“I’m sorry I didn’t acknowledge your birthday,” he whispered, pulling me into his arms and beginning a slow drag dance, subtly grinding his hips into mine. His hands slipped below my waistline and cupped my behind, while he nuzzled his face into my neck, making me giggle. He danced me over to the table then handed me the box, which held a gleaming tennis bracelet in sterling silver. “Thank you Sydney!” I gushed as he fastened it around my wrist.
“You’re welcome.” He landed his lips on mine and slowly circled his tongue, continuing his build-up with more pronounced gyrations.
I melted like butter to his touch and my body prepared itself for a long, sultry night of love making. We danced a while longer, if it could be called dancing, then began our trek to our bedroom. Fully engaged, energized and ready, there wasn’t a tired bone in my body, and Sydney did not disappoint. I’d truly forgotten just how wonderful good lovemaking really was. I mean I was tugging the sheets, squeezing the pillows and reaching for things that weren’t even there. Sydney was turning me inside out! By the time we were done, I was completely exhausted but so very exhilarated at the same time.
Sydney held me tightly from behind, letting me rest my head on his forearm rather than on the pillow. And there we lay, spooning until morning.
I was still giddy when the sun came up, although Sydney had long left for work. As I lathered up in the shower, my skin tingled, reminded of what my husband had put on me just a few hours before.
“Mmph, mmph, mmph!” I reminiscently moaned. “I think my mojo is back!”
Feeling sexy, I put on the sexiest panties and push-up bra set I owned, which I had to dig out of the very back of my drawer. I pulled on my panty hose, a gray sweater dress that flirtatiously hugged my every curve. I pushed silver hoops through my ears, draped my neck with a long silver necklace, then searched the sheets and the bedside for my new bracelet, but couldn’t find it, and didn’t have time to do a full shake-the-sheets-out search. It was okay though; it wasn’t enough to wreck the mood. I was feeling so good, I even put on make up, and sprung for a pair of pumps instead of the flats I usually wore to work.
All day long, I sang Jill Scott’s It’s Just The Way You Love Me and Whatever. I sent him all kind of nasty, freaky, sexual text message all day, feeling my body pulse, flinch and flex beneath my dress. I didn’t even flirt with Quinton that day.
I couldn’t drive home fast enough to start an encore performance, even if no one had though enough to start dinner. I’d get my groove on, then fix something quick and easy for the kids.
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Tune in every day this month for another segment of "My Super Teeny-Tiny Little Mini Ex" Excerpt that is...taken from my novel Spoonin
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