After eighteen months of the same, Theresa had finally accepted that it would never change. With those five words, he killed the afterglow, destroyed the intimacy of the moment, and relegated the act into nothing more than a biological imperative. His words, the ones he always said after his climax, still hovered in the air between them and still, after all these months, hurt more than they should have. Theresa turned on her side to lovingly trace his profile with her eyes, yearning to touch and caress the smooth and slightly tanned skin, but she knew her touch would be rebuffed. Her husband, Alessandro, had disentangled, detached, and distanced himself from her within seconds of their mutual orgasm and lay on his back beside her, his breathing heavy and ragged. Spasms of her powerful release still violently racked her slender frame. Theresa fell back onto the mattress, her body slick with perspiration and limp with pleasure.
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