What Happened in Front of the Bedroom Door

We’ve been on the sofa staring at our phones without saying a word for quite a while now. The lights are low, the TV is off, and a comfortable silence wraps around us. I’m not actually sleepy, but it’s already past eleven and we have to get up early tomorrow. The kids crawled into our bed after story time; the little one grabbed a huge stuffed toy and made a nest for himself among the pillows. We didn’t have the heart to move them. Today was a long day for everyone.

I walk to the bedroom on tiptoe. I rest my hand on the doorknob and stop. The door is barely ajar, a slit of warm light slipping out into the hallway. I close my eyes for a moment. I hear my husband’s footsteps behind me, his breathing close by, the faint creak of the wooden floor we know by heart.

He hugs me from behind without warning. His mouth lands straight on my neck, warm, just below my ear. I lift my arms and cross them over my head until I reach the nape of his neck. I stroke his hair slowly. He takes that as an invitation and moves down the side of my neck with slower, wetter kisses. One of his hands slides up my side, leaves my waist, and closes fully around my right breast.

This was exactly what I needed.

I’m not wearing a bra under my pajamas. He finds out right away and squeezes. My tits have always been big, with nipples that show at the slightest touch, and he knows that better than anyone. He kneads them with his open palm, taking each one whole from underneath, weighing them in his hand. Within seconds they’re hard, my nipples like stones. His other hand moves up and takes them in turn, teasing one while the first keeps squeezing the other breast.

He tugs gently at one nipple, stretching it just a little, and a sigh escapes me that I have to bite back between my teeth. I rest my forehead against the cold wood of the door. Deeper inside, the children are asleep. Deeper inside, we can’t make noise. Far from stopping me, the idea sets me on fire.

My right hand finds its own way beneath my T-shirt. I slide my palm up my stomach, slowly, until I touch one breast on my own. He notices and laughs against my neck. He leaves me one hand free and with the other he traces my abdomen as if he’d never touched it before. His fingers glide feather-light over my areolas, lingering there, drawing circles. Every pass makes my eyes close a little more.

I stick my ass out behind me, pushing it back. I want to feel him. I need to feel him. When he drives his pelvis against me and I notice his erection through the pajamas, a low moan slips out of me, almost inaudible. I bite my lip. My panties are already wet. That’s not an exaggeration: they’re soaked, and I found that out when we were still on the sofa.

He squeezes my tits again, now directly against my skin. He’d pulled my shirt up to my neck without taking it off. He squeezes hard, with a delicacy that knows perfectly the line between pleasure and discomfort. Meanwhile, my left hand slips down without permission and starts rubbing me over the pajamas. Just a touch over the fabric, but enough to make my legs tremble.

—Don’t start without me —he whispers in my ear—. Wait for me.

—Then hurry up —I answer, and my own voice sounds hoarse to me.

He lowers my pants halfway down my thighs. Leaves them there, trapping my legs on purpose. Then he reaches for my panties and pulls them up. The fabric wedges between my ass cheeks, presses against my cunt and outlines everything. I sigh against the door.

I keep rubbing over the wet cotton. I’m completely shaved, smooth, not a single hair, and my fingers slide without effort. I find my clit on the first try and start moving them in small circles. He kneads one breast with one hand and with the other spreads one of my cheeks, presses, lets go. Every time he lets go, the skin burns.

I rest my head against my own arm, also pressed to the door. For a second I stop touching myself and bring my fingers to the entrance of my cunt. It’s not just wet anymore: it’s a puddle. I move the fabric of my panties aside with two fingers and drag them from the entrance to my clit in one long stroke. Lubricating everything. Spreading my own wetness around. God, what pleasure!

***

He gives me no respite. Every inch I advance, he takes advantage of it. I feel him finally tug my panties down until they’re at my knees. The cool hallway air hits my soaked pussy and a shiver runs through me.

Then I hear the dull thud of his knees against the wooden floor. He’s just knelt down behind me. His hands dig into my hips, adjusting my posture, asking for my ass higher, farther out. I obey. I’m obeying everything he asks of me, and everything he doesn’t ask too.

