She said it had to be quick and quiet. 

She said she needed it. To know if my body could still slide into hers and if it still felt right. Like us. If it worked. If I could still make her cum and if she could still make me cum. It had been 8 weeks.

I leaned over to her side of the couch and kissed her lower neck, tasting a drop of sweat. She must have been nervous.

“I can be quick and quiet,” I said.

We walked to the bedroom and I stopped her at the doorway. I wanted to see all of her body, every piece of her skin, not just her face, her neck, her hands. I asked if I could undress her.

“You sure?” she said.

She must have thought I was being polite. 

I reached for her shirt, touching her lower stomach. I let my finger stay a moment, grazing just inside of her pants, then lifted her shirt to her neck so her breasts came out. 

She covered them with her hands, and I instinctively looked away, as if she was telling me only parts of her body could be seen, not everything at once, and even though I’d been fantasizing about all of her flesh, fantasizing about kissing her legs, her thighs, her back for almost 2 months, I knew maybe I’d have to wait longer to actually touch with my lips.

It wasn’t fair to want her this much, I knew. She was doing something I would never understand. Feeling something I would never feel. But still, that didn’t stop me from selfishly wanting to press our sweating bodies together for hours on end and make her moan so hard I’d have to turn away. 

I wanted to fuck her brains out since the birth of our baby.

“We can wait,” I said. “I’m happy to wait.”

She unbuckled my pants and put her hand down the front. I could have cum right then. Too quick, too quiet, I thought. I moved us to the bed and pulled down her leggings. 

We never had quickies. We always laughed at that term. We took our time in the bedroom because we could. So this was something new. And with a time limit it oddly felt as if we also had to relearn each other.

I put my hand between her thighs and let a few hairs tickle between my fingers. She was wet. She tried to pull me on top of her but I stopped her. I wanted this moment only for her. For her to have the attention, everything. I could never come close to what she’d done, is doing, but I could at least make her cum so hard she’d have to pull a pillow over her face. 

Quiet.

My fingers slid up and down. She doesn’t always like penetration with fingers, mostly prefers my hands gliding over the lips of her vagina. Sliding my two fingers lower, then spreading them. Then lower again, then spreading them. Her breath became a pant, and her jaw tightened, always my silent cue that whatever I was doing felt right. 

I sucked the bottom of her ear and lightly exhaled so all she could hear was how much I wanted this.

We’d been together for over a decade, married for 6 years, but still, this felt like the first time I was tasting the flavor of her neck. 

She grabbed my hand and pressed it harder against her clit. She lightly shook and let out a low moan and breath, and I watched her feet bend as they turned a lighter color.

Then she guided me on top of her. I slowly slid inside. She winced. I quickly leaned up, and as if knowing I would ask if she was okay, she put her hands behind my head and pulled me closer, forcing my face to her neck. It left no room for breath, let alone words.

It was quick. She knew she was making it quick. She knew it and she smiled as I started to tremble on top of her.

I moved off and came onto my stomach. I reached to the side of the bed and there was a burp cloth and a butterfly stuffed animal. I used my shirt.

I’ve stared into this woman’s eyes so many times after sex. She’s stared into mine. There’s not always happiness in our eyes, as I imagine anyone in a long term relationship would say. Sometimes there’s anger afterwards, sadness, loneliness. And it’s not because of the act, but because when you completely give yourself away you don’t have room to hide the littlest thing.

I knew we were still the same.

The baby cried from the living room. He’d given us 15 minutes. 

She leaned over and kissed my forehead. I watched her leave the bedroom. Her ass. I knew I would touch myself later thinking about her ass.

“Next time I want to go down on you,” I said.

She didn’t turn, but I heard her softly laugh to herself as the baby cried louder. Another long, sleepless night ahead of us, just like the past 8 weeks, with little to no quiet.

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AURORE CALL FOR PITCHES:

Aurore aims to publish voices that help reframe what eroticism and desire look like for a wide variety of people. Think: the kind of sex education you wish you got. We want stories with fully developed characters, palpable emotion, and graphic descriptions. Stories should be empowering and feminist, or explore and reflect on situations that were less than. We encourage writers to reimagine scenarios and rewrite endings so they come out on top. Writing real erotica is a healing exercise. 

We're looking for stories 800 words or longer. Pay per published piece is $50. Full submission details here: https://readaurore.com/submit