I lost count of the days. I fantasized about my husband often. Those fantasies turned into dreams and sometimes, I could feel him. Sometimes it was as though he was really there. And tonight, I was having the most wonderful dream. It was late when Ettore entered the room. He undressed and lifted the sheets. The cool breeze over my nude body had me breaking out into goosebumps as he slid in behind me. My nipples beaded as his warm hands snaked around me, coming to rest on my belly. And when I began to move against the hard line of his erection, he lowered his mouth and pressed soft kisses to my shoulder and neck. I tilted my hips back and moaned quietly. The arm around my middle tightened as he touched me there, the pads of his fingers testing my readiness.

“Wake up, Tori.”

“No,” I groaned.

Why would I want to wake from such a wonderful dream?

Feeling as I did right then, I never wanted to wake again. But when the head of his cock breached my tight, wet hole, I woke with a start. I tried to twist back to look at him, but he held me still with a firm arm around me then he kissed the place just under my ear and said, “It’s okay. It’s me. I’m here, baby.” Another soft kiss. “Just let me take care of you.”

My body relaxed against him and my fingers curled into the sheets as he pressed into me, all the way, without pause.

It was a night of slow, indulgent sex. Conscious sex. This wasn’t two people using each other to get off. It was a building of something bigger. Admiration. Adoration. Call it what you will. But his being here was important. Together, we were rebuilding.

Ever the gentleman, he made sure I came before he released inside of me. I felt his heart beating fast against my back and I was sure, he felt mine when he pressed his lips to my pulse. Quiet and still, we stole from each other, sucking in one another’s warmth. We each needed it to feed our souls.

Our fingers entwined and I simply had to say it. “I want to come home.”

His delayed response wasn’t as harsh as it had been the time before, but his drowsy sounding, “Not yet,” still stung.

Okay. Not yet was a step up from no, albeit a small one.

I had to count my wins where I could. It was still progress and I had nothing but time.

Lucky for me, I had the patience of a saint.

* * *