She waited for me. Well, almost. Her black panties dangled from one delicate foot. Her strap slid off one perfectly curved shoulder. This is what I'd prayed for when I'd given her the room key, but I never thought she'd come.
She was the aggressor. She didn't do soft and delicate. But this one time, because I'd asked her to, because of what was at stake.
She remained quiet as I took off my watch and lay it on the cheap, hotel table, then unbuttoned my cuffs and my shirt. Finally divesting myself of my slacks, shoes and socks until I stood before her in my boy briefs and simple cotton bra. She tensed as I knelt at her feet, my hands resting on her taut thighs. I nudged them open, my eyes focussed on the fine wisps of downy soft hair that covered her mound. She fought against me for a moment, but I raised an eyebrow. It was my turn. And she was exquisite. I nudged her thighs apart and pressed my lips to her sweet flesh. Her fragrance assaulted me like it did every time. Nothing made me want her more. I swallowed hard. This time I would taste her. I would give her what she gives me.
I could feel her uncertainty. Her vulnerability. I glanced to the costume of her clothes that I had worn and understood. Her watch. Her slacks. And now she lay bare to me the way I have a hundred times to her... but to me it comes easy. She was the aggressor. She didn't do vulnerable.
I traced my tongue along the seam of her pussy, gathering droplets of her nectar like honey. She squirmed beneath my kiss. Gasped. Moaned. I splayed my fingers across her soft white belly and held her down, deepening my kiss.
"Stop," she says. "I can't do this. I can't take it."
"Hush," I whisper. "Be me. Just once, let me make you feel good."
A whimper. A twist. Her head rocked back as I explored. Tasted. My hands rose to her full breasts and she thrust them against me. Once. Just this one time. A tear slipped down my cheek as a flood of moisture hit my lips. She said my name as she came.
She came for me. She actually came.
"Stop," she said, curling on her side.
Tears flowed freely down her face. In ten years I'd never seen her cry. Ten years and I'd never tasted her. Seen pleasure twist her face.. Seen so much pain.
"I'm not you. I'm me."
I took a deep breath, her taste still on my tongue. The first time in ten years and it had to be the last. If I loved her, I had to love her for who she was and nothing more. Quietly I slid the boy shorts from my hips and handed them to my wife. My lover. My all. I laid down beside her and told her the only thing she needed to hear.
I'd never ask again.
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