I press my lips to his and kiss him. Slowly. Deeply. With all the love I have for him.
He holds back to begin with, but it doesn’t take long for him to surrender. I sense the moment he gives in, and I slide my tongue over his while threading my fingers through his hair how he likes.
“Fuck,” he groans, his lips leaving mine. “I’ve missed this.”
I have, too. IVF has resulted in me feeling unsexy. When strangers are probing you with dildo-cams multiple times a week, and you’re dry and too sore for sex, and moody, the last thing you want is to get naked with your husband. Not even to kiss him and just make out. I hate this, but it’s the truth of the journey. And it’s why I have this overwhelming need to do this with Winter today.
I undo his belt and jeans before reaching for his dick. Stroking him, I move my mouth to his ear. “When we’re done with all this, I want you to spread me out on our dining table and eat me like you used to. I want your tongue, and your fingers, and your dick every-fucking-where. And after you’ve fucked me every way you want, I’ll fuck you in all the ways I want.”
“Jesus,” he rasps, his hand landing on my ass, gripping me hard.
I stroke him faster, loving the effect I’m having on him.
His other hand comes to my jaw and he directs my mouth back to his, bruising my lips with the kind of kiss that jumbles all my thoughts into a beautiful tangle. His ability to make me feel good about myself works wonders for my anxiety.
Winter lets go of my ass and grabs the collection cup. His lips leave mine, as does his other hand, which he shifts to his dick. Taking over from me, he finishes himself off, keeping his eyes firmly on mine until he has to direct his attention to the cup.
“Fuck,” he growls, coming and filling the cup.
When he’s finished, and the sample is safely stored in the brown paper bag he was given, he kisses me roughly and says, “I fucking love you.”
“Thank you for letting me do that. For helping me feel sexy again.”
His brows pull together. “You don’t feel sexy?”
I shake my head as I glance at the floor, feeling all kinds of weird now that I said that out loud. It’s absolutely dumb to admit to the man I’ve known and loved for sixteen years that I don’t feel sexy. This is just something I need to work through. And I’m sure I’ll go back to feeling normal after we’re done with IVF.
He tips my chin to bring my eyes back to his. “Birdie, talk to me. Why don’t you feel sexy?”
“Can we just forget I said that?”
“Fuck no. I want to understand where that came from.”
I hold his gaze. “You’ve gotta admit sex and IVF don’t go well together.”
“Yeah, but what’s that got to do with you feeling sexy? You’re the sexiest goddam woman I know.”
“All the ultrasounds, all the injections, all the cramps, all our arguments, all of it…. I haven’t wanted sex, haven’t wanted you to touch me. And when you do touch me, it’s to do the shots or to place the hot water bottle on me, or something to ease my pain. It’s dumb, I know, but none of it feels sexy or like I’m doing anything to hold your attention. I feel like all I do is probably push you away. God, I’m not explaining this very well.”
“Yeah, you are.” He pulls me close. “I’ve stopped touching you because I know you’re in pain, and I’ve stopped initiating sex because I don’t want you to feel pressured. But, angel, you need to know you have my complete attention. In all the fucking ways. To say I’m counting down the days till I can fuck you is an understatement.”
His words cause a wave of intense emotion to wash over me, and tears to fill my eyes. “Thank you. God, now I’m going to cry. I swear, these drugs are the fucking devil.”
“Can’t argue with you there,” he says, letting me go. “I have to get this sample to the nurse. Are you good for a bit?”
I wipe my tears. “Yes, go. No, wait.” I practically throw myself at him and kiss him again. When I’m finished, I smile and push him away. “There,