I lay there for a long time, listening to the synchronized rhythm of our breathing and the distant, rhythmic hum of the television still playing the classic Trek episode we’d completely ignored. The mixture of his warmth and the sticky cooling fluids on my chest felt like a badge of honor.
For fifteen years, our s*x life had been a comforting, well-worn path. Suddenly, with the twins' bedrooms empty down the hall, that path had veered sharply off into the woods, and neither of us was looking back.
Lucian finally rolled over fully onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with a lazy, post-coital smirk plastered across his face.
"I'm going to need to wash these sheets tomorrow," he murmured, though there wasn't a hint of real complaint in his voice. "And probably burn these pajama pants."
