H has these moments. These moments where she’s just natural, just being herself. Her hips shift, she crosses her legs and her body tilts. Her eyes close and her head turns toward the sun, and her mouth forms something between a smile and whimper.

I can hear that. She doesn’t make a sound, but it’s a soft, breathy, yearning all the same. I can hear it in my head.

And as the sun shines across her skin, and she feels the warmth over her, sometimes I see a grin. Sometimes a puckered lip or a slight opening, or a quiver. Her breasts hang and rise as she breathes. And, for a moment, I can see the silhouette of her hard nipples.

She has these moments where I feel like getting off the bed, or darting straight to her from the doorway, grabbing her hips, and fucking her like nothing else. But I sit. I watch. And I want.

I want to see her, all of her beauty, all of her excitement and pleasure, with someone else. I want to see her gyrating on someone, I want to hear her moan out. I want her to squeeze his large cock inside her. I want her to look in his eyes and milk his body for all it’s worth.

I want her to kiss someone. I want her to part her lips for someone’s tongue, to have her breasts caressed, to feel his hand sliding down her panties and into her, and for her to spread her mouth open even more.

I want those moments, her moments, for her. For her to experience what she wants, what she needs, what she deserves.

H has these moments when I can tell she’s thinking the same thing. When her hand slides down, and her breath becomes ragged, and her thighs tremble, audibly moist. When she whispers the name of someone I know, or don’t know, and I see her rock against her hand and moisten even more as a cocktail of jealousy, angst, humility, and pleasure all fill me.

And it’s moments like that, when I realize how much I love her.

- M

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