It’s a beautiful Sunday, and his kids come over early. We spend the day on the dock handlining for blue crabs.  The water laps gently against the pilings, the sun glistening on its surface.

The breeze smells of sweet marsh grasses, warm mudflats, and bait dangling beneath the dock, all wrapped in the humid breath of the Chesapeake.

I’m sitting in my faded blue Adirondack chair, drawing circles on the rim of my wine glass with my finger, my sundress pulled high, sunning my legs.

My husband has been out on the boat, setting traps, and pulls up to the dock. He has Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic" playing low enough that it blends with the river rather than competing with it. He gives me a sweet smile as the singer goes into the part about the foghorn and a wandering soul, the music settles over the water like another layer of afternoon.

He steps out, turning back for his old wooden crate filled with crabs, dark, old, with large rope handles. You can hear the crabs inside shifting against one another.

“We’ve got plenty for dinner,” he says. “Girls, do you want chicken or steak?”

They call back their requests as he walks toward me, smiling, crate in hand, his defined muscles popping under the weight. “We’re going for a ride later, you and me.” Making me smile.

After dinner, the unmistakable scent of J.O. Spice hangs in the air as we say goodbye to the girls. The sun is sinking low, the sky wearing pinks, yellows, and blues that exist only in the moments before dusk.

“Ready?”

I smile. “Yeah, I'm ready, babe.”

We make our way to the boat with a small cooler for cocktails. He loves these summer night boat rides. We try to take a few a week. We don't go far, just down the river to the mouth of Taskinas Creek, tucked away, private. The deep rumble of the motor fades until all that’s left is the gentle lap… lap… lap of the tide against the fiberglass hull.

We use spot as bait to catch rockfish. He threads an inline circle hook through its nose and tosses the line over the side. We like them with butter, lemon, and cracked pepper.

Now and then, the wake from a distant boat rolls in, lifting you once, twice, before disappearing into the reeds. The only interruptions are a barred owl, tree frogs, and an occasional slap from a fish jumping.

“I like your new dress,” he murmurs, taking my drink from my hand before helping me out of the passenger seat.

As Carolina in My Mind by James Taylor plays softly through the speakers, he spins me in a slow circle, taking in every inch of me before drawing me back against his chest.

I close my eyes and bury my face in his neck, my hands folded over his shoulders. I breathe him in. God, this man has a ridiculous hold on me. A smile, a wink, the slightest touch, and he knows exactly what he’s doing.

I tiptoe, my lips against his ear. "What will it be tonight, Daddy?”

“Fuck,” he whispers, taking a deep breath.

I can feel him stiffen against my hips. “I want it all, baby girl.” A grin spreads across his face as I sink to my knees.

He unbuttons his shorts with deliberate slowness, his eyes locked on mine, stretching the moment until it almost hurts.

A slight smile is on my lips as he urges my mouth open. He taps it on my tongue a few times before sliding in. One hand behind my head, guiding me. I love tasting his desire seeping out. He’s large, way above average, and it's taken time, but I can take him deep, my tongue rolling over his balls as I slide down. Occasionally, I pull out so I can take both of them fully in my mouth. I love to hear him groan.

I slip the straps of my dress from my shoulders, and it pools around me on the boat’s floor. Beneath it, there’s nothing but a pair of lace panties.

Leaning back, I stretch out beneath him on the boat's floor, my pulse already racing.

His eyes roam over me with an intensity that still leaves me breathless. Then he lowers himself beside me. His fingers hook beneath the waistband of my panties, easing them away.

His lips follow a familiar path, pressing kisses across my collarbone, the curve of my breasts, my stomach, and lower, each one coaxing another shiver from me. My back arches as soon as his tongue rolls between my legs.

The breeze swirls around us, and the boat rocks gently. Stars above stretch across the domed sky. My fingers spread on the back of his head, not directing, but as quiet encouragement. He’s memorized me, perfected his ways, and knows exactly what to do to me. There is something wildly intoxicating about being completely known and still relentlessly desired.

He pulls two towels from the seat, tucking one beneath my head and another beneath my hips with the same quiet tenderness he’s shown me a thousand times. Then he settles behind me, one hand spanning my chest as he draws me close.

His touch never lingers in one place. A palm glides up the curve of my throat before both hands are on my hips, where they guide me effortlessly into a steady rhythm. When his fingers find their way between my legs, I increase my movements, unable to get to him fast or deep enough.

He buries his face against my neck, his lips lingering there as he smiles.

“Mmm… feels so good,” he whispers, his voice low and unsteady. “Slow down, baby.” His hands tighten around me, not to hold me still, but to keep me close. “I’m so close… but I don’t want to rush this. I want to spend more time with you like this.”

His tenderness undoes me far faster than urgency ever could. My body shudders as he slips his fingers low, circling and applying pressure as I come apart in his arms. Overwhelmed not just by pleasure, but by the certainty that even now, after all this time, he still chooses me.

He gives me a minute, resting his forehead against me, as my breathing slows. I move away and crawl over him as he rolls onto his back, gazing up at me. My hands on his chest, his on my hips.

I lean down, kissing him, and say, “You mentioned wanting it all, baby?”

A subtle shift in my hips, and he knows; he grins up at me. I run my fingers over my tongue and reach behind me, sliding them between my legs and then down his length before guiding him gently in. It's been a long time since he's taken me this way. He knows to start slow and easy, giving me time to adjust to his size.

“Fuck baby, you're so tight,” he breathes, pushing his head back, eyes closed. When he opens them, there's a hunger within them that drenches me with increased desire. His hands are spreading me as I grind down on him. He groans loudly, and I know he won't last much longer.

“How do you want to finish for me, Daddy?” His hands find their way to my chest, twisting and pulling slightly, heightening all sensations.

“Ummm, baby girl, can I finish anywhere?”

“Yes, Daddy.” I bite my lower lip as he thrusts deeper. Both of us are flushed with sweat and looking beautifully disheveled as a soft wind swirls around us, catching my breath.

He lifts me and stands above me, his hand on my jaw, urging me to take him in. My tongue slides down the underside of him as he wraps one hand in my hair.

“You're such a dirty little slut, tell Daddy how much you want his cum.”

“Mmmm, Daddy, please let me taste your cum, I'll be such a good girl; I'll take it all, Daddy,” I purr, staring up at him, my tongue ready. His hand stroking and then slightly squeezing, he releases, and I am flooded with wave after wave in my mouth, on my face, and chest.

He brushes his thumb gently across my cheek, his eyes searching mine. He hesitates for the briefest moment before lifting it toward my lips. I lean in, meeting him halfway, closing my lips around his thumb without ever breaking eye contact.

He pulls me up along with a towel and wraps me in his arms.

“How did we get so lucky?” I whisper into the night.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his arms tighten around me, saying everything words never could.

We ride back with me curled in his lap, my head resting against his chest. Every so often, he presses a soft kiss to my forehead, and we let the silence belong to the night, needing nothing more than the gentle rocking of the boat and each other.

It hasn’t always been this way. We found each other later in life, after marriages that left us with equal parts wisdom and scars. This kind of intimacy comes at a cost; we had to fight for it, and neither of us takes it for granted. And it isn't always easy. The same tongue that has cut me to my core with a careless word knows how to make me laugh, when to whisper an apology, and how to leave me trembling, reminding me why I keep choosing it.