clothed: for our muses to have sex while still clothed, simply moving any articles of clothing out of the way from where they need to be.
There are a lot of good things about living together: the companionship, the shared responsibilities. Access to so many things, any time, anywhere.
Like this.
Today it's in the kitchen, post-dinner. I cooked, as I often do, so the dishes are his. I still pitch in, drying each plate he hands me. We don't speak, but he's humming something. I don't recognize it, but I don't dwell on it, focused instead on the long line of his forearms as he reaches. His sleeves are pushed up to the elbows so the cuffs don't soak, tendons shifting under his skin every time he turns a plate over. And when it's not that, it's the curve of his ass in his black dress pants, the way his hips angle into the counter...
I set the towel down when he reaches the last plate, giving him little time to adjust before I crowd him in. I press a kiss to the mole near his jaw and, at the same time, press my hips against him. Pinned neatly against the counter, I trail the kisses to the back of his neck, where his hair is damp from the kitchen's heat.
Props to him for not dropping the plate. He holds it tight instead, the ceramic digging into his palms while my hands find his belt.
"I want you so bad."
