I thought I was obvious. We normally went to bed an hour later than it was. “There’s nothing on TV,” I said. “I’m taking a shower,” I said. “And then I’m going to bed,” I said. 

“Good idea. I’m right behind you,” he said. 

Pleased that our little drought was about to come to an end, I sashayed down the hall knowing, just knowing, he was watching. I stripped in the bedroom and met him half-way back to the bathroom. I pressed myself against him and scratched my breastbone against the coarse curls on his chest. We kissed briefly and he gave my ass the gentlest of smacks that would still produce that delightful smacking sound. 

I wasn’t in the shower long. I washed away the day, doing my best to keep my hair dry. I lifted my razor from the shower wall and touched things up. The hand-held shower head was on its gentlest setting and I was as clinical as I could be to make my nether regions daisy-fresh. I wasn’t going to start his job for him. 

I lotioned my legs and feet, sparingly, so they were silken, not slick. He loves to watch me rub in my lotion and quite often participates in the ritual, but that night I just wanted to be ready.  I applied eyeliner and extra layers of mascara. I ran the brush through my hair and dabbed on a little of the cologne that he likes; the one that I won’t wear out of the house. I was ready. 

The bedroom light was off and he was on his side facing the middle. I smiled at him for that; he always faces me when we go to sleep. Sleep. Funny guy, my man, pretending to be asleep. I held the top of the towel wrapped around me and sang out, ever-so seductively, “Huh-nee, you’re going to miss the un-vay-iing.” I counted to one and opened the towel with a flourish. I even said, “Ta-da!” in my head. 

No response. I let my towel fall and listened as he breathed. “Honey?”  I was not in the shower that long. “You’re not being funny. I want you to look at me.” He stirred a little and that was it. 

I was not going to crawl into bed and grovel for a half-hearted groggy lay. I decided I would wait him out. I would stand there until he caught on to what he was missing and beg me to come to bed. I would make him pull off his own pants and make him make himself hard, by himself, and entice me, entreat me with his goods. His goods are good, but dammit I would make him! 

Oh. Thinking about his goods made my goods tingle. I gently scratched that tiny itch for just a second. And, Oh. 

“Baby, you better wake up or I’m starting without you.” I’ve threatened to start without him before, in jest, and he’d say he’d like to see that and I’d attack him anyway. Not this time, though. I walked into his line of sight and let out a long, sultry, “Hmmm, ohhhh, hmmm,” as I caressed my hands all over my undulating body. Then I did it again, only louder. I put my palms on the mattress and let my boobs hang a couple of feet away from his face. “I. Will. Wait. You. Out.” 

“It’s cold out here,” I told him next. “You might say it’s nippy out.” It was, I would, and they were. I started to roll my nipples between my fingers for his benefit and continued for mine. I pinched them and stroked the areolae, raising the tiny bumps surrounding the bigger ones. I have the best nipples. So sensitive, so easy for him to get me going when he sucked on them, or chewed on them, just a bit. I groaned a real groan that time and started to knead my breasts. 

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” I massaged and squeezed my tits and wished they were just a little bit bigger or that my neck was just a little bit longer because right then nobody was there to chew on them. I lifted them as high off my chest as I could, released them, and did it again. I pushed them together and teased the nips again. 

“You know what’s missing between my tits, honey? Your cock, your big, long, thick cock should be rubbing against my chest and I should be kissing and licking the tip between strokes. Don’t you like your cock between my tits?” I shuddered a little and moved one hand down to pet the patch of pubes above my puss. His damn cock was going to waste, all flaccid under the covers, and I almost caved. Almost. 

I leaned across the bed again and put my face right in front of his. “Bay-bee.” He had to have smelled that cologne. I checked to be sure he was in fact breathing, because any man alive would be happy to have this. He was breathing and that was good, because he’d have to be alive for me to kill him. I dangled and wobbled the girls inches away from him. I almost shoved one in his mouth. Almost. 

