We’re watching an episode of a sitcom. The TV is low, and all I can hear other than his breaths are vague chatter and far-away laugh tracks broken up by commercial monologues. We’ve been here for a while, facing each other in a half-nap, with his head tilted down to mine and mine tilted up. His hand is cupping my pussy in my favourite cotton panties, and the other arm is draped over my waist. Once in a while he leans in to give me a deep kiss and pet me – rocking his palm back and forth a few times until I let out a soft, sleepy moan. I’m so comfortable that my skin is tingling.
It’s calm and still. The sitcom has changed to a news segment and I can barely make it out. He leans in for another kiss and this time it’s longer. More intentional. Deeper. He moves his hand from my waist and cups my face, squeezing my cheeks together so my lips separate. He kisses me again – long and slow on my open mouth, putting his entire tongue on mine that was instinctively waiting for him.
*‘You’re such a good girl.’*