Epilogue

I wake to the feel of his hands, confident in their ownership, wandering over my body. My own moans of pleasure have preceded me into the world, and I hear myself before I am really aware of what is going on. His right hand cups my breast and pulls me toward him, while his left flattens against the back of my shoulder, his fingertips grazing the base of my neck. I stretch and purr, moving my legs that are already tangled with his for the sheer joy of feeling his skin move against mine.

"Mine!" he whispers into my ear, giving my breast an extra squeeze as his hands resume their journey over my body. The weight of the word burrows into me, a forceful truth that I can't deny; I am his. I moan as it settles over me. I am still sleepy, but my arousal is battling it.

His hands become more insistent, tugging, pinching, stroking, little gasps and soft cries escape from me. I feel his cock pressing against my ass, my hip, and I wriggle. "It turns me on so much that you've given yourself to me," he says, grinding against me.

More talking, more grinding, I want more, I want him past and present and future, oh God how I want him. And then he is sliding inside me, moving, talking, his hands and his fingers are everywhere, and I am lost in the universe that is just him and me, his voice, our bodies, forever, please fuck me forever.

---

Much much later, a brief interlude during sightseeing with his folks, and I am staring into space, a strange little smile playing on my face.

"You okay, baby?" he asks me, as he knows I tend to zone out sometimes.

"Mmm, been better," I respond.

"This morning?" he lifts a brow.

"Mmmm." I wrap my arms around him and we share a brief hug before we go on to the next thing.

---

Thank you, husband, for keeping me sane.