Life is about living in the moment; I know this one is about to take me to the highest form of pleasure.
Breaking his lips from mine, he bends down and jerks my yoga pants and underwear off where they join my shirt in a pile on the floor. His eyes flash with a devilish glint before his mouth latches onto me. I cry out and my back falls to the cold counter top. You’d think it would be uncomfortable, but if anything, the cold only adds to the pleasure he’s giving me.
My eyes close, and I hold my breath as my toes curl.
Oh, yes.
“Ben,” I pant. “Oh, God.”
His tongue swipes against me faster, and I can feel his eyes on me even though I’m not looking at him.
I hold my breasts, pinching my nipples between my fingers as my hips rock.
I scream out a moment later, and then his mouth is on mine quieting my cries.
As I come down from my high, he steps back and pulls off his clothes—all the while his eyes are glued to me spread out on the counter before him like a feast. He grabs a condom from one of the drawers and rolls it on before climbing onto the counter with me.
He lays me down on my back with my hair spread around me. I’m sure the dark strands are covered in flour by now, but I don’t care.
He guides himself inside me and my hips rise to meet his. I touch my fingers to his stubbled cheek and rub my thumb over his plump bottom lip.
How’d I get so lucky?
He puts his hand over mine where it rests against his face, then intertwines our fingers together and pins my hand above my head. He does the same with the other.
His chest presses into mine.
Heart to heart.
He kisses me the way he makes love to me. Slow. Deep. Hard.
He lets go of my hands, and I press my palms flat against his muscled chest. They fit perfectly there, like the curvature was carved just for them.
When I come again, I wrap my arms around his neck, trying to get lost in him.
He’s not far behind me, and when he comes, he cries my name and whispers “I love you,” in my ear.
We lay together on the counter—a tangled, sweaty mess. He rests his head on my chest, his ear pressed to my heart. I rub my fingers through his messy hair and roll my head to the side. I’m completely spent.
“That’s my favorite sound,” he breathes into the quiet.
“What is?”
“Your heartbeat.” He rises and cups my face in his hand, angling my head so I’m looking at him. “Every day, I’m thankful for you; for what we have together. It’s special, Blaire. Once in a lifetime.”
I smile at him and let out a small laugh. “You’re always at your most romantic after we have sex. I think it turns your brain to mush.” I wink.
He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m always romantic.”
“You wish.” I jokingly smack his shoulder.
He brushes a piece of hair off my forehead. “Okay, so maybe not always,” he agrees, “but I try.”
He’s right. He does. I know I’m much luckier than most women. Ben’s always surprising me with my favorite flowers, gift cards for my favorite stores, books he thinks I’ll enjoy, date nights, and notes.
Every day he leaves me a note inside a paper crane.
He wants to make a thousand before our wedding so he can wish for us to have happiness in all our days together. After that, he says he’ll start again, because there’s always another wish to be had. I hope he makes them forever. They’re always the best part of my day—finding them in the random spots he’s hidden them in and reading the heartfelt words he’s written.
Ben kisses me quickly and slides off the counter.
I sit up as he ties off the condom and throws it away.
He lifts me down, even though I’m perfectly capable of getting down myself. We then take turns dressing each other—a few kisses stolen here or there.
We clean up the mess together and then completely forget about the pie. It’s a lost cause at this point, and I resign myself to the fact that we’re eating Wal-Mart pie.
We head upstairs to get ready, each taking separate showers since we know what will happen if we take one together. When my hair is clean, I blow dry it and curl the shoulder-length strands. I shake them out, trying to make the curl appear more natural.
Ben steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. His chest glistens with droplets of water, and I stare.
He chuckles and kisses my cheek as he passes.
My cheeks blossom with a red hue.
Even after seven years together he still manages to make me blush.
That’s how you know he’s a keeper.
I finish my hair and apply my makeup, using a smoky gray around my whiskey-colored eyes and magenta on my lips. I’m normally more subdued in my makeup choices, but I feel like being adventurous today.
Ben comes back into the bathroom dressed in a pair of slim-fitting jeans and a maroon-colored sweater. He steps up to the other sink to try to tame his wavy hair.