Page 32 of Spit Screen

My eyes flutter closed at the warm softness that greets my fingers. I play with her gently until her hips swirl in a desperate plea for me to fill her. I moan when he lowers herself onto my hand, her forehead falling against mine.

“Addy,” she whispers my name with reverence and urgency.

Our foreheads touch lightly as she slides further down my hand, enveloping me in her warmth. I feel the tender, rhythmic clenching that pulls at my fingers, binding us in an intimate dance of give and take. Emma’s eyes, half-lidded and heavy with desire, lock onto mine, grounding me in a moment that teeters on the edge of overwhelming.

“More,” she whispers.

Emma’s plea is barely audible over the sound of our mingled sighs. My fingers move with a gentle assertiveness, exploring the familiar yet always exhilarating contours of her. With each movement, I feel her body respond, her grip on me tightening as if she’s afraid I’ll slip away. The air between us vibrates with the electricity of our connection, each touch sparking it further alive.

Emma shifts above me, guiding my other hand to her breast. Her skin feels warm and inviting under my touch, her nipple responding eagerly as I lightly caress it with my thumb. She throws her head back in abandonment to the sensations overtaking her. In that moment, she is both completely vulnerable and immensely powerful—my lover, my wife, my everything.

“Addy, I want you. I need?—”

I know what Emma desires. She wants to touch me. I understand. Nothing makes my desire to touch her more powerful than when her hands explore me. The need to bring her pleasure is all-consuming. I love this—watching her above me, feeling the exchange of power and trust that envelops us.

“Shh. Don’t stop, Em. Please. I love watching you—feeling you like this.”

Emma’s resolve is cracking slowly. I lean forward and suck her nipple between my lips.

“Addy!”

I can’t stop now when I’m so close to seeing her lose control. I flick my tongue and nibble on her nipples, enjoying the way her body arches and moves as she grinds against my fingers.

“Touch yourself, Addy.”

I gently tease the nipple in my mouth, and Emma releases a soft moan of pleasure.

“Please.” Emma’s voice is tender, as if she is making a request, but I understand it’s a command. “Addy.” Emma’s eyes open and meet mine with a lustful gaze. “Please. I need you with me.”

I groan in protest, wanting to prolong our connection. Emma surprises me when she reaches back and strokes my center with a fingertip.

“Jesus, Em.”

“I need you, Addison.”

I lift a hand to her cheek, understanding passing between us. Our lives constantly change—even if we’d like to think life remains static. The evidence is around us every moment—in the marks on our children’s growth charts that decorate the playroom walls, the tiny lines that pull the corners of Emma’s eyes, and the gray hairs she sweeps behind my ears. As the sun sets on this chapter of our life, a new one dawns that is sure to be filled with unexpected challenges and thrilling possibilities.

“You have me, Emma. Always.” I pull her closer, and our lips meet in a passionate kiss. Suddenly, her body trembles with ecstasy, and she cries out my name.

I refuse to release her, twirling my fingers inside her, my tongue rediscovering the contours of her mouth as she collapses into me. I sweep the hair from her eyes and smile.

Emma tries to speak, but I silence her with a gentle kiss. “You give me everything, Em.”

“No. But I wish I could.”

“There is nothing in the world I love more than feeling you close,” I tell her. “Just feeling you against me.”

Emma curls into my embrace and traces my lips with a fingertip. “Addy.”

“I know,” I say.

As a writer, I’ve spent countless hours trying to capture the indescribable feeling of love in words. I’ve captured the essence of falling in love—the thrilling yet uncertain journey towards an unknown destination—hopeful and terrifying. But what about staying in love? Staying in love requires gravity, the force that keeps us tethered to someone even when the thrill of falling has long faded. I still fall in love with Emma, but it’s different from when we met. I always feel the chord that connects us and holds us together. And I’m not sure there is any way to capture those feelings on a page or a screen. Still, I feel compelled to try. Maybe that’s why this project means so much to me.

“What are you thinking?” Emma asks.

“How lucky I am.”

“Mm.” Emma turns to look at me. “It’s not luck, Addy.”

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