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Saturday, February 28, 2009

Desert Heat By R. W. Shannon

When I woke up this morning, it was just an ordinary, hot Saturday in Arizona. The newscaster said it was 110 degrees. It was a little past four and I was in the middle of trying to decided between chicken and fish for dinner when my husband Xavier showed up in the doorway of the kitchen. Naked.

I froze, holding the cellophane wrapped meats in my hands, almost dropping them as my eyes wandered over his broad chest. His dark ebony skin glistened with sweat and steam from the shower. My eyes wandered lower, traveled over his tight abs and, lower still, settling between his muscular thighs.

Without a word, he stripped me in the kitchen, carried me upstairs, and tied me to the bedposts.. As he takes my earlobe between his lips, I shiver in the air conditioned room. I can hear him move around the bed. The sound of his bare soles brush against the tops of the carpet and blends in with the rhythm of my heart beat.

The mattress shifts under his weight as he crawls up my body to kiss me on my lips. I inhale his scent. My husband smells like a honey dipped star. I inhale deeply as he kisses me. His tongue expertly parts my full lips and entwines with mine. My lips miss his when he pulls away to rain kisses on my neck and shoulders. I sigh. After fifteen years, this man still knows what buttons to push.

Yet, my mind travels to our daughter who is out at the mall with her friends. Our son who is sleeping over at his friends tonight. Our newest son who is sleeping in the crib at my mother’s house a few blocks away. There was a pile of papers on my desk from my criminal law students that needed to be graded. The garbage disposal was broken, again. My husband will be in Japan all next week on business. And I’m sure our dog Lexi is standing by his food dish wondering where dinner is.

A rough flick of his tongue brings me back to reality. I open my eyes. The blindfold tickles my eyelashes. Soft golden sun light lines the edges of the dark mask. He grazes my nipple with his teeth. My breath hitches. I want to run my hands over his bald head but my wrists are tied with red silk scarves. My fingertips ache. I need to touch him. I need to run my hands over his hard muscular shoulders and back.

Another shiver flows down my spine and settles in between my legs. What is this man doing to me? The same thing he always does, blow my mind.

He kisses the sensitive skin between my breasts, then kisses a slow, wet path down my torso to the area between my thighs. I sigh. Until this moment, I never saw the merit of a Luther Vandross song. One is playing now. And for the rest of my days, I will worship this song like a hymn. Vow to always stop and daydream whenever it flows through my speakers. When Luther sings, “I’d follow you to the moon and the stars above,” I sigh. That is how much I love my husband.

Maybe I don’t tell him enough. Maybe I do take him for granted sometimes. Maybe I have gotten used to the “midnight quickie” when the kids and dog are finally asleep and it is the only time we have together before one of us passes out from exhaustion. Maybe I need to tell him I love him more often. Tell him that he still means more to me than a paycheck, a warm body at night. He is an amazing father. An amazing husband. I realize. His tongue dives deep inside my core, coaxing another orgasm to the surface.

I love you tumbles out of my mouth as a whisper. Three simple words that have so much meaning behind them. I repeat them. I want him to hear them, to feel them inside of him as I need him inside of me right now. Suddenly, he stops and climbs up my body. He thrust his tongue in my mouth as he thrusts his member deep inside my valley. I gasp as he thrusts deep and hard against my opening.

Our sweet aroma fills the room. My eyes roll back in my head. I am his bitch now and he knows it. That is why he takes his time. Tracing the letters of my name against my slick walls. My toes curl by the time he gets to the “l” in Melinda. When he gets to the “n”, I have already signed my soul over to him. Whatever he wants from now on, he gets. No questions asked. Steak for dinner? Done. That new Dodge Charger? What color, honey?

His voice is harsh and soft against the side of my neck. He thrusts faster, deeper still. The headboard slams against the wall. I am so wet that he slips out. He pauses to slide back into place. Xavier’s thrusts become more erratic. I hear him moan. Hear him mumble my name. Talk some smack about how good my pussy feels. I didn’t think it was possible, but I cum again. His voice echoes in chorus with mine.

Spent, he rolls onto his side. Then, he unties my hands and pulls me to his chest. I snuggle against him, still wearing the blindfold.

The song switches to Patti Labelle. The one we danced to at our wedding. I smile. My hand flows down his sweat soaked chest and grasps his still hard member. Cum leaks over my hand. I take off the blindfold and tie it around his eyes.

My turn.

About the author: R.W. Shannon currently lives in the desert of Arizona and has survived five years of 100+ degree summer days. She is hard at work on several projects.

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