Always Us

her happiness

Olivia drags a palm down her face as the first drops of sunlight begin to trickle into the bathroom. The warm beige tones of her carefully curated bathroom ground her in the present, ushering in a much-needed sense of serenity.

None of this feels real. Four years married, and still, every now and then, it feels like she's been living in a dream. And because she's still half asleep, she thinks she might be.

It couldn't have been more than two minutes since she left the bed, but behind her, Spencer pads into the bathroom, squinting at the glare as the room grows brighter and brighter by the second.

Her eyes take a fleeting look at the tent in his boxers, then trail up his abs, over his chest, to the dazed look on his face as he makes his way over. This man is her reminder that her life is very much real. None of this is a dream.

She smiles lazily. "Good morning."

He simply nods, dipping his hand into his boxers to adjust himself before pressing up against her backside. His sleepy cuddles melt every bit of unease in her body, and she allows herself to go limp in his arms. With him, she doesn't have to be that force that everyone around her knows her to be. With him, she can let her guard down.

His lips descend onto her shoulder, brushing against her skin. "You left me." His voice is gruff as he tightens his arms around her waist, his grip strong, like he's punishing her for leaving.

Her neck rolls down on its own accord. "Spencer, I need to get dressed before—" But her words trail off. He's at her neck now, suckling against her pulse point, producing a warmth that spreads through her body like wildfire.

"Let me make you feel good," he murmurs.

The wetness pooling between her legs doesn't allow her to counter, and neither does his deep morning voice as he continues his persuasion. "You fell asleep on me before I had my chance."

She opens her mouth to object, but he chuckles against her skin, knowing he's wrong in his retelling of the prior night's events. They had both fallen asleep during the movie. Sure, he may have gone down first, but that's in the past. What's important is now.

And now, he can feel her holding her breath as he nibbles up her earlobe. "I want to hear you whine while I'm inside you."

Her knees go weak, and she nods as she slowly leans forward, pressing her shaky palms into the cold bathroom counter, getting dressed for the day now the last thing on her mind.

His fingers dip into the waistband of her silk shorts, and as he eases them over the curve of her ass, a breathless perfect falls from his lips. He finds the seam of her top and swiftly tugs it over her head. The matching set looked good on her with the way the silky fabric hung off her curves, but he still prefers her naked.

Holding an arm up against her breasts, she tosses the flowy top behind them.

"Put it down."

Her eyes flicker up to his in the mirror, and her breath hitches in her throat at the intensity of his gaze. When she drops her arm, he licks his lips at view in front of him—her supple breasts, and at the center of each, a brown pebbled nipple. Taut, just for him. "Remind me to come back to those."

Her cheeks flush, but he remains collected, stepping back to shove his boxers down his legs. The anticipation bites at her as she watches him calmly step out of one leg hole then the next, the remnants of sleep keeping him in slow motion.

He kicks his boxers to the side.

"Please, baby." The flutters in her stomach drop to the apex of her thighs, morphing into a soft thrumming. As his gaze ghosts her skin, he leaves a trail of prickling goosebumps that only serve as fodder for the pulsing heat. Except for her needy pleas and his grunts of approval, the bathroom is unbearably silent. She needs him to stop looking. She needs him to start touching. "Spencer, baby. Please."