He was doing it again, using his tongue for what he called his Scandinavian Move. How to warn him that were he to continue she would be turned off so much she would rather stop and turn on the TV?
Her husband, after his five-week sex therapy-cum-education course, had brought home new moves and actions guaranteed to revive their dormant sex life; as if that were all it took.
He had dutifully learned the Soft Toe Pull, the Venice Row, and this Norwegian thing with his overactive tongue. If she had wanted her nipples massaged to the point of rawness, she could get Mauro to do that, and the dog had more personality than Edgar did, anyway.
That was the one thing her husband could never learn at sex school—how to engage a partner through a winning personality.
“Are you finished yet?” she asked, and found that did the trick. He glanced up from his current activity with the crestfallen look that put the blame where it always seemed to fall these days.
She tried to remember where they had left the remote, but only took note of eager Mauro chewing on his toy.
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