A few years after our wedding, we lay together in our bed cuddling and I asked him, “You married a woman—”
“And a sexy one, at that,” he teased, easing a hand down my stomach to cup my crotch. We were nude, and comfortable with each other’s nakedness in a way only seasoned lovers could be. His middle finger parted my pussy lips and rubbed my clit.
A zing of desire raced through me, and I snuggled closer to him. “So do you still think you’re bi?”
The finger between my legs pushed gently, making me gasp. “Of course I am,” he said. “It’s the way I was born. I like both sexes.”
“You like sex, period,” I joked.
“Who doesn’t?” He rubbed my clit in a series of sensuous circles, each rotation driving my libido up another notch. “You can always tell me to stop, you know.”
“You do, and I’m going to be one horny bitch for the rest of the night,” I cautioned.