Page 90 of Endless Depths

“I’ve been training myself so I could take you…” I drop my gaze, suddenly shy. “Just in case we worked things out, I mean.”

After he left me wanting and told me it was my turn to fight for him, I started working my way up to a dildo closer to his size.

He says nothing. My cheeks heat, brain buzzing with anxiety. What if I can’t satisfy him? What if he doesn’t want me?

“Plus, I was feeling superstitious, and thought that maybe if I brought lube, we’d find a use for it,” I ramble onward, filling the silence. “It’s been so long since you fucked me.”

We’d only just started experimenting with penetrative sex before I kicked him out. I couldn’t take him unless he fucked me shallow and stilted. I missed being filled so much, and was so frustrated with myself that I’d tense up, making my pain worse. Despite his reassurances, I felt so inadequate; yet another reason why I made him leave.

“Oh, I know exactly how long it’s been since you let me inside your sweet hole,” he finally says in a sultry purr that pulls me from the past. “It’s hot as hell that you kept yourself ready for me.”

“Thank you.” His praise heals something in me.

“Anytime, Sunshine.” He smiles and kisses my cheek. “Top drawer, you said?”

“Mmhm.” Butterflies flutter in my stomach.

He climbs off me, and reaches over the edge of the bed to open the drawer beneath, cock jutting out from his body, large balls hanging below so temptingly that I sit up and cup them in my palm.

His breath hitches. His search slows. It’s my fault, I know.

I kiss the base of his spine between the twin dimples on his lower back. “You’re taking too long.” I nudge him aside, and find the bottle easily, then push him onto his back and straddle his lap. “I’m taking over.”

“I forgot how bossy you are when you bottom.”

I smirk. “You didn’t forget.”

He makes a pillow of his palms beneath the back of his head, baring both pits, and I arch down to inhale his natural scent mixed with woodsy deodorant as I pop the cap of the lube bottle. I pull back and douse his cock with lube, then stroke him to cover every inch.

“Fuck,” he gasps, hips thrusting into the circle of my hand, looking as starved as I feel, fingers sliding up my abs and around toward my ass.

My stomach swoops with the realization that I’m about to sit on my husband’s cock for the first time in half a year. I remind myself that I can take him, that I’ve practiced, then I rise onto my knees and slowly sink down his length until I run out of dick, reigniting pleasure I never thought I’d experience again.

Morgan buries his teeth in his bottom lip, leaving crescent indents behind when he says, “Fuck,” long and drawn out, like he has to utter a ‘u’ for each month we spent apart. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” I move to ride back up his length.

He grabs my hips. “Wait. Slow down, or I’m going to get off before you do.”

“Reminds me of one of our first times.” I laugh.

Morgan tenses. “No laughing either.”

“What am I allowed to do, then?”

“Just stay put and look cute.”

“I am a six-foot-one fisherman with overgrown stubble. I’m not cute.”

“Whatever you say, Sunshine.”

“Do you remember the first time I made you come?” I want to reminisce too, and it’ll give us both a chance to cool down long enough to finish together. “I watched you jack off before, and I paid attention to what you liked.” I spit into my hand and demonstrate the long pulls on my cock. “The little tells that you were getting close, how your breath hitched when your thumb dragged under your crown. I was so nervous. What if I disappointed you? But you told me I couldn’t fuck it up, that I could shake your cock like a hand and you would bust a nut.”

His cock twitches inside me as he laughs.

“It wasn’t very smooth, but you told me what I needed to hear, and it finally gave me the courage to reach out and touch you. I wanted to make you proud, to blow your mind with my nonexistent sexual prowess.”

Morgan smiles, even as tears well in his eyes. I get it. Remembering how far we’ve come, and how close we came to divorce makes everything more poignant, even our clumsy firsts.