My husband has been acting weird for the past few days. He'll come back home really late at night or never come back home. He has a business on the side that he's keeping a secret from me and I never question him about it because, I respect him.
Its 2am in the morning and he's still not home. I'm on the sofa waiting for him to come.
A car engine hums on our porch and then it quietens indicating his arrival. I hear the door unlock and him stepping in. He is still neat but his jacket is in his arm.
"Where have you been? I have been calling you but, it kept on going straight to voice mail." I get up, walking towards him with my arms folded.
"You know what I'm doing Everlore." He states, annoyed as he takes off his shoes to wear slippers. He starts to acend the stairs.
"You did not answer my question Alex, where were you?" I ask as I walk to the end of the stairs that he is climbing to go to our bedroom.
"I already did. Now leave me alone." He states but he pauses after I ask him this question.
"Do you still love me?" My arms unfold as the fall out of pain. My throat constrict as I hold in my tears. He has been acting distant lately. He never hugs, kiss or have sex with me anymore. He lets out a sign of annoyance and turns around to look at me. His face void of emotions.
"Not this again Everlore. How many times have you asked this question already?" I couldn't hold my tears anymore and I lash out. Luckily, the kids are at his mothers place visiting.
"YOU NEVER CALLED ME BY MY NAME ANYMORE BUT NOW YOU DO. YOU ALWAYS TEXTED ME THAT YOU'LL BE HOME LATE AND NOW YOU DON'T ANYMORE. YOU ALWAYS KISSED AND HUGGED ME WHENEVER YOU WENT TO WORK AND NOW YOU DON'T. YOU DON'T EVEN SAY HAPPYBIRTHDAY TO ME OR REMEMBER OUR ANNIVERSARY. IS THERE..." Before I could continue. His lips crash onto my lips. Tears still running down my face.
The kiss is rough at the same time amazing. Our tongues dancing in a passionate tango that leaves me dizzy with want. He sweeps me off my feet, his strong arms lifting me effortlessly. I gasp, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, my arms snaking around his neck.
Alex starts to move, his strides purposeful and determined as he carries me upstairs. Muscle memory at work. The world around us fades into a blur, at least my world. The only thing that matters is the feel of his body against mine, the taste of his lips, the promise of what's to come. I can feel the hard planes of his muscles, the strength in his arms, the heat of his skin seeping into me.
As we reach the top of the stairs, Alex turns down the hallway, his pace unhurried but filled with purpose. I can hear the soft thud of his footsteps, the rustle of our clothes, the ragged sound of our breaths mingling in the air. The door to our bedroom looms ahead, a promise of intimacy and pleasure
He kicks the door open, carrying me inside. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the floor. He lowers me onto the bed, his body following mine, his weight a delicious pressure I crave. Our lips meet once more, the kiss deepening, becoming more urgent, more desperate.
His hands roam over my body, exploring every curve, every line, as if memorizing me. I arch into his touch, my body begging for more, for everything he can give me. His fingers find the hem of my nightgown, slowly lifting it, his touch sending sparks of pleasure across my skin. I shiver, my breath hitching as he exposes more of me, his eyes dark with desire.
He growls in response, a low, primal sound that vibrates through me, making my core clench with need. His lips trail down my neck, his stubble rough against my sensitive flesh, marking me, claiming me. I run my hands through his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, wanting to feel him everywhere.
But as he continues, I start to notice something off. His movements are mechanical, almost forced, as if he's going through the motions but his heart isn't in it. His kisses, once passionate and hungry, now feel more like a duty, a task to be completed. I try to meet his gaze, to connect with him, but he avoids my eyes, his focus solely on the physical act.
Alex's mouth finds my breast, his tongue circling my nipple. I moan, the sound caught in his mouth as he continues to tease, to torment, to pleasure. But even as my body responds, I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. His touch, once reverent and explorative, now feels hurried, almost impatient.
I reach for his dress shirt, my fingers fumbling with the buttons in my haste to feel his skin against mine. He helps me, his movements swift and sure, his shirt discarded to the floor. I run my hands over his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles, the dusting of hair, the heat of his skin. He's perfect, a work of art, and I want to explore every inch of him.
But as I try to deepen our connection, to make this moment about more than just physical pleasure, he pulls away slightly, his focus never wavering from his task. It's as if he's determined to see this through, to fulfill some unspoken obligation, but his heart isn't in it.
Alex's lips find mine once more, our kiss deepening, becoming more urgent, more desperate. I gasp as he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking, nipping, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me.
I can feel the hardness of his desire pressing against me, and I ache to feel him, to have him inside me. I reach for his belt, my fingers working quickly to undo it, to free him. Alex helps me, his movements mirroring mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
As we finally come together, our bodies joining in a perfect, intimate dance, I feel a sense of disconnect. Alex moves above me, his body sliding against mine, his hips thrusting, his rhythm steady and sure. But there's a distance in his eyes, a detachment in his touch, as if he's here but not truly present.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, wanting to feel all of him, to be filled completely. But even as our bodies move in sync, I can't shake the feeling that we're not making love, we're just having sex. There's no emotion, no connection, just a physical act, a release of tension, a fulfillment of desire.
The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of us, lost in a dance of passion and desire. But as I look into Alex's eyes, I see nothing and in that moment, I realize that this isn't about us, about our love, about our connection. This is about him, about his demons, about his struggle to reconcile the man he wants to be with the man he is.
As we reach the peak of our pleasure, our bodies tensing, our breaths catching, we come undone together, our cries of release mingling in the air. He collapses onto me, his body heavy and sated, his heart pounding against mine. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close, wanting to comfort him, to ease his pain.
But as I lie there, my body still throbbing with the aftershocks of our passion, I can't help but feel a deep sense of sadness. Because I know, in that moment, that we were not making love. We were just having sex, a fleeting, physical connection that left us both empty and unfulfilled. And I wonder, as I stroke his hair and feel his breaths even out, if this is all we'll ever have—moments of passion, but never true intimacy, never a deep, unbreakable bond.