The Wife Who Returned
The air hummed with it.
I straddled his lap in my floral lingerie, the sheer lace bra and matching panties I'd slipped into after my shower, knowing exactly what it would do to him. The pink roses embroidered on the fabric were delicate, almost innocent, but the way the lace hugged my curves felt anything but. Lucien was in his silk night pants, loose and dark gray, hanging low on his hips. No shirt. No underwear. Freeballing, as he'd casually admitted once with that half-smile that always made my knees weak. His chest was bare, warm brown skin glowing under the low lamp, muscles shifting as he pulled me closer.