Snowy Morning

I felt my beloved husband of five years roll over in bed. I knew what came next; stretching and farting. I smiled softly; pretending to still be asleep. He would sit on the side of our bed for a moment before rising to get ready for another long day at work; leaving me and the baby to sleep away the pre-dawn hours.

But this morning, the routine was broken by an expletive as he brushed back the curtains and stared out the window. 'Fuck! It snowed last night,' he complained.

I gave up the pretence of sleep to respond. 'Kelli will love it,' thinking of our two year old daughter sleeping in her bed next to ours.

'Well, she doesn't have to try to get to work in this shit,' he complained.

Now, you should now that complaining was an art form with my husband. Bryan seemed to have a knack for finding things to complain about. If I had cleaned and cooked all day, he would somehow manage to find the one thing I had forgotten to do. He would focus upon that thing to the exclusion of all others. Of course, if I mentioned his complaining, he would firmly deny it. He would claim that he was merely pointing out something. It was one of the quirks of human nature that I had come to accept along with his many admirable qualities. After all, love and marriage were about 'for better and for worse.'

It actually was a characteristic that Bryan seemed to inherit from his father. From the moment that I had first met his father, I had a new insight into the character of the man, with whom I was falling in love. His father was hard working, if undemonstrative; characteristics that were typical British despite his West Indian heritage. As an American from a large, loving and loud Southern family, it was a distinct deviation from my norm. But I admired the quiet strength that seemed to flow from that same pool. So I had learned over the past few years to accept the good as well as the bad.

I rolled over without comment. I figured I could get in another two or perhaps more hours of precious sleep before having to deal with a toddler, who seemed to have inherited the same demanding nature as her father and grandfather. I heard the shower come on and for a couple of seconds considered leaving the warmth of our bed and sneaking in to wash my husband's back made broad by years of manual labour. But the prospect of the chilly bare wood floors soon dissuaded me.

I am not sure for how long I dozed, but I groggily rolled over when I felt the cool air hit my back and the bed sank a bit as my husband returned. I curled around his naked body as he mumbled something about the trains and buses not running because of the weather. I might have been able to blissfully ignore his complaints and the chilly morning, but I could rarely ignore the solid feel of his body so close to my own.

I smiled as I could almost hear my friend Sue Ellen's comment about 'built like a brick shit house' in her best Southern accent. She and several of my friends had been sufficiently impressed by my fine catch when he first visited our small Carolina town. Of course, the moment he opened his mouth and that crisp British accent flowed they were all as hooked as I was.

Moving my hands across the curves of his hard chest muscles, I felt the coarse, springy hairs that covered it. I smiled as I placed a tender kiss over his heart that I knew beyond doubt belonged only to me and the little sprite that was our daughter. 'Snowy mornings are good for some things,' I whispered as my hands slowly massaged lower across his taut stomach to find a half hard cock resting against his inner thigh. I heard a quick intake of breathe as my fingers wrapped around it firmly. Within moments, I felt it stiffening within my firm grasp as my hands danced along its impressive length to a rhythm I had long ago learned pleased him the most.

But I was not to be satisfied with simply the feel of his hardening cock; I wanted the sweet taste of him as well. Although I was loath to feel the unwelcome burst of cold air, I had no other choice than to lift the duvet slightly as I slipped my dark head beneath the covers. My lips, tongue and mouth soon joined the erotic dance that my fingers had begun.

I knew the exact tempo to set as I licked along the tumescent length of him. I knew too how much he enjoyed it as I pointed my tongue and drew it softly across the slit at the end. I did not need to hear the quick intake of breathe or feel his strong hands wrapped through my long hair to know how very, very much he loved its as I relaxed the muscles of my throat and slid slowly down the full length of his seven and a half inch hard cock.

I did enjoy it though as I felt his hands gripping my head tighter as his hips lifted off the bed to drive his cock a bit deeper still into the warm, wetness of my mouth. I smiled around my mouthful of cock as my fingers travelled lower to play at that special patch of nerves just beneath his full balls. I brushed teasingly at first as I felt him trembling. But when he moaned softly, I was tempted beyond endurance. Even though I knew it would likely bring a quick end to or snowy morning adventure, I could not deny my lover the pleasure as I increased the pressure firmly on his tender perineum. Just as I expected, I felt his whole body tense and tremble. There was a loud, low rumble as the air rushed from his lungs; just as I felt the warm, salty texture of him fill my waiting mouth with its reward.

His body immediately went limp. Before I could even extricate myself from his large hands entwined in my hair or the thick layers of duvets, I heard the loud, eradicate snores that rumbled through this bear of a man that was my husband, my best friend and my lover. I shook my head as I snuck from our marital bed to begin the day. I knew that I would not get much done; I never did when he was around. But we did have a pleasant morning adventure with Kelli in the snowy, winter wonderland.