She lies next to me in bed, dressed only in her blue boy-short style panties. The duvet is just barely over her ample and gorgeous breasts. She is dozing off, avoiding house work to lie next to me. To be close to me. I cannot love her more than I love her right now.
Last weekend was her birthday and we drank to much wine. Her best friend came over late in the evening and we danced and drank and talked. And then at the time when the night meets the morning we all made love to each other, bodies draped over one another, the sound of leather on skin accentuating the moans of passion and lust.
An hour later the dawn is breaking. She has dozed off, exhausted, her vagina a soft and receding heat. Her friend is still hungry for more, and as she quietly slumbers we remain entwined in passion. I thrust myself deep inside this other woman and gaze on her sleeping face and wonder at her beauty. I cannot love her more than I love her right now.
Yesterday I had a nap. I awoke to her soft lips on my forehead. He voice was small in my ear. I cannot love her more than I love her right now.
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