Thump. Thump. Thump.The rhythm was as familiar as the pattern of cracks on their bedroom ceiling. A steady, unrelenting pounding of flesh against flesh, his hips pistoning in a tight, efficient rhythm.John was lost in the sensation of what he gave, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple as he drove himself into his wife, Clara.He was on cloud nine.His world had narrowed to the tight, wet heat enveloping him, the slap of his skin against hers, the sharp intake of his own breath with every inward plunge.He leaned down, his dress shirt sticking to his back, and captured one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking briefly through the thin cotton of her nightshirt before releasing it with a wet pop.Clara’s hands lay at her sides, fingers occasionally curling into the sheets. Her eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling fan as it made its lazy rotations.“You feel so good, baby,” John grunted, his voice thick with effort. His pace quickened, a slight, urgent shift.This was it.The b
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