We started on Monday with morning sex before he left for work. I was in the habit of spending the night at his place (it was nicer than mine, albeit less homey — and I’m a writer so I don’t have to get up and get dressed at the crack of dawn like he does) and usually he lets me sleep and I talk to him dreamily while he gets ready, without really waking up. But today was the first day of Sex-On-His-Terms week and I woke up to his breath on my neck and his hand running up my leg, grazing the boy-cut panties I wore to bed — and running back down again. He was ready to start.
I opened my legs to him immediately. There was something freeing about the choice already being made. I was going to have sex with him, I was necessarily “in the mood” because I’d already decided I was going to be. For an overly-analytical maximizer like me, decisions are a lot of work, and knowing this one was already made felt relaxing and luxurious. Like morning sex. I made him 45 minutes late that day. He blamed it on a faulty alarm clock. Also See: I’m on my deathbed so I’m coming clean: Here’s the gruesome truth about what happened to my 1st wife
I napped afterwards and woke up to several text messages from him, rare for having just seen him off a few hours ago.
This morning was so hot. I can’t wait for more.
The second was more forceful than complimentary:
Stay in bed. I’m coming home for lunch.
I laughed. This was part of a fantasy he had about my schedule. When we first started dating he thought that a freelance schedule meant that I would always be available to him. He talked about lunchtime rendezvous — coming home to pillage me and then leaving me naked there while he returned to work. I filled him in on the reality of deadlines and the hours of uninterrupted focus it took to produce something really good. He got it, but it was like telling a kid Santa isn’t real. Today was going to be his redemption. Also See: How to see a friend nak*d in 12 devious ways
I have to admit, it was hot to snuggle back into his linens, smelling him, waiting for his return — to be instructed not to dress. It was the kind of thing where I might usually touch myself and think of his hands instead of mine, but his return was coming so soon that I didn’t, I just waited for him and smiled my cat-who-got-the-mouse smile when he walked in, already unbuckling his belt. I was wet for him, more than usual — it was all the waiting. He felt like a stud, I could tell, as I crawled across the bed towards him, still naked from the morning sex, and climbed on top of him. I rode him without even unbuttoning his pale blue work shirt. I wondered if it would smell like me for the rest of the day. Also See: Top 17 highest paid actors in the world 2015 – See who’s #1 (With Pictures)
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