He spreads my cheeks with his thumbs. Then he opens the lips of my cunt, very gently, as if he were inspecting something precious. All my senses are fixed on what comes next. I picture it with a clarity I shouldn’t have: his face close, his warm breath, his eyes.

The first finger enters without asking permission. It costs him nothing: I’m water. He slips it all the way in, pulls it out, and on the way brushes my clit with his fingertip. Back to the entrance. Now it’s two fingers pushing inside. My legs open as far as my trapped panties allow.

He moves them slowly. Sets a rhythm. With his other hand he grabs one cheek and squeezes. Then he brings his mouth closer and bites the other one. Just a tiny bite, but the brief pain mixes with the pleasure of his fingers and my head goes fuzzy.

I lift my hand again to my clit. I need it. I rub it with two fingers, ruthlessly and carefully at the same time, measuring myself, because I still don’t want to come. I want it to last.

When I do, I find him. His fingers are there, inside, and mine are right above. He notices. He stops for a second. Then he grabs my wrist, guides me, and slips two of my fingers in with two of his. Four fingers inside. My whole body gives up against the door. We move together, slow, in sync, while I try, I truly try, not to make a sound.

—Don’t hold it in —he whispers from below—. But don’t scream.

—I’m not promising anything —I whisper back, almost out of breath.

***

He pulls his fingers out. Mine too. My hand goes straight back to my clit; I can’t take it away from there now. I wait for him to come back in with his hand, and he doesn’t. What he does is spread my cheeks again, calmly, and run his tongue over my anus. A jolt. A shiver that shoots up my entire spine. I’m so hot that right now I’d let him do whatever he wants.

He slides his fingers back inside my cunt while one hand holds a cheek open and his tongue keeps licking. I force myself to breathe slowly so I don’t explode. The wood of the door smells like home, like small familiar things, and for some reason that only turns me on even more.

After a few seconds I feel him moving. He gets between my legs, all the way, from below, however he can. His head ends up buried between my open thighs. His breathing hits my cunt directly. He starts by licking everything clean, slowly, one long pass from the entrance to the mound. One. Another. Another. Each one tears a sigh from me that gets trapped in my throat.

When he reaches my clit, it’s no longer just a tongue gliding over it: it’s his whole mouth. He closes his lips around it and starts sucking. At the same time he slides two fingers inside me, curling them forward just a little, exactly at the spot he knows and I know and no words are needed for.

I grab his head with both hands. I push him against me. He understands and quickens the pace. I rock my hips up and down against his mouth without thinking; I no longer control my body. I let one hand go, bring it to my breast, pinch a nipple and twist it between my fingers. The other keeps holding his hair, almost pulling, almost apologizing.

My legs are starting to give out. My left knee is shaking, and the right one too. I press my forehead against the door, my knuckles against the wood. I need to come, but I can’t scream. I can’t scream. The kids are on the other side.

I tilt my head back toward the ceiling. A muffled moan slips out of me, a strange sound, almost painful, trapped behind my teeth. And I come. I come hard. So hard that my whole body bends forward and only the door keeps me on my feet.

***

He holds me from below, hands on my hips, not moving. He waits for the last wave to pass. Then he stands up slowly, pulls my panties back up with an almost strange, almost tender care, and straightens my pajamas. I’m still gasping and my head is still resting against the wood.

I turn around and take his face in both hands. I kiss him like I haven’t kissed him in a long time: slow, deep, asking him for nothing. I can taste myself in his mouth, and instead of bothering me, it lights something else up inside me, something I’m going to have to put out another way, another day.

—Thank you —I say softly against his lips.

—Tomorrow it’s my turn —he replies, smiling.

—Deal —I promise him—. But now let’s go to sleep before they catch us.

I push the door open slowly. The crack widens. The kids are still there, a tangle of pillows and stuffed animals, asleep as if the whole world were still. My husband comes in behind me, slips an arm around my waist, presses my chest to my back. I walk to the bed hand in hand with him, still trembling inside.

It’s dawn. The house is silent. And I fall asleep with a smile that won’t fade for days.