Perhaps this is where I should begin, with public moments—intense, intimate and sometimes discreet. It matters not who is present or how many surround us. This is the story of us and why I am his...
My husband does what I call “flexing”. He laughs when I use this term. In general, it is that look of restraint he gets right before he is about to pulverize someone either mentally or physically. But that’s not what it means when his focus is on me. It too is a form of restraint. But, this form of restraint makes me weak and my pussy salivate.
Of course, he is oblivious to this fact. He doesn’t see this tell that does so much to me. What I see is the defined jawline of the sexiest man I’ve ever encountered, with a muscle at its curve that leads up toward his ears. When he flexes that muscle and the grayness of his eyes flash before darkening, I know what he wants.
His flexing is as involuntary as the beating of his heart. Within it I see his dominance, even though he claims not to be into that sort of thing. But a true dominate does not need a moniker, neither does his submissive. I feel his dominance within me. It is a warm flush I can’t control, the hardening of my nipples, an ache to taste him. My mouth waters. There is an endless fluttering in my abdomen. Some call it butterflies. It is far too demanding to be represented by something so fragile.
I immediately make my way to him, maybe excusing myself from another boring conversation. At that moment, nothing can possibly be as important as he is.
He may take my hand into his or place his hand at the small of my back as he leads me through a room. His touch is electric. Everyone makes way for him as if they too feel his power. I am untouched by anyone but him. I see the look in the eyes of other women. They too feel the draw of him. This is something else he does not notice.
I am reminded of many things. One is that feeling I sometimes get watching his lips move. I stop hearing what words are spoken. The base beat of my heart drops and hits this nerve at my core. His rhythm vibrates within me. Even my thoughts are in tempo with his speech.
He now whispers the things that he will do to me.
I am reminded of seeing him naked for the first time--me, already undressed and willing, waiting impatiently as he removed his tie and undid his cuff links in his slow, controlled manner. His eyes never left mine. But mine took in every inch of him. He loosened three top buttons and slipped his shirt over his head. The tatted markings that flowed across his chest and over his shoulder shocked me. I caught my breath, not only because of the beauty of his body but because the unexpected art was in great contrast to the expensively suited, conservative lawyer that the world saw. It was a secret he was sharing with me.