I picked him up at the airport, a bundle of nerves standing in the very center of a walkway where the passengers flowed out of terminals. I didn’t want him to miss seeing me, and to know that I was waiting for him.
He is so tall even amid crowd, it is almost ridiculous how I always worry that I won’t find him – until I see him standing above the others.
I took a step, shaky, and then another. I saw his eyes scan the area, his sexy crooked smile when he saw me closing the distance between us. His arm lifted, and I tucked myself against his side, wrapped up in him.
We had mere days together to last us months. He took the car keys from me in the parking lot, gripped my hair and disheveled me within seconds of us buckling our seat belts, kissed me possessively before even starting the engine.
I never question that I am his.
On the drive home he unzipped his pants for my welcoming mouth. I memorized his taste and shape against my tongue, thanked him for not making me wait until we arrived at a bed. He shifted my strategically worn skirt and crotchless panties, brought me to the first of many orgasms halfway through the drive as I reclined in the passenger seat beside him.
At home, it was an early bedtime for kid and adult. Domestic duties being met, we locked the door and reminded each other of why we merged and created a family.
Patient at first, he watched me strip down but requested I keep the underwear on. His fingers kept caressing the eagerly exposed part of me.
My fingers, hands, lips, could not touch enough of his skin. Such a broad expanse of man to travel and taste, I felt like it would take me all night just to know every inch of him again.
He wasn’t patient for long. He wasn’t gentle, didn’t give me time or slow down to reacquaint my body to his, pushed me into the mattress, penetrated with fingers, then tongue, then cock. My body would be sore, would remember his entry as it stretched to accommodate him. He laid claim to me in tender areas, in the bruises from vigorous meeting of bodies and hearts, in the biting marks that would be evident for weeks.
A honeymoon atmosphere where suddenly it was just us focusing on our commitment to each other, we explored each other in varying degrees of intensity half the night – an occurrence unusual in recent years. And the next day, stolen moments until another early bedtime that had nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with love and lust.
Days committed to each other to speak for the months ahead, to savor in memories, a frenzied meeting of need.
The approaching time of separation a shadow that wasn’t looked at too closely, the present moment stubbornly gripped tightly between us.
I would slide out of bed in the early morning hours before dawn approached just so I allowed him to sleep, only able to bear the separation for a couple of hours, crawled back between the sheets where his arms instinctively opened to welcome me even in his sleep.
He never questions he is mine.
That I belong in his strong arms that wrap around me, his heart beating for me kept safely in his comforting chest so I can be reminded as I press my ear to it, his cock stirring and rising for my pleasure at just the suggestion of my desire.
I marked him just as possessively, nails and teeth and soreness. I worried in the downtime of the timing and the unknown once separated as it approached closer.
I was a bundle of nerves as he left.
I suppose I also need to celebrate the fact that we were able to meet for the brief span of time that we did, to give us a chance to physically express our love until the next time. Hopefully next coming together will be the end of these wearisome separations.