it's gonna be forever

My threatened tears begin to fall.

He groans softly and enfolds me in his embrace.“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” My voice cracks as I try to hold back the overwhelming swell of emotion.He swallows hard and tightens his hold on me. “Please don’t cry.”I sniff in a rather unladylike way. “I’m sorry. I’m just so happy and sad and anxious at the same time. It’s bittersweet.”“Hey.” His voice is feather soft. Tipping my head back, he plants a gentle kiss on my lips.

I run my fingers into his hair and deepen the kiss, pushing him against the wall and bringing my body flush against his.He groans into my mouth and cups my head, cradling me as we kiss—really kiss, our tongues exploring the oh-so-familiar but still oh-so-new, oh-so-exciting territory that is the other’s mouth. My inner  goddess swoons, bringing my libido back from purdah. I caress his dear, dear face in my hands.

I gaze at him quizzically. Inside is a black strapless bodysuit with a central panel of lace. He caresses my face, tilts my chin,and kisses me.“I look forward to taking this off you later.”Fresh out of my bath, washed, shaved and feeling pampered, I sit on the edge of the bed and start up the hair dryer. 

He wanders into the bedroom. I think he’s been working.“Here, let me,” he says, pointing to the chair in front of the dressing table.“Dry my hair?”He nods. I blink at him.“Come,” he says, regarding me intently. I know that expression, and I know better than to disobey. Slowly and methodically he dries my hair, one lock at a time. He’s obviously done this before . . . often.“You’re no stranger to this,” I murmur. His smile is reflected in the mirror, but he says nothing and continues to brush through my hair. Hmm . . . it’s very relaxing.

When we step into the elevator on our way to dinner, we are not alone. He looks delicious in his signature white linen shirt, black jeans and jacket. No tie. The two women inside shoot admiring glances at him and less generous ones at me. I hide my smile. Yes,ladies, he’s mine. He takes my hand and pulls me close as we travel in silence down to the mezzanine level.It’s busy, full of people dressed up for the evening, sitting around chatting and drinking, starting their Saturday night. I am grateful that I fit in. The dress hugs me, skimming over my curves and holding everything in place. I have to say, I feel . . . attractive wearing it. 

He closes the door to our suite.“Alone at last,” he murmurs, leaning back against the door, watching me.I step toward him and run my fingers over the lapels of his jacket . “Thank you for a wonderful birthday. You really are the most thoughtful, considerate, generous husband.”

“My pleasure.”“Yes . . . your pleasure. Let’s do something about that,” I whisper. Tightening my hands around his lapels, I pull his lips to mine.