You’d think I’d enjoy the days to myself. The time to do whatever I want. No trying to decide what’s for dinner, no cleaning up after anyone else.
I did I guess, at first. the first few hours of silence, I was giddy with excitement. I could read until all hours of the night, watch porn, masturbate maybe.
By the third day, I starting getting needy.
Conversations in the morning and evening with him didn’t help.
If anything, it made the longing worse.
Day seven I was desperate, begging for him to come home.
He came home on the tenth day. Barely made it through the door before I was in his arms.
He kissed me. Oh god. It was like being kissed for the first time. The taste of him, tongue in my mouth, teeth scraping my lips…
We didn’t waste time getting all our clothes off. Shoes, jeans, pants, underwear flew through the air.
We made it to the bed, but only just. He was inside me by the time my back hit the bed, pounding at me like his life depended on it.
I clawed at his back, his hips, yanked his shirt off.
My shirt and bra went somewhere, he squeezed and kneaded my breasts, bent his head and growled as my nipple slid between his lips.
I arched my back, full off the bed.
He was hot, hard.
I was wet, writhing beneath him.
I don’t know who finished first…
It didn’t matter really.
He covered my mouth as I screamed, clutched my hips to him as he filled me.
Later we lay in each others arms, naked, skin to skin.
We made love again, and again, and again.
They say it makes the heart grow fonder.
Absence also makes the pussy wetter and the cock harder….