After the Storm

 The baby was finally asleep. Anthony had been tucked into bed hours ago, worn out from a full day of playing superhero and snacking on too many strawberries. The house was still. The kind of stillness that begged to be broken by something soft… something electric.

Andrea stood in the doorway of their bedroom, one hand resting on the doorframe. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her body wrapped in one of Doc’s button-downs—bare legs, bare feet. She wasn’t trying to be seductive. She was.

Doc looked up from the bed, where he’d been reading a medical journal out of habit, not interest. The moment he saw her, the article was forgotten.

“You’re staring,” she said, a slow smile curving her lips.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, voice thick with something heavier than lust.

Andrea padded across the room and climbed onto the bed, straddling him gently. “It’s been a while since we just… took time. For us.”

He ran his hands up her thighs, his touch reverent. “Too long.”

There was no rush. No frantic need. Just the steady build of tension and tenderness as she leaned in to kiss him. It started slow—mouths grazing, breaths shared, hands exploring familiar curves with rediscovered hunger.

Andrea deepened the kiss, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. “Touch me like you miss me,” she whispered against his lips.

“I do,” Doc said, his voice low and raw. “Every day.”

He flipped her gently beneath him, hands trailing up the open front of the shirt she wore. He took his time—kissing the hollow of her throat, the soft curve of her belly, the inside of her thighs. She gasped as he teased her, lips and fingers working in tandem, building her higher with each slow, deliberate stroke.

She reached for him, nails raking down his back. “I want all of you,” she breathed. “Don’t hold back tonight.”

Their bodies moved together like they remembered each other in every muscle, every shiver. It wasn’t just physical. It was sacred. Like coming home. Like rewriting every moment of fear and distance with passion and trust.

When she cried out his name, it wasn’t just pleasure—it was release. A surrender. And when he followed, burying his face in her neck, whispering her name like a prayer, she wrapped her arms around him and held him there. Close. Tangled. Real.

Afterward, they stayed like that, skin to skin, hearts pounding in unison.

“I missed this,” Andrea said softly, tracing lazy patterns across his shoulder.

Doc looked at her, eyes full of heat and something more vulnerable. “I missed you.”

She met his gaze, and something quiet passed between them—recognition, reassurance, and the promise that no matter how the world spun, they would always find their way back here.

To each other.