Love Is...

She's waiting at the door. "You're late."

"I had to clean up."

She holds me close and rests her head on my shoulder as I breathe deeply. She's used her peppermint shampoo. The one that's good for headaches.

"You smell like the bar."

She's right, I can smell it myself—the second-hand tobacco, the stale beer, the oil from the fryer—the stench hangs off my clothes and adheres to my skin. "Goes with job."

"Do you need two jobs? I never see you."

"We need the money. I'll take a shower. Get in bed and I'll join you when I'm done."

The shower is invigorating. I walk into the bedroom and find her under the covers, lying on her side. We always sleep naked. I slip into bed and spoon up beside her. Her soft, smooth skin smells of camomile. With my head on her lavender scented pillow and drape my arm over her to cup her breast and squeeze tenderly.

"Ow. Don't. They're too sore."

I let go and slide my hand down her body until it rests on her once flat belly. I'm hard and she must feel me against her.

"I want to make love," she says. "But I'm scared."

"Don't be. It won't do any harm."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

I adjust my hips as does she.

"Be gentle."

One thrust and we are one.

"Go slowly."

I go as slowly as either of us can stand, but it's been weeks and we're both aching for release so I get carried away. She moans and comes first and before she's finished, I fill her with more seed, not that it's needed.

I hug her gently and whisper sweet words in her ear while my hand returns to her belly. My latest, greatest reason to love her.