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A year and a half ago.
"It's actually better; I mean, we don't even have to worry about protection. I've got you just the way I like, raw. All sweetness for me, no boundaries."
"But wouldn't you want to feel the way other men your age feel? I know I want to, feel terrible for taking that away from you."
He grunted a mischievous smile graced his bitten lips. They were rosy, glistening from the near-irritation. He'd been employing them for hours. Greed never met ampleness. "What a deep conversation we're having while my cock is kept nice and warm between your walls, Cassie."
It was odd that you both tended to talk more while striving for actions that required silence and perhaps a few prayers that were sure to go unheard. You'd admit that's your guilty pleasure. His too, but he'd deny just to spite you. Jungkook never actually fucked you and never did love to you either, because what he did wasn't named in the Kama Sutra or in erotic books and romance novels, for that matter.
Connection of Souls. You finally found that out during one of the long evenings you spent waiting for him alone. You often caught yourself remembering what happened between you behind the closed door of your bedroom - or apartment, to be frank and fair. What you had, you reckoned, was holy, the sanctity of your love. Hence the connection of your chakras, a way your bodies had found to communicate better, to tell stories of the undiscovered past and dreams of a future still in the making. A prayer in the temple of love.
Your sex never began in the usual way; no foreplay was needed to prepare you, and no more than a single kiss was needed to get him like a rock. It was really weird, for both of you. Something you had never experienced before, something new, profound. You would fuck for hours, to hell the early hour in which you had to wake up; you would be energized regardless of the two meager hours of sleep you had. An offering to the gods who protect your love from the harshness of the world outside your sanctuary.
He'd keep it going, although you came several times without caring about your hypersensitivity, and you weren't one to complain. You even enjoyed, as a matter of fact, how he just couldn't go flaccid unless the fatigue became unbearable. That explains why you like the weekends so much: he gets rejuvenated with a good nap.
That when his phone doesn't ring. That shit was bound to be smashed to the ground one day. By you.
Sex was good; his presence, the warmth of his body against yours, the affection, and the little attentions he gave were all so good. But there's no such thing as perfection. If it's too good, it's certainly unreal.
Sex was good, but it served no purpose other than the one mentioned above. Physical satisfaction.
You were barren, something about lack of follicles resulting in lower fertility. You had managed to have a few pregnancies. Jungkook was overjoyed when he first saw that the Clearblue test was positive. You were a crying mess who couldn't manage to maintain the adult image. It took you longer than other couples to bless your marriage with what would complete it, long enough for hope to diminish with each passing day, but this pregnancy had revived it, only to bury it six feet under just a month later.
