Propping myself against the door frame, I watch as she soaps her body. She has her back to me which I’m thankful for, because it affords me a little extra time to take in the curved silky body that rocks my world.

Grabbing my t-shirt from behind, I pull it over my head and drop it to the floor, quiet so that I don’t alert her to my presence—I want to surprise her. I unbutton my jeans then pull them down over my already hard dick. And taking myself in my hand, I slowly palm my length to ease the intense throbbing that has surfaced.

I’m eager to touch every inch of her, so make way into the shower and secure her from behind, cupping her pussy with one hand and placing the other on her neck. She jolts in surprise for the split second it takes her to realise I am the one holding her captive.

“It’s been 27 days since I’ve been inside you, Alexis. 27 fucking agonizing days,” I whisper harshly into her ear.

My finger flexes and massages the soft skin of her clit, while my other hand firmly clenches her neck but not enough to make her feel uncomfortable.

She moans and her legs weaken, but being so attuned to her body, I predict this movement and support her waning frame.

“Can you feel my cock on your arse?” I question, nipping at her ear before running my tongue along the back of her neck. “How hard I am?”

An indistinct word is mumbled from her mouth as I press my finger deeper into her wet skin. Alexis begins to rock her hips against my hand, and her head falls back onto my shoulder, baring her neck. I loosen my grip and lightly trail my hand up and down her neckline.

“Please tell me I can fuck you.”

With her eyes still closed and water streaming down her chest, she licks her lips. “You can.”

I let out a growl, something I do often when around this woman. “That’s not what I asked you to say.”

I want her to tell me I can fuck her; hear those dirty little words beg for it.

Alexis tilts her head to face me, grabs a handful of my hair, and brings my mouth to hers, all the while forcing my finger inside her pussy. “You can fuck me,” she mumbles, aggressively.

My body responds to her request, tensing and magnetising to her soft wet skin. I slide my finger in and out of her and join it with a second, gently stretching her in preparation for my cock. The last thing I want to do is hurt her, after all, it’s only been four weeks since she gave birth.

“Does that feel good?” I ask her, making sure she is enjoying what I’m doing.

Her body indicates that she does, but I want to hear her say it...purr it.

“Yes, it feels...so good,” she moans.

I press my mouth to hers again and stroke her tongue with my own, tasting all she has to offer. She is my delicacy; my desired flavour.

Alexis breaks away from my mouth and bends forward, placing her palms flat against the tiled wall and widening her stance. Dropping my hand from her throat, I glide it down in between her breasts only to rest it upon her hip.

With a delectable moan slowly pouring out of her mouth, she presses her arse against the crown of my dick, allowing me to glide and swirl it around her opening.

“Fuck,” I ground out, now desperate to feel her pussy walls clenching around my cock.

Slowly, I press into her, closing my eyes with the superb sensation of her warmth which has been 27 days in waiting. The air surrounding her mouth is sharply inhaled, and it worries me for a split second that she isn’t quite ready like she says she is.

Just as I am about to withdraw, she lets out the most erotic sounding moan with enough ardour to rival the steam in the shower.

“Oh God, Bryce. I’ve missed you, I’ve missed this.

“I’ve missed you too, Hunny, more than you’ll ever know.”

Encouraged by her gratification and obvious euphoria, I proceed to hold her hips and drive into her with timed precision, my glide effortless—she’s so wet and primed for me.

When I’m feeling this fucking ravenous and alive with pent up sexual tension, I need to remind myself to be careful and not get carried aware for fear of hurting her. So I pull out and spin her around to face me which always brings me back to a safer momentum.

Lifting her back up onto my cock, I impale her and press her against the wall, my sudden change of position forcing her to gasp. With her lips now parted, I ravage her mouth, seeking out her tongue with my own as I continue to drive into her, relishing the feel of her body once again joined with mine. I realise just how much I have missed being inside her, holding her, hearing the raw, carnal noises reverberate from within—I’ve simply missed making love to the woman I love.