I plopped on the edge of the bed and absently twiddled my twat. I loudly exaggerated a sigh. Fuck him. Or, rather, not fuck him. Whatever. I attentively twiddled my twat. I spread my legs further apart and wriggled my ass to get settled and comfortable. This wasn’t going to take long, unless I wanted it to. 

I moistened my finger and smeared my juices around. Dip, wet, stroke; dip, wet, stroke. Dip, wet, stroke, and fight to keep my wobbling knees apart. Dip, wet, stroke, dip, wet, stroke, dip, wet, stroke and plunge! Ow! There was pleasure and pain as I scratched myself. Damn my wonderfully curated nails! I stroked myself and tried a little plunge, a plungette if you will. Dammit, this wasn’t going to work. 

I thought about taking my nightstick from the back of my nightstand. I’m the only person in the universe who knows it’s there, but it would serve him right to find out about it like this. I looked over my shoulder at him. “I have a machine, you know. I can replace you in two minutes with a fucking machine and a couple of D-cells.”  I lied about that, though. Nothing could replace that cock. I knew it and, worse, that prick knew it. It probably needed new batteries anyway, said the fox to the grapes. He really does have the most beautiful cock, and I almost sought it out, not for use, but for inspiration. Almost. 

Instead, I gnawed off a wonderfully-manicured nail and spit it at him. Plunge. Loud moan. Where was I? Oh, yes, dip, wet, stroke, plunge. Oh yes. Oh yes! I searched for the neglected nerve ends that I hadn’t fired off yet just so I could start over again. My finger was as deep as I could get it and I clamped down. What kind of idiot would risk giving up on a chance like this? If I can do this to my finger, just imagine what I could do for his god-damned penis.

“Too late, darling. If you wake up now I’m going to make you watch.” Probably. I withdrew my digit and bit off the adjoining nail. Double-plunge! These two had partnered up before. They rode side by side, they slid circles around each other, and sometimes one would climb on top of the other and they’d jump up and down.  As good as this was, I wanted that little bit more. I wanted that spot that was just barely out of reach. 

I uncorked and felt my fluids flow. I didn’t hesitate chewing away the third nail. Knuckles-deep, they found their way and attacked mercilessly. I forgot how to breathe. I know I’m supposed to inhale and exhale the same number of times, but that wasn’t happening. My knees converged. I grunted, and even I think it’s sexy when I grunt so I did it again. My fingers were drumming double-time so hard I felt them from the outside. I was so close but I wasn’t ready. 

I climbed onto the bed and sat back on my calves with my knees spread as far apart as I could get them: porn-star-gymnast-far apart, aimed right where he’d see me if only he’d open his fucking eyes. I didn’t give my tunnel a chance to collapse before I triple-finger-fucked myself again. I rubbed, I pressed, I drummed, I did everything I could think of doing with only three fingers while the heel of my hand pressed against my sweet, swollen clit. I leaned forward because I had to, and then leaned back for the same reason. There was no hope for equilibrium, until there was. 

It started. I stopped breathing because there was no more room for air. This was like distant thunder, and then the lightning. Like the biggest waves ever, crashing onto the shore, the rumbling rattled my bones and deafened me. I shook, really shook, until the lightning struck. This wasn’t warmth, this was heat, fire, everywhere and all at once. I was blinded, deaf, and breathless. I wondered if I had died but accepted it was worth it. One hand dropped away from my crushed tit and the other fell out of my pummeled puss. I was covered in sweat, but that didn’t compare to what was streaming out onto the bed. I didn’t dare move until the thunder receded into the distance. 

So much for my shower.

I crawled under the sheets and positioned my leg over his hips. I rubbed a cum-soaked finger across his lips and softly spoke into his ear. “Baby? Honey, wake up.” His eyes fluttered open. He was confused as he recognized the scent and taste. I pushed the finger into his mouth. 

“Make love to me.”