Swedish Morning Warmth

The Swedish air hung crisp and cool, a welcome change after the humid days back home. We’d only been in Stockholm for a week, a whirlwind of sightseeing and cultural immersion, but even in that short time, a certain warmth had settled between my husband, Robert, and me. It started innocently enough, a shared appreciation for the beauty of the archipelago, the way the sunlight glinted off the turquoise water, the salty scent of the sea air. But something shifted after our Sabbath, a subtle current of desire that seemed to intensify with each passing day.

The morning after, as I lay in bed, catching up on some television, my granddaughter, Lily, scrambled into the bed beside me, seeking the comfort of my presence. It was early, still dim, and the quiet intimacy of the moment felt particularly special. As if on cue, Robert entered, carrying two trays laden with breakfast. Buttered toast with melting cheddar, a generous helping of sliced tomatoes, and a steaming mug of Earl Grey tea for me, and a small glass of milk for Lily. It was such a simple gesture, yet it sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine. He always knew how to make me feel cherished.

“Anyone for breakfast?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the bedsheets. The aroma of toast and cheese filled the room, mingling with the scent of lavender from the potpourri on the nightstand. As I savored the first bite of toast, I couldn’t help but notice the way Robert’s eyes lingered on me, a knowing glint in their depths. It wasn’t a demanding look, just an appreciative one, acknowledging the power he held over me, both physically and emotionally.

The morning’s tenderness led into a day filled with touristy delights. We took a ferry through the stunning archipelago, the islands rising majestically from the water, each one a miniature paradise. It was a scene straight from a postcard, and the beauty of it all seemed to heighten my senses, making me more aware of Robert’s proximity. I leaned my head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body against mine, and let a contented sigh escape my lips.

Later, we found ourselves drawn back to the food hall, a chaotic but vibrant marketplace overflowing with the smells and sounds of Swedish cuisine. But even amidst the bustling crowd, my thoughts kept returning to Robert and the quiet intimacy of our morning. The memory of his breakfast, the way he’d meticulously prepared everything, ignited a familiar heat within me. I found myself stealing glances at him, mesmerized by the curve of his jawline, the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt. It was an unconscious act, a silent acknowledgment of the desires bubbling beneath the surface.

As the day wore on, Lily grew tired and drifted off to sleep, leaving Robert and me alone in the small hotel room. It was then, with the day’s adventures behind us, that I decided to indulge in my own little secret. I slipped out of bed and into a white lace bra and matching panties, adorned with tiny, playful red hearts. It was a garment I hadn't worn in years, a relic from a past life, but the memory of its sensual feel still lingered in my mind. As I turned to face the mirror, I caught Robert’s eye. He froze, his expression shifting from surprise to something far more potent.

“Oh baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “I remember when I first saw you wearing something like that. You’re my beautiful girl.” He moved towards me with a speed that startled me, his hands reaching out to caress my breasts, feeling their swell beneath the lace. Then, he raised his hands higher, holding my face in his palms, and leaned in for a passionate kiss. "Your breasts haven't changed. Your whole body hasn't changed! Nor has your beautiful face and smile." He tasted my skin, drawing me closer until our lips met with a desperate urgency.

“I love how you made breakfast for us, baby,” I confessed, my voice trembling slightly. He pulled back, his eyes dark with desire. "It was no trouble. I like to cook," he replied, and then he kissed me again, deeper this time, demanding.

The memory of a particularly memorable dance, one he’d witnessed during our honeymoon in Italy, flashed through my mind. "I remember the first time you danced for me! You looked so hot, and you still do!” he exclaimed, his voice laced with lust. "How 'bout I perform a little number for you now?" I offered, a playful challenge in my tone.

Robert grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "That would be lovely, baby!" He dimmed the lights, creating an intimate atmosphere, and then, to my astonishment, he began to move. The music of ABBA's "Shine" filled the room, and Robert began to dance, a slow, sensual sway that drew me in completely. As he moved, he noticed my arousal, a visible blush creeping up my neck. He caressed my cheek with one hand, his touch sending shivers down my spine, while simultaneously singing along with Frida. "You give me love, you make me shine," he murmured, his gaze locked on mine. The heat intensified, building with each movement, each glance, each stolen touch.

As the song reached its crescendo, Robert gently removed my bra, freeing my breasts to the air. The sight of them, exposed and vulnerable, sent a jolt of pleasure through me, and I could see the same reaction in Robert’s eyes. He took me in his arms, rolling himself onto my lap, and we kissed passionately, our bodies locked together in a moment of pure abandon. He felt my soft breasts with his soft hands, exploring every curve and indentation, and I responded with moans of pleasure.

He didn’t waste a second, quickly removing his boxers. The sight of his rock-hard member filled me with a surge of anticipation, and I let out a gasp as he thrust into my wet ladyplace. “Oh you sexy lady, this brings back memories!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with both pleasure and longing. "We had such passion that night!"

I clung to him, lost in the moment, my mind flooded with memories of our past, of the nights we’d spent intertwined, conceiving our two daughters. I remembered lying side by side with Robert, embracing one another, lost in the afterglow of our love. I recalled the night we made love after I first danced for him, a youthful fling that had left an indelible mark on my soul. Then, I remembered the night our younger daughter was conceived, as well as our beautiful night of love in Hawaii.

Of course, Robert and I also recalled the night we made love after I first danced for him. We were so young! Then, for a little "blast from the past," I started to knead my husband’s back as he continued to thrust, the way I once did on our honeymoon. "Ohhhhhh that’s good!" he exhaled as I rubbed his shoulders and kissed his neck. My ladyplace was now really starting to feel the heat as I came close to climaxing! And I climaxed, not afraid to let out my orgasmic cries. My husband’s orgasm was just as intense. He wasn’t shy about letting it out either. He moaned with pleasure as he thrust a little faster.

We were sweating but satisfied, our bodies intertwined in a tangled mess of limbs and desires. “I just remembered us making love after we had a date back in 1989!” Robert told me, his voice breathless. “You looked so sexy that night. But then again, you are ALWAYS sexy!” I asked, surprised. "Of course! You looked so sexy that night. But then again, you are ALWAYS sexy!" My husband smiled.

We then cuddled, and lay our nude bodies feeling each other all the way down just like that night in Rome. We fell asleep in each other’s arms as we remembered more times when we were young. Praise be to Jesus for guiding us!

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Swedish Morning Warmth

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