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Alex glances at me as I drag the zipper down on my skirt and let it fall to the bed. Before I do the same with my tights I pull out the waistband and take a peek at my panties. They’re also ugly and in horrible condition, so I speed up my impromptu striptease and push them over my hips together with the tights.
Thankfully, I had the foresight to take care of my beaver bush before Alex came home. I saunter into the bathroom. He isn’t even paying attention to what he’s doing to his face anymore. He keeps going over the same spot repeatedly while he watches my approach.
The room is already filling with steam. When I’m close enough, I press my boobs against his back and hug him from behind.
I run my hands over his abs, then lower, past his navel. I stop short of his massive erection, which incidentally is resting on top of the vanity with beard clippings sprinkled over it. Instead of grabbing his dick, I reach for my toothbrush and the toothpaste. If he’s going to the trouble to freshen up, I should, too.
He’s eyeing me with something close to contempt, or maybe it’s sheer animal lust. Either way, it’s reminiscent of the look he wears when he’s in the penalty box. Sex after games when Alex has gotten a penalty is always the best. He gets so riled up. I take my toothbrush into the shower with me, wiping away the fog on the inside so I can watch Alex through the glass.
He’s in a funny mood tonight. I can’t quite gauge it. He’s slow and methodical with the shaving routine. I realize this is purposeful. I denied him when I walked in the door. It might not have had anything to do with whether I wanted him, but he’s taken offense nonetheless. My fiancé is sensitive.
Once he’s finished shaving, he moves on to brushing his teeth. Then he rinses with mouthwash and follows up with a Listerine PocketPak strip. It’s probably overkill, but he’s courteous like that, and the onion breath is the reason we’re not currently having sex. When he starts cleaning up after himself, I decide I’ve had enough of waiting.
I squirt some body wash on my palms and rub them together, then massage it into my chest.
“Alex?” I wait until he looks at me before I press my boobs against the glass. “Are you ready for me?”
His lids lower and the tic below his left eye tells me what I already know: he sure as fuck is.
He drops the shaving cream on the vanity, or at least attempts to, but he misses and it hits the floor with a tinny thump. He doesn’t seem to notice as he opens the shower door and steps inside. I don’t even get a chance to turn around before he’s pressed against me. He runs a palm across my collarbone and along my neck. Turning my head toward him, he kisses the corner of my mouth.
“Don’t you have anything to say to me today?” he asks softly.
“I missed you.”
“I know that. I missed you, too. Anything else?” He skims my side with his free hand, and I jerk as he brushes past the ticklish spot.
“I love you.”
“I know that, too.” His fingers travel over my hip and then lower, stopping shy of my very hungry beaver.
He’s waiting for something, but I’m not sure what. I filter through our conversations over text today… I acknowledged the beaver, and I’m sure I thanked him for it. Then it dawns on me.
“Happy sexiversary, Alex.”
He stills, fingertips digging in. “Anniversary, Violet. It’s our anniversary.”
“I thought we celebrated that last month. Besides, all the anniversaries we have include sexing, which sounds more fun,” I explain.
“Mmm. I see your point. But I think this one is particularly special since you agreed to do more than just let me get inside you.” He sounds the tiniest bit hurt.
“Happy anniversary, Alex,” I murmur, appeasing him.
I feel his smile on my cheek. Because he’s won. I’m okay with that; in the end, we’ll both win. He turns my head so he can get to my mouth. It’s a soft kiss, warm and wet and minty. I want to turn around so we’re front to front, but he still has me pressed against the glass. When I push my ass out, he shifts his hips forward and his erection slides over my wet skin. He cups me with his wide palm, and I groan, anticipating his fingers.
Now don’t get me wrong, I jill off like the rest of the female population when our significant other is out of town, but it’s not nearly as gratifying as when the person you love does the work for you.
“Happy anniversary, baby. I’m glad I made it home to celebrate with you.”