Okay, so I realise this can be seen as ridiculous. In hindsight, it has only being less than a month since last having sex with her. The thing is, the power of addiction is a force to be reckoned with; a dependence that can only be cured with fortitude. And where Alexis is concerned, my resolve is non-existent.

Feeling the build-up of pressure at the head of my dick, I explode into her like Mount Fucking Vesuvius and growl like a God damn barbarian, my release too long in waiting.

* * *

Following our love making from the night before, you’d think I’d be one happy, relaxed, and fully sated man. But I’m not, not completely anyway. Yes, my balls now feel a little more like the billiard variety and a lot less like the bowling variety, I can’t dispute that. The thing is, today I’m anxious for an entirely different reason, for today is Gareth’s birthday and I can’t seem to get him out of my mind; out of my conscience.

Sitting here at my desk, I replay the final conversation I had with him on the morning his psychotic DID alter, Scott, held Alexis hostage and nearly killed her. I’d been so wrapped up and absorbed in my own life, I had not paid attention to Gareth’s state of mind and body language, completely failing to see just how out of control his condition really was. I’d fooled myself into believing that he was taking his meds because I’d asked him to do so, never having thought to check that the pills he was actually taking were, in fact, the prescribed ones—apparently, he had been popping vitamins in my presence.

Now nine months down the track, and I can clearly see—as I look back on those weeks leading up to the explosion—that his behaviour and conduct was not only irrational but evidently disturbed. Things like the angry phone call I received after Xmas, when he accused Alexis of deliberately omitting him from our family lunch. Not to mention the numerous phone calls and emails I’d gotten while Alexis and I were in Italy—emails, checking on Clark Incorporated issues that did not concern him. All these things I’d just swept under the rug, because for once in my life—ever since the car accident occurred—I didn’t want to have to deal with Gareth, didn’t want to be responsible for babysitting him. Except, the moment I did drop my guard and responsibility, the worst possible thing happened...I failed him.

* * *

Sitting on the edge of our bed, I watch Alexis’ peacefully enjoying her slumber. She has no choice but to sleep on her back, because apparently, if she sleeps on her stomach she’ll wake up in a puddle of breast milk. As I stare at her glorious breasts which are hidden behind her maternity bra—a crime in itself—I yearn to caress the soft flesh with my tongue.

The imposed nipple prohibition is slowly killing me, eating at my sanity and diminishing my tenacity.  Having no choice but to fight my nipple-need, I think of a distraction.

A smile creeps onto my face as I get an idea of something I know she loves but something I haven’t done in a while. I race downstairs and grab a yellow rose from the vase in the foyer then race back upstairs and kneel on the ground next to the bed. I am excited just like a kid on Christmas Day, all because I love waking her up with a rose.

Very lightly, I wipe the bud of the flower across her forehead, this prompting her brow to crease ever so slightly. Her taunted face is so adorable, and I have to bite my lip to supress a laugh.

Returning the rose to the bridge of her nose, I trail it down very softly. Her hand swings up out of nowhere and swipes at what her subconscious is telling her is there. I quickly retract the rose before she touches it and with a mischievous inward chuckle, wait patiently for her to settle back down again. She does, and as I take in her peaceful appearance, I melt with love. Her eyelashes are long and black, and fan beautifully atop her cheek bones. She has some very faint freckles, and the last time I counted, there were about 19 of them across her nose and cheeks. Her lips are downright irresistible, plump and semi-pursed. And her blonde hair neatly frames the most beautiful face in the world.

Swallowing the lump in my throat and smiling because I know how fortunate I am, I place the rose on her lips and sit it just under her nose, knowing that when she breathes in her next breath, the scent she loves so much will filter into her senses and begin to wake her from her sleep.

I watch with fascination as she does just that and breathes in a deep breath, her chest rising as her hands find her hair while she stretches. Her eyelids flutter open and within seconds she begins to decipher what is before her. When she does interpret what her eyes are exposing, her heartbreaking smile starts to spread across her face. And, as always when she graces me with that expression, I am conquered... done for.

“Mornin’,” she mumbles, and sits up on her elbows while taking the rose from my hand.