The piece is large, at least four feet wide, and shows a pencil sketch in the same style as the one Luna loves in Elena’s foyer. It’s stunning, if I do say so myself, though I might be biased because of the subject matter.
“Oh, my God, thank you!” Luna’s crying, her hands covering half her face, but I can see the smile in her teary eyes. “It’s amazing. He made me beautiful.”
I frown in confusion. “This looks exactly like you, photorealism from an actual picture I took,” I repeat. “This is what you look like. Beautiful.”
And she is. Inside and out.
Luna is my beautiful, passionate, smart, neurotic weirdo of a wife. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because I’m the lucky bastard who gets to be her husband.
“Once we get home, I think you need a reminder of just how gorgeous you are,” I promise in her ear. “I think I’ll fuck you in front of the mirror, make you watch how your sexy tits drop into my waiting hands, how your ass bounces when I slam into you, and how gorgeous you are when your mouth’s open, panting through your climax. You’ll see how you drive me wild with that tight pussy of yours and your filthy mouth that only I get to hear.”
Fuck, I’m trying to dirty talk her into feeling beautiful, but I’ve talked myself into an uncomfortable situation in my slacks. Not caring who sees when I’m standing with my wife in front of an equally sexy drawing of her, I adjust my rock-hard cock.
Luna smiles, shyly dipping her chin so I won’t see how much she likes my words. “Again? We just did it before the opening.”
She’s so fucking cute, thinking that what we did earlier will be enough for me. She’s got our combined cum in her panties right now, but I’ll never get enough of her. I want her body, her mind, her heart, her soul all the time.
“Never be enough . . . for me!” I sing quietly. I don’t think I’d seen a single musical in my life before Luna, but now I can sing along with her. I usually don’t because I prefer listening to her, but dropping her favorite lyrics into conversation is a sure-fire smile-getter.
And she does. Her bright smile turns up her lips as her eyes widen. But instead of singing the next line of the song, she grabs my hand and tugs me toward the exit. “Let’s go home.”
The End