Page 119 of June: Jess' Story

“Maybe…” I trail off, then move to straddle him. “Babe?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asks, already moving his hands to my hips, one of them roaming up to my breast then back down again, slipping a finger through my damp folds.

“I love you.”

He breaks out into the biggest grin. So big, he forces another dimple into existence.

“I love you more, Jess.” He pulls me forward for a kiss that’s deep and long and it’s like your soul meeting its other half and it’s a fusion. His life with mine, his love for mine. It’s a trade, and he gives himself to me, again and again. Just like he has since our first date. “Took you long enough, baby,” he says with a quick nip at my lip.

I nod, knowing he’s right. “It’s time to make me cry,” I push back and trail down his muscular frame until my mouth hovers over his hard cock.

“Jess, you’re my fucking dream,” he tells me as a hand weaves into my hair to grip the back of my neck as I lower my mouth around him.

And I do cry. When his cock hits the back of my throat and I start to gag, happy tears expel from my eyes.

When he pulls me up, flips us, and enters me he says, “I’ve loved you for a long time, Jess.” And another happy tear falls.

When he brings me to climax three times and swipes another finger across my overly sensitized clit, I cry but beg for more.

When he comes in me and rests his forehead against mine and tells me, “You’re my person, Jess.” I let one more tear fall.

“Love you, babe,” I tell him.

“Mmm, love hearing you say it,” he bites my shoulder, as his dick twitches inside me. “Are we busy tomorrow?”

“Nope.”

“Great.” He slides out of me, leaving a gushing trail of cum in his wake, and he stares at me intently. Torn between my face and my pussy.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I tease, but he whips his phone off the nightstand and snaps a picture. Or two. Or five. I love when he does that. I love that when he’s away for work, he looks at me. He wants to look at me still.

I smile, and he smiles back giving me a quick kiss, then asks, “Are you satisfied?”

“Five stars,” I say, holding up a hand. “Would come again,” and give him a wink.

“Are we going to see the girls?” I ask once we pass the furthest point of civilization. (Not really.)

“Yeah, after.” He slides a hand on to my thigh as he drives and it’s completely non-platonic the way it nestles right up against the v between my legs. I put my hand over his, and just settle in. Relaxed. Happy.

“Love you.” I love to just say it. I’ve said it maybe ten times already this morning. He’s going to be so sick of hearing it.

“Mmm, never gonna get tired of that, babe.” He smiles, still facing the road.

We turn off about 15 minutes short of the girls’ school and into a private enclave of custom homes. We drive until we hit the furthest reaches, then pull into a cul de sac and park.

“Are you moving?” I ask, looking around at the lots marked sold around us.

“There’s something in the trunk for you. Why don’t you go get it?” he asks, leaning forward to give me a quick peck.

“Okay…” I unbuckle quickly, and walk around to the back of his SUV where he’s popped the trunk already for me.

And there, sitting in an acrylic framed box like it’s an artifact of great value,is Rudolph, the thrifted sweater from my literal worst day ever. A sweater that has been meticulously and professionally pinned into linen to be on display and preserved for all of time. And I laugh.

Beside the most ridiculous looking piece of art is a card.

Sleepovers forever?

That’s all it says. But when I turn around, he’s already there, down on one knee with a massive rock in hand.