After three years of struggling, I’m tired. I miss my husband. I miss our intimacy.
Three years ago tragedy struck and destroyed our sex life. It nearly ruined our marriage.
Thanks to help from a sensuality coach, I’ve got three assignments to act out with my husband, each designed to help us find our way back to each other and reignite the flame on our once searing sex life.
“Hey, look at me.”
I did as he asked.
“You have nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing.”
Without saying another word Eric scooped me in his arms and walked over to our couch. He sat down and I settled onto his lap. His erection pressed against my hip. I wanted it so badly, but at the same time had forgotten how to ask for that. How to take it myself.
“I love you,” I said as I rested my head on his shoulder. He smelled fantastic. He always did. Like woodsy soap and clean skin.
He stroked my back and somehow in the middle of all the fear and anxiety, the moment clicked in my mind. This was intimate. It wasn’t sex, but it was more physical contact than we’d shared in a long time.
Somehow, after moments of just being with one another, I felt a shift inside myself and I was pretty sure that Eric did too. His hand slid further down my back until he reached my ass. He glided over the curves of my bottom, reaching down to my thighs. He slid his hand around so it was on top of my knee.
He slid it to the inside of my leg and shifted slightly, spreading my legs. My breathing became ragged as his hand approached the V between my thighs. His fingers grazed over the fabric covering my pussy. He gazed at me, making sure it was okay before going further. I nodded. Eric slipped a finger beneath the elastic of my panties.
His rough skin was a pleasant juxtaposition against the softness of me there. He ran the tip of his index finger along the seam. I could feel my considerable wetness lubricating his skin. He circled my clit and my head lulled onto his shoulder.
As fast as lightning his face was buried in my neck. His mouth nibbled on the sensitive flesh while his hand slid from my clit down to my entrance. He slipped his finger in, just a little, and I moaned. It had been so long. Taking that as his invitation to go further, he eased his finger inside me as far as it would go. My muscles stretched around him and my entire body cried out for more. He stroked it against a tender part inside of me. For the first time in years, I felt truly alive.
“God, I have missed this. I’ve missed you. I have missed the way you feel, how wet I can make you. The way your breath hitches when I slide inside you and how you say my name on a shudder as you come.”
Moisture flooded my pussy at his words and all the erotic memories they evoked. I remembered this and so did my body. Our sex life hadn’t just been satisfactory, it had been unbelievable. And, holy shit, did it feel good to get just a small part of it back.
A self-professed bookworm, Netflix junkie and all around story geek, Ariel Storm started writing as an adolescent and hasn’t looked back. In her late teens she picked up a paperback romance and was hooked. Her obsession with love stories stems from her desire to shine light and positivity into a negative, dark world.
Although she’s held almost every job imaginable, from working in a restaurant, a call center and public libraries, ‘writer’ is her favorite job title, and one she feels blessed to have.
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