I miss his grin when he undressed, spread wide below hungry eyes, mirroring my position, it was both challenge and tribute.
I miss the bruises he left on my breasts, his blood-hot hardness skewering me, his lust flooding me, bursting the dam of my restraint.
I miss the glee in his eyes when I slid his soft-but-stiffening flesh into my mouth, engulfing and resurrecting him.
I miss being his mistress, his guilty secret, his unoriginal sin.
Refusing a life of loss, I grasp my sleeping husband’s sex, ready to discover if he will enjoy the woman my lover made me.