"I need to unpack," she said. Faint.
"Tomorrow."
"I need to?—"
"Tomorrow," I said again. "Tonight you eat…and then you come over here and sit on my cock.”
She stared for a second. I wondered if I’d pushed too far…if I’d said too much, made it too uncomfortable.
If she’d leave.
Then she stood up.
Rounded the table.
I pushed back from the table and unzipped my pants, taking my hardening cock out and stroking it. Her eyes flicked from my cock down to her dress, then back again.
“Leave it on,” I said. “And come here.”
I put my hands on her hips and she swung one leg over to straddle me. I felt her pussy against the head of my cock, fluttering like it was hungry…wet,sowet.
“Take your time,” I murmured, holding her hips. “I’ve got you.”
She started to lower down, taking me in…inch by agonizing inch.
"That's it," I said. "Easy."
She was going slow, working her way down, her brow furrowed in concentration, her hands gripping my shoulders. I kept my hands on her hips—not pushing, not guiding, just holding. Letting her set the pace.
"You're doing so good," I said.
She let out a shaky breath.
"Too much?" I said.
"No." She shifted slightly, adjusting the angle, and sank another inch and made a sound that was half gasp half moan. "No it's—you're just—big."
"Take your time."
"I am taking my time," she breathed. "I'm—oh—"
She dropped the last inch and seated herself fully and we both went completely still.
Her head fell back.
My jaw went tight.
"There," I managed.
"There," she agreed, breathless.
I moved one hand from her hip to her lower back, holding her. Just holding her. Giving her a moment to adjust, to breathe, to feel the full weight of what we were doing in this kitchen chair at midnight.
"Millie," I said.
She lifted her head and looked at me.
Her eyes were dark and wet and she was biting her lip and she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in my life.
