The apartment is impeccably clean: the floor sparkles. The kitchen chrome has been scrubbed and polished. Pillows on the couch are fluffed and arranged with precise messiness.
"Honey?" I call from the hall closet as I hang my jacket and umbrella.
"Yeah! In here!" she calls from the bedroom. I follow her voice. She's wearing her long thin robe, baby blue, the fabric draped around her limbs, falling from her arms and hips in billows. The water in the bathroom is running.
"Hi," she says, sliding her arms around my neck and kissing me tenderly before beginning to unbutton my oxford. "Welcome home."
"It looks gorgeous in here," I say, very obviously eyeing her body. She giggles and smacks my arm gently. The cleaning is clearly foreplay. I wonder what I've done to deserve this princely treatment and go through dates in my head; not her birthday, not my birthday, not our anniversary.
She kisses me again. Sweet. Her robe falls open at her breasts and reveals her clavicle, her cleavage, the curve of bone and flesh.
"Go shower," she says.
I raise my eyebrows, questioning. She gives me a stern look and I go.
The water soothes my muscles, stiff from repetitive work all day. I enjoy the musky boy scents of my soaps.
The door opens with a whisper of cold air, and I see her gather my work clothes from the floor where I'd tossed them. "I set your things on the bed," she calls, and shuts the door again. I picture pajamas on the bedspread, the pillows plump and cozy, and her, lying there with her robe untied. I begin whistling happily without realizing it.
I emerge from the steam and wrap myself in one of our huge thick towels that she insisted upon buying, the ones I thought were too extravagant. She was right: occasional luxuries are so worth it. God I love that woman.
On the bedspread, carefully tossed, is a tight white undershirt, my favorite boxers that say "heads or tails?" on the fly, and my favorite harness. There is also a small narrow box wrapped in lavender tissue paper. Our bottle of lube is displayed on the bedside table.
I wasn't expecting a gift. I tear open the package to find a new cock, short, but extremely thick. I can barely get my fingers around it. She's wanted one like this for a while.
She has fitted my favorite harness with the largest O-ring, and it fits perfectly. Snug. The cock is short. Harder to wield without the length, but the girth will mean I won't have to build as much friction. I secure it to my hips and pull on the other underclothes. The dildo bulges at the fabric of my boxers and is not subtle.
She comes in from the kitchen. "Are you hungry?" she asks coyly, wrapping her arms around my neck again, pressing her thighs, her breasts, into mine. She can feel the cock and rubs against it a little, hips opening, legs parting. The delicate softness of her robe falls onto my shoulders and feels lovely. I run my fingers up the sides of her ribcage and tug gently at the fabric.
"Hungry," I consider. "Hmmm." I slide my hands along the robe, pulling it up and apart, wanting contact with her skin. She takes a step back to let the fabric fall from her shoulders.
Underneath, she's wearing pearls and lace. Lace around her ribcage, just under her perky breasts, and pearls gently draped over. Lace around her hips, a string of pearls from tip to tip.
I gasp, growl, and try not to drool. "Where did this come from?"
"It came with the cock today," she purrs, fingertips on the back of my neck where my hair is the shortest. "You like it?"
"Uh. Yes. Very much."
"One toy for you," she says, bringing her hand beneath the band of my boxers and grabbing the new thick cock, "one toy for me."
"Which one's which?"
She looks at me, amused. She works her hand along the shaft faster, pressing against me. "Does it matter?"
My neck bends back, my hips buck. She licks her lips, kisses me again, and I want to devour her. That rough desire is building in me. I finger the lace around her back, the lace on her hip. I want to tear it. I wonder how easily it would snap. She pulls back from the kiss and I feel her absence, as if drunk on the taste and scent of her. She lets the robe fall all the way to the floor and bends at the hips, flashing her ass; those pearls, that lace. I want my hands on her hips while I work in her.
She perches on the edge of the bed, spreading her legs, eyes on me. I take two quick steps to stand between her thighs and she pulls my boxers down past my knees. She wraps her fingers around my new cock again, and works it expertly. I place my hand in her hair, then on the trails of pearls over her breasts. I suck one into my mouth and tongue it gently. I'm ready to leap on her and where I feel her thighs against my knees, I'm pushing them apart.
"C'mon," she says, leaning back a little, her eyes smoky as she looks up at me. "Ready?"
I groan. Oh, am I ever.
The New Intimacy