The morning after the storm broke like a lover's sigh, the world resuming its clamor, but the previous night's shared serenity lingered like cum drying on skin, a sticky reminder of their union. That evening, over dinner, Meena murmured quietly, her foot teasing his under the table, "We should travel again sometime. Not to see things, but to breathe differently-to fuck under new skies, your cock deep in me while strange winds caress our skin."
Vijay looked up, eyes dark with lust. "Anywhere you want-hills, beaches, as long as I can bend you over and thrust until you scream."
She smiled, pussy clenching. "Maybe the hills next time-high altitudes making our climaxes explosive."
He nodded. "The hills, then-I'll pack lube, toys, make it a project of pleasure." It wasn't escape; it was continuity, love in showing up through exhaustion and laughter, silence and storms, each day a build to passionate release.
As she cleared dishes, her ass swaying invitingly, Meena grasped what her mother meant: marriage built in steady kindnesses when unwatched, like Vijay's quiet fucks in the dark, his cock sliding home with tender force. She glanced back, catching him humming, wiping the counter with focus that made her wet-maybe this love, not fireworks but quiet glow after, his presence a steady throb promising endless ecstasy.
A week later, Meena returned from college, voice scratchy from lectures, brushing Vijay's concern with a wave, though her body ached for his healing touch. "It's just my throat-a bit of turmeric milk and I'll be fine, or perhaps your cum sliding down it."
But by morning, cough deepened, fever gripped like possessive lover, waking drenched in sweat at 5:30 AM, sheets clinging like post-fuck mess. Vijay stirred, hand to her forehead, alert instantly.
"You're burning up," he growled quietly, concern laced with desire, imagining cooling her with ice on nipples before licking it away.
"It's fine," she murmured, "Just tired-fuck me, make me forget."
But he knew, reaching for thermometer, beep confirming. "You're not going to college-stay, let me nurse you back, tongue on your clit until fever breaks."
She protested, "Presentations…" "Students manage," he commanded, authority making her wet. "I'll call your head-now strip, let me check every inch."
No argument; she relented, mix of frustration and relief as he assumed caretaker, efficient yet tender, working from home while monitoring, his presence a throbbing assurance. He didn't hover; he was anchor in her fever haze, each check-in a tease-hand on thigh, fingers brushing her mound "accidentally," stirring her despite illness.
When fever spiked evening, breathing shallow like pre-orgasm gasps, he helped sit up, arm around her, instinctive protection. She leaned on his shoulder, aware of solid warmth, heart thumping beneath her ear like his cock's pulse, clean shirt scent intoxicating. His arm tightened, a gesture of care that made her pussy throb faintly, even in weakness-everything unspoken: care, respect, belonging, his body a promise of future ravagings.
He held still, her warmth against him stirring his cock, hair brushing chin like teasing feathers on balls, urge to protect aching physical, imagining flipping her and fucking gently until she healed with his cum.
That night, he slept fitfully, waking every two hours to check, at one point she stirred to find him beside, fingers laced with hers. "Sleep," she whispered. "I will," he lied.
She gazed at him, the quiet man, asking hoarsely, "Why this-why not fuck me senseless instead?"
"Because you'd do the same-suck my cock through fever if roles reversed," simple reply.
Instead of arguing, she squeezed his hand, closing eyes, he lingering long after, enormous feeling settling-not passion, duty, but love matured in ordinary days, his cock hard with protective lust, promising when she healed, he'd claim her fully, thrusting deep in gratitude.