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.