He greets me with my favorite flowers (peonies) and champagne. Flowers that no other man has placed in my hands. Real champagne. He smiles at my response, telling me I deserve them, enveloping me in the kind of hug that fills my body and heart.
As I fuss with the flowers at the sink he comes up behind me to brush the hair off the back of my neck and kiss me, first tenderly then with increasing pressure as he buries his mouth in that sensitive spot behind my left ear, I feel his hot breath, and he grabs a hipbone in each hand with a groan.
I can barely get the flowers in the vase. Continue reading