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He loved watching her.
Spencer was mesmerized by her, his wife, Trina’s belly swollen with their child, as she came from the shower, dripping wet, her hair in a messy upswept bun. He observed her from the crack of the door left open.
Trina knew Spencer was near, she could feel him, his eyes on her and she loved it. How she felt admired, cherished, adored through his eyes. She sat on the bench after drying herself and began to moisten her body with the mixture of vanilla and jasmine oil with a hint of ambrette she made just for him, that aroused his senses.
Starting with her feet, then ankles, she moved slowly up her legs to her thighs, to the sides of her hips. Slowly and deliberately massaging the mixture on one, then the other, knowing what touching herself did to him. Spencer felt like a voyeur in his own bathroom, as he stood in the crook of the door, almost unseen. Almost. He knew that she was watching him as intensely as he was watching her. It was like a game. “Let’s see who caves first,” Trina thought with a sly, knowing smile on her face that was hidden from him.
He loved this game and was trying to keep his composure while following her intentional moves, touches up and down her legs and thighs radiating her smooth chocolate skin as she slowly moistened each and every shapely, sexy inch. It was making him mad with desire, mad with wanting to take those legs and wrap them around him.
He snapped out of his delicious dream, knowing he would make that happen soon. Very soon. Trina moved from her thighs up to her belly. That’s when the game ended. Spencer slowly walked to her, admiring his wife’s exquisiteness, staring at her with an intense look of desire in his eyes, and Trina stopped what she was doing.
No words were needed. Trina lifted one leg and swung it over the bench to straddle it. Spencer took his place behind her and wrapped his hands around her. He let out a low guttural moan as he touched her belly and leaned her against him. Her hands still slick with oil, he intertwined their fingers, moistening his own and instead of caressing her front, he slid his hands to her shoulders, gently massaging them, then repeating that motion slowly up and down her back.
When he was done, he held her. Spencer pressed her body against his and just held her. With Trina’s head in the crook of his neck, they just sat there. Trina wrapped in her husband’s arms. Spencer feeling his child move right beneath where his hands were splayed on her rounded belly. And they sat. And they felt. And they cried.