Backstage

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My husband and I met accidentally through a mutual friend. Being from different continents and both in show business, it took time for us to settle down, but eventually, we had the first of our two children. A few years later, my husband starred in an Off-Broadway play that he also co-wrote and directed. Although I was busy shuttling with little Hattie between a movie production “across the pond” and home, I really wanted to be there for him—he is my husband, after all.

Thankfully, we were able to travel back to New York for the closing night of his show. Our daughter threw a tantrum and begged to see her dad, so instead of enjoying our front-row seats, I took her backstage to my husband’s dressing room. She was able to spend a few minutes with him before he had to be on stage, and then I walked and rocked her until she finally drifted off. I enjoyed the show as best I could through the small stage monitor that the actors used to gauge their stage entrances.

After the play, we had planned to have a family dinner. That was upended by our toddler falling asleep, but now we would have more time together before my flight back to England early the next morning. Even though I’d get to spend time with my folks there, I would really miss my husband and daughter for the two months left in the shoot.

When my husband got back to the dressing room in his formal attire from the last scene, I gave him a quick kiss. Then Jonah took our sleeping daughter from my aching arms and to the car. We shared a comfortable silence as he drove us home, his hand holding mine between shifts of the gears. Our glances at each other would occasionally coincide, conveying the longing we each felt. Once we reached home, he carried our daughter to her room and tucked her in while I went for a shower.

Not long after I stepped under the steamy spray, I heard the door to our bathroom open, and my husband entered, still dressed in his eveningwear—even the bow tie. I was quite surprised that he hadn’t undressed yet, but I was glad; he looked so hot!

Finally able to talk at a normal volume, I said, “You were amazing!” I left the shower to help him undress. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to have our evening out. Hattie hadn’t seen you in so long, so she would have been a menace in the audience. But once you were on stage, the fatigue from the flight knocked her out. But I loved the play and you even more.” As I spoke, I unfastened his tie and cufflinks.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad you could be there.” He shrugged out of his jacket, then his arms snaked around my waist and pulled me against him. He kissed me—a slow, incredibly passionate melding of our mouths. By the time our lips parted, his clothes were soaked, especially the front of his pants, which jutted more forward than the rest.

“Ooh!” I said, feeling him through his pants.

He shrugged. “It’s par for the course when you’re around.” He let his voice trail off with the kisses he languorously placed from my cheek to my collarbone.

Masterfully, I unbuttoned his shirt and pants, then pulled away to let him strip them off, groaning at the sight. In front of me stood the man I love, in nothing but his boxers. His abs, though not cuddly in the least, were stunning to behold. I took his boxers down, and we showered, making small talk as we touched and tried not to think of how soon we’d be parted again. Then we stepped out and dried off, but no matter how I dabbed with the towel, I was still wet in that one certain place.

“Honey, now Hattie is asleep, and you are ‘awake’…” I said, pointing to his cock.

“Don’t even! You have a long journey ahead, and God knows how many days you will spend jet-lagged over there,” he said as he wrapped my bathrobe around me. I knew that look on his face—it’s the one he has with our daughter when telling her no, a blend of longing to give her what she wants yet having to be firm and insist on what’s best for her.

I pulled on one of his T-shirts and a pair of boxers, then settled onto our bed, but neither of us felt able to sleep after that hot teasing session back in the shower. So I climbed on top of him. Through the thin fabric over my abdomen, I could tell that he was still as hard as before. As he was about to refuse me again, I kissed him to silence, then said against his lips, “Two months, honey. That’s too long! I want to make the most of our time together.” I ground against him then pushed the boxers down and off my body. Within seconds, we were naked again. I took him inside me. After so long apart, he came in short order, leaving me on the edge.

“You are not satisfied, huh?” he asked.

Worried that agreeing might hurt his feelings, I looked away and said, “That was nice.” But he knew it was a lie, and so did I.

Then, in a blur, he pulled me to the edge of the bed and put me in a spread eagle. His lips and tongue made their way up my thighs to my lips while I gasped and moaned and writhed. I tried to watch him but failed because, just as I lifted my head, an overwhelming orgasm slammed it back down on the pillow, rocking my world.

Before I even came back to my senses, I was on top of him, straddling him on the floor, and the tip of his cock grazed my lower lips. Just as my eyes opened, he pulled me forward, thrusting in and out. Though I was the one on top, he took the lead—and I followed!

Panting and gasping for air between my moans and groans, I fought not to yell and wake my daughter.  He kissed me, on and on, his grunts as loud as my own, and this time we came together. Then we climbed back into the bed and spooned, his soft breath against my shoulder as we drifted for a few hours. Yes, I’d be tired, but this was a perfect ending to the one night we would share for such a long while.