There was a sense of urgency in her wanting. She begged to feel the warmth of his skin on hers. She wanted more than just a touch; she wanted intimacy. She longed for their bodies to mingle and intertwine with each other. She asked him to share the night with her. As she looked up at him with her eyes of amber, he brushed aside her hair and said, "maybe later, Love."
Her wanting grew more and more with each passing hour but he didn't want what she did. She couldn't help but feel that his love for her wasn't as strong as hers for him. As the night grew cold and dark, she grew weary of the waiting game and gave up. "Another night," she thought. They laid in bed together, backs facing each other, and they fell asleep. The next morning she tried waking him with a kiss on the neck. She slowly moved her hand from his shoulder, and down his arm to reach his hand. She squeezed it, tighter than she realized, out of frustration due to their lack of passion. She wanted more than anything to nibble on his ear and make him want her, but somehow she knew that it would be a wasted effort. Before he woke, she rolled out of bed and headed downstairs to begin her daily routine.
Moments later, while she stood in the kitchen making coffee, he came up behind her and put his chin on her shoulder. "Good morning, hun," he said in his groggy voice, "did you sleep well?" She lied to him and said yes, when really she tossed and turned, thinking of reasons that he might not want to be with her, intimately. Maybe he no longer found her attractive. Maybe he was getting what he needed from somewhere else. She tried to shake the thoughts, as she knew that he was faithful. She turned to him and touched his face with her silky soft hands, "I love you," she proclaimed and proceded to kiss him gently. It was just her nature to try to seduce him in a sense and with this kiss, she was trying the same. She could feel the butterflies in her own stomach. Her heart was racing as she placed her other hand on the opposite side of his face and held her lips on his. He pulled back and acted as if he didn't know what she was after. She wondered again if he really loved her.
The day went on; he went to work and she stayed home to care for the house. She had plenty of time to wonder and worry. He came home that night and all of the worry came to the surface. The tears started whelling in her eyes and she could no longer hold back. "Why don't you want to be with me anymore?" she sobbed. "You touch me, but you won't be with me. You tell me you love me, but you don't show it!" He wiped a tear from her eye and pulled her in close, "I try to show it every day, hun. I hug you, I hold you, I lay with you at night. I kiss you, and I tell you I love you whenever I get the chance. This is me telling you how much I care. I don't need to be with you to show you I love you. Sex just isn't that important to me."
Something in her seemed to click that night. So often she has paired love and sex, sex and love, that eventually the two became one. She thought back to the day before when he brushed the hair out of her eyes, or that morning when he asked how she slept. He loved her; he just shows it differently. As they laid in bed that night, he snuggled up close behind her, and whispered in her ear, "I love you Little Spoon," and for once, she truly believed him.