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The thought of being inside her sets me off, and I spill into my hand and all over the shower wall. I’m breathing heavily. It’s as if I just ran a marathon. Nope, just the best orgasm I’ve had in far too long, brought on by my own hand while imagining my sexy wife.
Quickly, I clean up and dry off. I realize I don’t have any clothes with me. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I open the bathroom door. The bedroom door is open, which means she’s ready for bed. I stroll into the room, where the lamp still gives a soft glow. Monroe is sitting up in bed, under the covers. She’s wearing one of my Everlasting Ink T-shirts. Since she moved in a few weeks ago, she’s been sleeping in my shirts. Why is that so damn sexy? I’ve seen women in my clothes before, and it did nothing for me.
But when it’s my wife? Yeah, that’s all kinds of sexy.
Pulling open my dresser, I grab some boxer briefs, drop the towel, and step into them. I hear Monroe’s intake of breath, and I smile. I’m glad to see she is just as affected by my presence as I am by hers. Schooling my features, I grab the discarded towel from the floor and take it to the bathroom.
“You need anything before we go to bed?” I ask her, stepping out of the bathroom.
“I’m all set.”
I nod and turn the bedside lamp off. It’s on her side of the bed, so I crawl over her in the dark, making her giggle.
“We need to get a lamp for your side of the bed,” she teases.
“Nah, then I wouldn’t be able to crawl all over you each night.”
“Is that something you’re into?” The room is dark, but I can still hear the humor in her voice.
I move around until I’m beneath the covers and on my side. I pull her into me, and she giggles again. Fuck, but do I love that sound. She rolls over, placing her back to my front, which is fine with me. I align my body with hers, keeping my arm around her.
“I’m into you.” My words are soft as if saying them out loud might scare her away. It’s too late. The words are out there, and they’re the absolute truth. I’m into my wife, which is fucked because we’re just supposed to be friends.
She doesn’t respond. Not that I expect her to. She also doesn’t pull away.
Closing my eyes, I enjoy the feel of her in my arms. Something I get for the next year, and I’m already addicted. My breathing is slow and even, and I can feel myself drifting off to sleep.
“Legend?”
“Yeah?” My eyes pop open, ready to be or do whatever she needs.
“Thank you for today.”
“You know I’m the one who should be thanking you, right?”
“You made today special. If this is the only wedding I ever have, I’ll know what it feels like.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You made me feel cherished. Today was… everything I could have hoped for my wedding day to be. I know this isn’t real, but I can’t help how I feel.”
“You are cherished. I told you that. You’re my wife. My queen.” I kiss her shoulder. “We’re supposed to be pretending, but that part remains true. I’ll treat you as such.”
“There were moments where I had to keep reminding myself that we were just pretending.”
“I wasn’t.”
“What?” Her body stiffens slightly, and I run my thumb over her arm where I’m holding her. After a few moments, she relaxes into me.
“Pretending. I wasn’t pretending. Every single time I touched you or kissed you, I wanted it to happen.”
“We’re blurring the lines.”
“I know.”
The silence hangs between us. We’re both hanging on the edge of what we agreed on and what we’re feeling. The two are on opposite ends of the spectrum, and neither one of us is sure of the path that we should take.
“It was one incredible day. We’ll do better tomorrow,” she eventually says.
