The playful teasing had escalated, a game you both enjoyed, a familiar dance of flirtation and witty banter. But tonight, the usual lightheartedness had shifted, the air thick with a different kind of energy. Your husband's eyes, usually twinkling with amusement, were now darker, more intense, his gaze fixed on you with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine. He’d had enough of the playful sparring; the desire simmering beneath the surface had finally broken through. His silence, the subtle shift in his posture, spoke volumes – his manhood throbbed with a need that couldn't be ignored.

You looked even more adorable to him in this moment, your playful defiance now laced with a vulnerability that only intensified his desire. The knowledge that you were in your ovulation week, a fact he was keenly aware of, further eroded his already dwindling restraint. The usual playful banter was replaced by a palpable tension, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken desires that hung heavy in the air.

"Baby," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Let's ditch the food." His hand, initially resting lightly on your waist, moved lower, settling possessively on your hip. His eyes, dark and intense, remained locked on yours, conveying a depth of longing that left you breathless. "We can eat later."

The words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the playful banter that had preceded them. His declaration was both a command and a plea, a bold assertion of his desire that left you speechless.

"Wh-what—" you stammered, your voice barely a whisper, caught between surprise and a burgeoning excitement.

"You heard me…" he interrupted, his voice low and urgent. He pulled you closer, the warmth of his body pressing against yours, erasing the space between you. His lips brushed against your jawline, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine, a slow, deliberate ghosting that ignited a fire within you. His hand, now under your shirt, trailed across your skin, his thumb gently rubbing against your heated flesh, the touch both tender and intensely arousing.

"You're in your ovulation week, right?" he whispered, his voice rougher now, the words laced with a raw need that mirrored the longing in his eyes. "We haven't been able to do it in a while. I've missed being intimate with you." The words were a confession, a vulnerable admission of his desire that stripped away the last vestiges of playful banter, leaving only the raw, unadulterated intensity of his passion.