Tonight, if she could, if he were hers and she were his…
She would have cooked something that was his favorite. And under the comfortable outfit she had changed into after morning church, she would have put on her raciest undies, just waiting for the chance to show them off. She’d wait on him, serve him, smile a little more than usual, flirt a little more than usual. She’d watch him as he took her hand and bowed his head, and she’d hold her breath and remember it wasn’t a dream that he was actually hers.
She’d put away the dishes, and if he helped, she’d bump into him unnecessarily and let her chest brush against his arm. She’d drop a fork and bend over slowly to pick it up in front of him. She might even give his backside a little pat as she passed him to put the butter back in the refrigerator. He’d make a remark and laugh in that voice she knew so well, and if he tried to grab her, she’d slip just out of the way and pretend to scold him.
She might let him flip through the channels a little on the sofa…it would all depend on how patient she thought she could bear to be. But at some point she’d block his view of the television and straddle his lap. She’d whisper something much more interesting than a rerun into his ear. She’d kiss and and kiss him until he was kissing her back in that insistent way with his hand in her hair. He’d take off her shirt and blow out a whistle or sigh at the sight of her bra. She’d do the same at the sight of his chest before she ran her fingertips through the hair. Before they were completely naked, she’d take his hand and lead him to the bed room, walking backward so she could look at him all the way down the hall.
She’d take in every inch of him as he stood there, and she’d shiver as he touched her. She’d savor every moment, read every sound and sigh he made. She’d learn and relearn all the right spots, all the right kisses, all the right moves, until his knees were weak. She’d react to every touch and kiss because he always did that to her. Always. And when he took her, she would keep her eyes open and watch him watching her. She’d smile and sigh and moan and wait for his word.
And then she’d let go, they would let go, and his groan would echo in her ears. She would hold him tightly and love the weight of him over her. She’d keep her hand on him as he rolled over and pull herself to him. She’d whisper endless words of love and inhale him deeply and thank every star in heaven that he was holding her.
If she could. Every day. Every night. Forever.