’re more than a third of the way through the Amorous Advent challenge now. “Do you think it’s working?”
“I guess I do. What about you?”
“I spent the entire workday thinking about you straddling me in the car and wishing we could go back to day eight, so yeah, I’d say it’s working.
” He says this with a tilt of his head, a lock of salt and pepper hair falling over his forehead.
His smile prompts the smallest flip of my stomach.
It’s not a kaleidoscope of butterflies, but the fluttering of a few is enough to make my cheeks grow warm.
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely. Do you realize how hot you are, Molls? I’ve been itching to get home since the minute I left this morning.”
I want to believe him, but the truth is I haven’t felt hot in almost two years.
I turned thirty and got pregnant the same month, and since then, I’ve been a growing, crying, stretching, leaking, squishy mess.
Nothing about my current body screams sexy.
Especially when hidden under the threadbare t-shirt and drawstring shorts I was wearing the night before last.
“This?” he says, pulling on a piece of hair that’s fallen out of my messy bun, “drives me crazy. And these?” he rubs his hands over my thighs, stopping to grip at the thickest part, “taunt me every single time you squat to pick up a toy or bend to load the dishwasher. This game where we do the activity on the card and then stop? It’s killing me.
I love it. I love you for suggesting this. ”
His praise washes over me like honey, his sweet words dripping down and clinging to my skin. I will them to stay when I grab the Day Ten card from the deck and turn it over.
“Have today’s conversation naked (no touching each other!)” I read aloud. “Hmm. Okay.”
“Hell yes,” he says. He is bubbling with enthusiasm to see my naked body, the one I appraise in the mirror with nothing but criticism. Maybe his appreciation will rub off on me.
“If I’m not allowed to touch you, I can’t sit here,” Daniel says as he stands and walks to an adjacent armchair.
He strips off his shirt and then his pants, first letting his belt fall to the floor and then stepping out of each leg.
He meets my eyes before shucking off his boxers until he’s fully bare. “Your turn,” he prompts.
My hands turn heavy as I lift the hem of my shirt.
This man has seen me naked hundreds of times.
A thousand? But never like this, in the light, without the rush of adrenaline that typically makes this step a short layover to the main event.
Sweeping the t-shirt over my head, I watch his eyes fall to my chest. He sucks in a pained breath that gives me the courage to continue.
With one forceful push on the waistband of my pj pants, they pool on the floor along with my panties.
My skin pebbles with goosebumps, from the cold or from Daniel’s gaze. Both, most likely.
“Should we sit?” I ask. What’s the protocol for a butt naked conversation on a leather couch? I grab my shirt and place it on top of the cushion and gesture for him to do the same. I’m not ruining the furniture for this.
He sits and I sit, and it isn’t three seconds before he says, “Open your legs for me.”
That phrase, a favorite his, had been in retirement. I guess, until tonight.
A rush of heat floods my cheeks, my chest, between my thighs.
I let my knees fall open and watch as his eyes lock on my core.
He’s tense with restraint, and it chisels his features—the set of his jaw, a tightness in his chest and arms leading to clenched fists.
Every muscle is taut. It’s a miracle I don’t see him twitch.
“You been working out?” I joke, and it’s enough to turn down the heat on the simmering tension for a moment. I need to catch my breath.
“Like what you see?” he volleys back.
“I do. You’ve got great abs.”
“You’ve got great tits.”
My nipples tighten at the mention. “They’re not what they used to be,” I sigh with defeat.
“They’re perfect. Can I tell you what I’d do with them if I was allowed to touch you?”
Oh.
This isn’t—why did I think this card meant talking about our weekend plans or something, and being naked while doing it?
After waiting for a reply that doesn’t come, he says, “I’d take a handful of each and start by rubbing my thumbs over your nipples. Slowly at first. You’d hate it.” His laugh is light, playful, but the way his eyes darken is not. Desire curls low in my belly.
“You’re a tease,” I reply.
“You know I’m right. You wouldn’t be able to stand it. After a few minutes you’d be begging for more.”
“Says the guy with an erection just from talking about it.” I gesture to his lap, where his cock stands at attention. “I won’t accept any slander about me being the eager one.”
“Oh yeah? How wet are you right now? Put your feet up so I can see.”
The demand lands like sparks to every one of my nerve endings, hot and sharp. Alive.
This isn’t a game we’ve played before. I think I like it.
With a devilish smile, I lift my feet and place them on the couch next to my butt. I bring my palms to my knees to pull them open farther.
“Fucking hell, Molls,” he says as he leans back and brings a hand to his hair and pulls, like he’s trying to release tension any way he can.
“Like what you see?” I parrot his earlier words.
“God, you’re dripping. All that just for me?”
“Nah, today it’s for me.” I drop a hand between my legs and swipe a finger through my arousal before bringing it higher.
The groan he makes is downright choked. He’s not used to this sort of confidence from me. I’m not either, but his reactions are turning me bold. I’m drunk on the power of watching him suffer.
“Are you allowed to do that? Touch yourself?”
“The card said…oh shit, that feels good,” I moan, “no touching each other. I think self-play is allowed. Why, are you going to get yourself off by watching me?”
He grips himself and tugs once, then twice. Bringing a palm to his mouth, he spits in his hand before returning it to his cock. He shudders before meeting my eyes in challenge.
“I won’t say no to watching you play with yourself. How about you put two fingers in for me and I’ll pretend I’m the one stretching you out.”
My heart is a pinball ricocheting through my chest. I bring my index finger to my opening and slide it in, keeping my thumb tight to my clit.
Daniel’s gaze meets mine and he nods. I slip my middle finger next to it.
An mmmmm falls from my mouth and hums against my lips.
Before I can close my eyes, I hear him grunt.
“No. Eyes on me, baby.”
He’s leaning back in the chair, tight quads holding still as he strokes. Up and down, squeezing himself into his fist with a heaving chest and blown pupils. I match his rhythm with my own thrusts. The wet smack of my fingers punctuates the silence.
“It doesn’t come close to my cock, does it?” he asks, holding my gaze. “You wish I was filling you up, working you over.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I nod. “Keep…,” I try to push out the words but they’re thready. “Keep talking like that.”
“Is it turning you on, baby? Hearing how good I would make you feel? How I’d give that hand a break by pinning it to the bed and then stuffing you full?”
The room starts spinning. I can’t catch my breath. My fingers move faster, push deeper, and Daniel’s words feel distant but I hear him say, “Come for me, baby. I want you throbbing and soaked, with my name in your mouth.”
My orgasm is a detonation, rocketing through me and knocking me flat. For a few moments I’m missing from this world, wracked by pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. When I come back to my body, I hear myself chant his name.
“Holy shit,” he says between heaving breaths, and I clock the mess he’s made on his stomach. I did that for him. The sight of this droopy, stretch-marked, dimpled body of mine experiencing pleasure made him come hard. The thought turns my heart buoyant, like a balloon in my chest.
It takes a minute for us to reorient. I hop off the couch and grab tissues from the kitchen; I clean myself up before handing him the box.
We don’t talk as we get dressed, but before I turn to head to the bathroom, he envelops me in a hug. His heartbeat thumps against my cheek, and with every breath his stubble catches my hair. If a picture is worth a thousand words, this hug is worth three.
“I love you too,” I say, before pulling away. “We are getting good at this.”