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“There is no you or me or us. We are one.”
“Christopher…” she whines.
My cock hardens, and my balls pull tight.
“Do you understand that, wife?”
“Yes!” Her cry is followed by the wracking of her body as another orgasm rips through her.
“Good.” I can barely get the unintelligible grunt out as my release shoots into her, filling her up so full that it pours from her with every jerk of my cock.
Sagging into me, she moans with the slowing spurts of orgasm.
Holy fuck.
I’m sure if I move, my body will give in to the sated exhaustion. So I give us both some time to gather our wits before I lift her off me and take her into the bathroom.
Sitting her in the bath, I can sense her trepidation as she looks around, her arms curling around her belly.
Turning on the overhead shower, I temper the water as quickly as the old pipes will allow. When it’s warm, I press a kiss to Arabella’s head.
I want to stay with her, but at the same time…I don’t want to be the dickhead that keeps pressing her to do what I want. I want her to give me what I want just as I’ve given her what she needs.
As I’m about to leave, she grabs my hand, wide eyes meeting mine.
“Don’t go.”
Neither of us says anything for a beat, and as I’m starting think that I’ve imagined her words, she pats the empty space between her legs.
“You need to get cleaned up too.”
Stepping into the bath, I stand beneath the shower. It’s a miracle that I even fit under it. The fixtures in this house seem to be made for diddy people.
I wash quickly, allowing her time to get adjusted to being fully naked in the light with me. I feel her gaze rove up and down my body with my hands.
Standing, she comes closer, stepping under the shower with me.
“You okay?” I ask her as I brush her wet hair from her face.
Nodding, she says, “Your shoulder is bleeding.”
“It’s fine.”
“You keep straining it.” Arabella peels off the sticky gauze, throwing it on the floor outside the bath before she goes about soaping her hands. “Look at you, Christopher.”
Taking my hands in hers, she lifts them to her mouth, pressing chaste kisses on my busted knuckles.
“Your hands…your shoulder…” Holding both of my hands in one hand, she reaches for the wound on my shoulder, gently cleaning the dried blood from the stitches.
It’s a closeness I’ve yearned for in so long. Her head rests on my chest under the hum of the water.
“Would you really leave me forever?”
Her question throws me completely.
“What are you on about?”
Letting go of my hands, she wraps her arm around my waist, holding me flush to her.
