"What's with the typewriter?"

"You were complaining about writer's block; I thought it might inspire you."

"It doesn't, but I don't care. As long as I am riding your cock and watching your face, you can bring whatever you want."

Flowers, typewriters, the sun, none of that mattered. What did was feeling her lover thrust his cock deeper while lavishing attention on her wide awake nipples. She missed moments like these.

Beep-beep. The sound yanked her out of the fever dream. She hated the sound of her respirator. Her husband had hated his too before he left her for good.