It had been five months since the nasty stomach bug that left me completely reliant on my husband.
For five months, he was everything to me and more.
He did my laundry, washed my hair, tenderly clipped and buffed my nails.
The first day he laid out my skincare products and followed my exact routine, I found myself crying happy tears.
But bath time was always the best.
He would run my bath, making sure the water was the perfect temperature. Then he’d undress me, careful to avoid any movement that might hurt.
Lifting me as if I were porcelain, he’d lower me gently into the water.
The way his hands moved across my skin brought tears to my eyes.
His touch was reverent, every stroke a vow of devotion. He washed me slowly, thoroughly, until I was ready to be wrapped up and tucked back in bed.
For months, his focus was only me. Never touching me sexually. Never asking for anything.
He cooked my meals. He fed me. He oiled my hair. He served me like a dutiful priest and I was his goddess.
But now, fully healed, I was still being treated like glass.
And it was beginning to frustrate me. Especially the part where he still refused to make love to me.
Being cared for like a doll was beautiful when I was weak. But now it made me feel trapped.
He was lying beside me, propped against the headboard with a book, when I turned wide, pleading eyes on him.
My hand slid under the sheet to rest on his thigh. At first, my touch was slow, innocent. Then it crept higher, kneading, squeezing, until he finally turned glazed eyes on me.
The look in them made me clench so hard I gasped aloud.
He blinked rapidly, the raw lust in his eyes quickly replaced by concern.
He dropped his book. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head.
His brow furrowed as his gaze swept over my scantily clad body, his worry refusing to ease.
“What’s wrong?”
“I want you.” I meant for it to sound seductive, but it broke out in a sob.
His eyes softened, a small smile replacing his frown.
“I want you too, baby.” He leaned down, brushing my lips with a chaste kiss. When I tried to pull him deeper, he chuckled and pulled back. “But you’re not strong enough.”
I whined in frustration, crossing and uncrossing my thighs as the ache inside me grew.
Fisting his shirt, I tugged him down, crashing my mouth against his in a desperate attempt to show him my need.
For a moment, he kissed me back, a groan vibrating into my lips—before he tore himself away.
“Please,” I whispered, cradling his head between my hands. “It’s been too long.”
He cupped my face, thumb stroking my cheek in soft, loving passes.
I turned into his palm and kissed it.
He pressed a kiss to my temple, then slid his hand down to circle my throat… and squeezed lightly.
The animalistic groan that ripped from me had him chuckling against my ear.
That sound. That laugh. The one that promised, I’m going to take care of you.
His hand found my breasts, kneading one, then the other, rolling my nipples between his fingers before moving lower.
When his hand slipped into my pajama shorts, I leaned back and spread my legs, offering myself to him like a love-worn guitar he knew by heart.
The first touch was slow, careful. He traced my folds as though relearning me. Five months apart had been an eternity.
When his finger brushed my nub, both of us groaned, eyes locked as he began to work his magic between my legs.
He pulled his hand away, and my eyes followed, glued to it as he slipped two fingers into his mouth and sucked.
His eyes fluttered shut, a low moan vibrating in his chest. More fluid leaked from me.
When his fingers returned, my folds yielded, parting for him as he slid inside.
Slow, torturous thrusts.
His lips found a nipple while his other hand roamed over my belly as it traveled down south.
I clenched around his pumping fingers in anticipation... then his thumb pressed against my aching clit.
The sounds lodged in my throat.
My hips jerked, trying to ride his hand, desperate for more friction, for release.
He lifted his head, my nipple slipping from his mouth with a wet pop.
He shook his head slowly. “Uh-uh. Be a good girl and stay still.”
The hand working my clit shifted, pressing firmly against my lower belly, holding me down while his thick digits stretched me from inside.
He pumped slightly faster, watching the sex-crazed expressions on my face, moving his thumb back over my clit to drive me further into insanity.
Incoherent words babbled out of me, like a woman possessed.
My head thrashed, my toes curled, my hands clutched at everything within reach.
Then he curled his fingers and beckoned me to come...
And I did.
I came hard. Spraying all over his good shirt and landing one on his lips for measure.
He licked it off.
Rising, he tugged his pajama bottoms down and moved to my side, stroking the thick length in his fist.
I parted my lips eagerly, and he chuckled, low, rumbling, ending in that hiss that always made me melt.
“What part of you’re not strong enough don’t you understand?” The words rolled out sinful, velvet-edged.
I pouted, tilting my puppy eyes up at him.
“Can I at least watch?”
His hand worked faster. “Why do you think I’m here? You’ve got front-row seats.” He tapped his cock lightly against my forehead, making me wrinkle my nose as I leaned forward to catch his scent.
He laughed under his breath. “My nasty girl.”
I reached up instinctively, but his voice cut sharp and commanding. “Put it down.”
I dropped my hand at once, a needy whimper spilling out.
“Good,” he murmured.
He dragged his length along my cheek in slow, deliberate strokes, the silken skin tracing my face like a brand. His pumping hand slowed until the head brushed my lips.
A bead of precum smeared against them. I licked it off immediately.
He groaned, his voice raw and strained, and did it again.
I swiped the milky fluid from my lips and stuck my tongue out at him.
He pressed the swollen head against it, smearing more across the pink.
I swallowed, stuck it out again, teasing.
He was gone.
When he set himself on my tongue once more, he gave a few shallow thrusts before pulling away.
My hands found my breasts, squeezing and rolling them, putting on a show just for him.
“Fuck it,” he growled, biting the words out. He propped my head up and swung a leg over, straddling me.
My mouth opened wide, ready, as he guided himself between my lips. One hand caressed my cheek, the other steadied his cock.
He eased forward, ginger at first, as if afraid I’d break.
But my arms snaked around him, palms gripping the hard curve of his ass, pulling him in. I moved my head, inhaling his length.
“God-- fuck,” he croaked, voice cracking as I worked him with practiced hunger.
His hand left my cheek and braced against the headboard, while the other held the back of my head steady as I milked him deep.
It didn’t take long. He jolted, tried to pull out, but I was done with his carefulness. I kept him buried, throat tightening, swallowing down every hot spill of him until my eyes watered.
When I finally pulled off, it was with a wet pop, leaving him dazed and boneless as he collapsed to the side.
After a long breath, he tapped my thigh.
I rolled to face him.
His gaze burned even through exhaustion. “I’m fucking you all day tomorrow. Get some sleep.”