Imagines Camren/You G!P

Why? (Camila)

Y/n's POV

Camila and I were sitting at the kitchen table with glasses of wine next to us. It's been a long time since we've had such a moment where we could sit and talk so calmly.

"Do you remember how we used to talk like this every day?" I asked and Camila smiled and nodded.  "Yes."

"You wanted to be a singer. And I told you about my plans." I took the glass of wine in my hand and started swirling it, stirring the drink inside, then took a sip of the red liquid. The brown-eyed Cuban also drank some wine from the glass.

"We wanted a house by the sea. Exploring the world." I continued. The woman looked at me dreamily, remembering those moments, I also tried to see those moments through the eyes of my imagination.

I smiled as I remembered something else. "We also wanted to swim naked in the ocean and then make love all night." At these words, Camila laughed, but a small blush on her face did not escape my notice.

"When we talked, you would always move closer to me and put your hand on my thigh." I took her hand and placed it on my thigh. The Cuban looked at her hand on my thigh and smiled more. "And it didn't bother me at all." I leaned in and spoke to her ear then kissed her jaw. I with the chair moved closer to her.

"I also remember pretending to stretch and embracing you." I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her closer to me.

"Oh yes, I remember." She said, placed her hand on my cheek and kissed me on the lips. Her hand moved to the nape of my neck, and my hand moved to her waist, then her back, and I pulled her to my lap. She moaned into my mouth pulling her head away from the kiss. She looked into my eyes with tenderness.

"Why don't we do that anymore?" she asked, stroking my cheek with her thumb. I shrugged and kissed her. With my free hand, I undid the drawstring of her robe so it could be removed.

"Maybe it's worth going back to it?" She asked into my mouth.

" AAAAA. Mom!" Just as the situation was about to escalate, we heard our son screaming running down the stairs. 

"I'll go wash the dishes." Camila quickly got off my lap trying to tie the robe again and I sighed in frustration.

Our youngest son ran into the kitchen followed by the older one. "Mom, he stole my toy!" The youngest complained.

"Not true!" The elder defended himself.

The boys ran past me running to Camila.

"I already know why." I replied loudly to the question asked earlier, taking the glass in my hand and drinking all its contents.

I love my sons, but sometimes I hate them.