Nothing at all

They sleep through the night. Morning finds them in each other’s arms, her back to his chest, his hand on her stomach, the ordinary tangle of people.

Lana wakes first. She turns her head. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Adam says, voice rough.

She smiles, already shifting down out of habit. “Time for your blowjob, husband.”

His arm tightens. He stops her.

“Fuck the rules,” he says. "We both have needs to fulfil."

Lana goes still. Her mouth opens. Shock, plain, the list she recited over the counter yesterday suddenly optional.

“What?”

He kisses her before she can build the question. Soft.

Then he rolls her onto her back, settles between her legs, and pushes into her cunt. Slow. One long stroke. She is wet from sleep and from the kiss and from the shock, and he sinks all the way in and stays there, forehead against hers.

“Oh,” she says.

They have sex. Tender. Loving. Not the kitchen. Not free use as a speech. He moves in her like he wants to feel her, and she wraps her legs around him and moves back. Kisses. His mouth on her throat. Her hands on his back. No dirty talk. Just the sound of them and the occasional broken word.

“You feel good,” he says.

“So do you. Don’t rush.”

He does not. Long strokes. A grind when he is deep. She cums first, quiet, clinging, cunt pulsing around him while he kisses her through it. He follows a minute later, buried, groaning into her neck, filling her while she holds him. They stay joined until the moment can end without being ended.

He pulls out carefully. Kisses her once more. Gets up.

The day goes on. Shower. Breakfast, both of them dressed.

Work. No rules recited. No reward announced.

Evening, they are home, dinner half done, when Mia calls.

Adam looks at the phone. Lana looks at him. He answers.