Miss Me

“Hey, my gorgeous woman.” I hadn’t heard him come in, and now here I was, a mess, and about to ruin dinner with my drama. I sniffled once really hard and dabbed my eyes on my T-shirt, grateful that I had my back to the door. Deep breaths and long slow exhales helped clear the tears and settle the distress. And then his lips were on the back of my neck and his arms around my waist, his hands pulling my hips into him. “Did you miss me?”

I smiled and stretched my neck to give him more area to kiss. “Yes, love,” I sounded surprisingly calm, “I missed you terribly.” I took another deep settling breath. “And how does it smell in here? Are you ready to eat?”

He massaged my hips. “Dinner smells almost as good as you do.” He let a hand wander to my mound. “God, I’ve missed you. I miss you every time I go away.” His words hung in my ears. ‘I miss you every time I go away.’ It had only been a few hours since he had last seen me. What would he do if I left? “I can’t wait for dinner, baby. It smells amazing,” he squeezed my crotch, “and dessert later.” The warmth and strength of his grip sent ripples of a tremble through my pelvis and stomach.

The doorbell rang before I had to respond to him, and it was a good thing, because … …

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