Warm soft lips nibble my left lobe, causing a slight tickle, and you whisper huskily, "Hopping in the shower. Join me?"

Only days since we rang in the New Year with a bang. It's the usual cold morning following the previous night’s light and fluffy snowfall in our mountain hideaway.

"May I?" I reply in my best attempt for a sultry voice to show my interest in your invitation while wiping sleep out of my eyes. You wink, slide from under the warm duvet, and give a quick booty shake as you traipse stark naked to the bathroom just a few steps from the king-sized bed in which I'm comfortably tucked.

After a minute of contemplation, I follow you, untying the ribbon of my mid-thigh silk red robe and chucking it into the hamper. Goosebumps coat my nakedness and I shiver in the brumal air. My usually inverted nipples are erect and I smile seeing these perky bits in the full-length mirror.

Watching you through the shower cubicle’s glass wall, I proudly think, "That's my sexy man." I’m proud of you not only for the magnificent magic you can achieve in bed but as a responsible individual and a role model. My father would be jealous if he knew that I regard you as a better father to your children than he has been to me.

You're not perfect — but you're perfect for me.

I’m turned on by those thoughts: my smooth pussy throbs and moistens in excitement.

Steam from the hot water fills the bathroom. It’s like a sauna as I listen to you singing along to "Waiting for a Girl Like You" by Foreigner. You’re several decibels above a whisper but don't notice me stealthily slide open the glass door of the shower. You're busy rinsing the shampoo from your short salt ‘n’ pepper hair while stomping your right foot on the wet floor to the rhythm of the song. The flat rough stones were installed for pumice foot scrubs but, right now, I concentrate on your physique: the firm posterior and your muscles moving in perfect choreography. Your biceps flex as you wash off the foamy shampoo.

My big dark brown eyes darken with desire as I gaze at your shower-wet fleshy trapezius connected to your sexy neck I so love to mark. Your recent admission of liking me to leave love bites is such a turn-on and it’s a shared pleasure. I wear your marks on me like trendy bling. We're no longer teenagers to do such a crazy thing — but who cares?

My tummy growls as I wet my lips with my tongue, feeling my swollen lower lip from last night's intense kisses. I recall how lovely it was when you gave in for a piggyback ride from the bedroom to the kitchen downstairs on Christmas Day morning for an intense devourment. My pussy gets wetter with that torrid memory. We missed breakfast in bed that day and, instead, had breakfast with a head. With warm cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate with cream, you come in randy retrospect.

That happened because of those powerful well-sculpted back muscles and shoulders where steamy water now flows down to your praiseworthy obliques and onto your masculine hips and firm glutes which you often teasingly wiggle, making me laugh until tears roll down my face.

An older man who provides an ass antic and calls it a booty shake? That's you — and you get a playful bum slap from me. How I love to grab those man buns when we cum together, you filling me with your warm seed. My sodden cunt throbs even more with that thought.

As the song changes to Halestorm's stripped version of "Do Not Disturb", I watch you raise your left foot and place it in a low niche while you wash your leg with the bath puff. My dark orbs take in your long runner's legs, across which I lay for my spankings until I'm wet and wanting, my lady juices dribbling down my legs. Those are the legs that I rest my right leg on when we cuddle after a night of passionate lovemaking.

Now I look at those big hands rinsing off the conditioner on your head, the hands which hold my hands over my head as you give me jolts of pleasure, making me want more and more.

I smirk, thinking I should tie those strong hands with your silk neckties tonight.

The fine mist of hot water trickles down my aroused body. I close my eyes and shake away my naughty thoughts — but I’m met with wet sloppy kisses all over my face. I open my eyes and see your favorite fluffy furbaby beside me now, howling on the bed.

"Good morning, my Love."

My heart flutters as I hear the most mouthwatering, masculine voice emanating from the bathroom and watch you walking in full glory, smelling fresh and clean from the shower, ready for me again.

Listening intently, it is Johann Pachelbel's Canon in D that has been playing on repeat all night like it was played on our wedding day.

Instinctively, I look over to the left side of the bed. It’s still as it has been for three days, empty and cold. I blink my eyes five times and pinch myself twice. It hurts and I realize it was all but a dream again.

Almost eight years have passed, but my memories of you linger even in my sleep. Until we see each other again — hugging and kissing not in my dreams but in heaven — I will hold dearly in my heart and the deepest recesses of my brain, all the memories I have of you, my Love.