The sofa

The sofa was only half done, springs honest, one arm still bare wood, the new cloth pinned in my head and not yet on the frame. I had thrown a clean sheet over the seat so we would not ruin a client job. Denim shirt, lamp warm, rolls of fabric behind us like a quiet audience. Neil locked the door without being asked. He knows the difference between a workshop that is working and a workshop that is ours.

I sat and put my hand on the wooden arm and told him I did not want another spanking tonight. I wanted the part that comes after the part I ask for. I wanted him to fuck my cunt slow, on this ugly beautiful sofa, while I held on. He knelt between my knees and unbuttoned the denim like he had all evening, kissing each inch he uncovered, ribs, stomach, the soft place above my jeans that I no longer apologize for. I am his wife. He still looks grateful. It makes me fierce.

He got my jeans off and his mouth on my cunt and I held that wooden arm and let him take his time. When my hips started to chase he looked up and said I love you, and then he stood to undress and came back over me, careful of the sheet, careful of my head against the arm. I guided his cock into my cunt. We both went still for a second the way we do, smiling, already ruined. Then he fucked me.

I kept my hand on the sofa arm because I wanted the anchor, and he threaded his fingers through mine there. The other hand stroked my thigh, my breast, my face. He told me I was the best thing in a room full of beautiful cloth. I told him to shut up and then I told him not to, and he laughed and kept talking, low, about how long he has wanted this exact evening. I came with our hands locked on the wood, a deep pull in my cunt, and he came right after because I asked him not to wait. We stayed on the sheet, sweaty and decent, my hand still on the arm until the feeling came back to my fingers. He kissed my knuckles.