“Azmir, I have to—” he places his left index finger on my mouth as his right finger searches my private area.
He doesn’t go straight for my clitoris, which tells me he knows. He finds the string and pulls it out, tossing it onto my panties. He kisses my kneecaps while unbuttoning his shirt. Then he sheds his pants and boxers. My heart pounds my chest watching him. His thick, heavy, and pulsating erection springs out strong. My, how I’ve missed it. I could just kiss it. It looks so delectable that my mouth waters in direct response. Azmir is absolutely beautiful. That, sometimes inconvenient, fact could never get old to me. He’s stunning in every sense—public and private.
Although everything about this night is odd—the location, the circumstances our marriage is under, our undeniable passion and apparent need for each other on an air mattress—one thing is familiar and that’s the indisputable amount of sexiness this man exudes. He’s clueless of it, but it’s irrefutable. Now that he knows my little…red secret—seemingly before he got here—I’m more relaxed. But I have to say something before we indulge.
He pushes my legs far apart.
“I just don’t want—” he interrupts me.
“Baby, there’s nothing you can say right now that will keep this hungry man from being fed what’s his.” He groans gutturally as his body descends over mine.
The next thing I feel is the head of his erection lashing my feminine muscles, spearing me. I gasp at his fullness as he plunges abruptly. It’s painful at first, but there’s that thing called muscle memory, when my body recalls Azmir’s bullet-like presence in this region. It’s powerful, he’s powerful. This is not his usual style—not that anything is ever typical about our sex. His breathing is erratic with every plunge and pull.
Oh, no! My husband’s deprived. He could only behave this way because he’s in despairing need of me. Of us.
He feels so good penetrating me. His thrusts are so resolute, withdrawals are regretful. I’m caught up almost instantaneously. My body goes weak. There’s that delicious stirring in my belly. This phenomenon is so familiar and can only mean one thing.
“Do you feel it?” Azmir cries out in my ear over the explosive sounds of blood rushing through my head.
With my mouth agape and eyes blinking, trying to hold back my tears of pleasure, I have the most quiet and emotional orgasm to date. The only two events this could compare to this, is the very first orgasm he bestowed our first time together, and that of our first as man and wife. In my euphoria, I’m reminded not just of the magic we make together, but of our undeniable and magnetic draw to each other. The beautiful harmony we create together. The overwhelming love this man expresses to me and I hold for him in my heart. There is no other being that I connect to the way that I do with this man. There is no other charge that is greater than what propels me to him. Here is where I thrive; with him is where I belong. This space that we create together with our bodies, hearts, and spirits is in a realm created just for me…and Azmir. It is our home.
Our bubble.
“Don’t hold back,” Azmir belts as an orgasm falls upon him as well. “Damn...I’m...with you!”
He powerfully thrusts twice more before his entire frame judders on top of me, with quiet vibrations, pulsating inside of me. We lay on this petite air mattress, whimpering together, suspended together in orbit before coming down from our coitus ascensions.
For a while, we just lay, Azmir’s imposing weight not factoring in at all. The only thing that registers to me is his soothing heart rate that races to the staccato of an animated drum. I’m quickly lost in his all-consuming presence. Delightfully engrossed by his outpouring of passion and plea for me to accept it all. It’s frightening and comforting all at once. His warm body blankets me from the coldness of our circumstances. Our pain.
“How are we going to get out of here?” his baritone jolts me.
I didn’t realize I’ve dozed off.
“We?”
“Yes. You’re coming home. You’ve stayed your welcome,” he murmurs while peppering small, chaste kisses from my dampened forehead, to the side of my face, and down my misted neck. I’m melting again.
I pluck an eyebrow, “In my own house?”
“My house,” he corrects. “You handed over the deed, little girl.”
“I haven’t signed anything making it legal.”
Both Azmir’s brows jump. “You also opted out of a pre-nup, so I can always get it in the end. Trust me, I have the resources.”
Although I know he’s keeping with the cadence of my humor, I’ve no doubt that Azmir could finagle me out of my home, using his monster legal team. He starts nibbling on my ear, setting my nerve endings aflutter. But abruptly I’m reminded of his persistence in the first place.
“But—”