Lingering

I come home from seeing you and walk in my front door. I'm met immediately by husband and children, all vying for some attention, each one wanting something, but I'm distracted.  My mind is still with you even though my body is here now. My husband leans in to kiss me, a quick peck on the same lips that were passionately engaged with yours just 30 minutes ago.

I greet everyone quickly, drop my purse and move into the kitchen to start cooking dinner. As I turn into the kitchen, my hair blows in the gentle breeze created by the ceiling fan and I catch a note of your scent. I stop in my tracks and breathe in again, trying to hold you there with me, but it's gone.

I start making dinner, efficient as always, making small talk with my husband and kids as they each wander through for their few minutes of catch-up time with me.

"How was your day?" my husband asks.

"Good.  Yours?"

"It was ok," and then he goes on to tell me about what one of the boys did today and how his lunch went with that friend of ours.

Then he asks, "Anything special happen in your day today?"

Trying not to skip a beat or look up from my task, I reply, "Oh, same old thing.  You know, just lots of work..."

I don't hear the next few things he says because my mind wanders to my time with you this afternoon and the stolen hours we spent making love. I smile as I remember how you whispered, "That's my girl" to me as I came and shuddered in your arms.

I move to the dining room to set the table. As I lean over the table to place the silverware on the far side, I remember how you bent me over the edge of the bed and stood behind me, holding my hips and pulling me back onto you as you fucked me forcefully, almost savagely. I pause for a moment to drink it in, again trying to hold onto the memory for just another few seconds before one of the kids comes running in to show me something, reclaiming me.  As I turn to him, I reflect on how different the scene in our hotel room was from this civilized, family picture.

I shake my head a bit, as if I can shake off the lingering memory of your hands on my body and the sound of your breathing and moaning as you cum.  But I'm not your lover here.  I'm this little one's mom, and that man's wife. I walk back into the kitchen, a little sad as I resign myself to letting go of the pleasure of the afternoon, at least for now.

I finish the dinner and start serving it, calling the boys to the table.  My husband shouts the same instructions he's given every night for the better part of the last two decades - wash your hands, turn off the TV,  no magazines (or iPods) at the table. I finish serving as the last one takes a seat.  I look at the clock as I move to my chair.  Just an hour and a few minutes ago I was with you, completely and totally yours, focused intensely on pleasing you, enjoying you, and being your slut, and now I'm here.  I look around the table and see my boys, all looking at me, waiting for me to sit, and I'm filled with love for them - and gratitude.

As I sit down, my breath catches a little bit as a sweet soreness reminds me of that wonderful, hard ass fucking you gave me just a few minutes before we left each other this afternoon.  We both knew we had to go, but we wanted to connect one last time before your wife and my family pulled us back to our other lives. It was forceful and hurried and fantastic, leaving me with a lingering soreness as a reminder of you.

I smile, and refocus on my family, but I know you're still here, lingering and waiting for me to remember again. I'll hold onto that until I can be with you again.