Picking up the pace, I grind on his thigh, unable to ignore how his body is reacting to mine, and how hard he is becoming beneath his pants.
“That’s it. Just like that. Use me,” he breathes. “I’m atyourdisposal, mi esposa.”
His words are enough to have me unravel right here and now. But it’s the way he’s looking at me, like I’m a queen he’s not worthy of, that is tugging at my heart strings. He’s such a good man. Such a …
“I can tell you’re close. Don’t be shy. Ride my leg until you come. I want you dripping all over me. Mark me as yours.”
“But you’re wearing pants.”
“So?”
“I get really wet when…” My own whimpering interrupts me as his hands knead and possess my hips.
“I know how wet you get. Who cares. Make a mess on me. Whatever you do, don’t stop. Keep going,” he encourages.
“Your pants will get ruined.”
“So ruin them. Ride me like you did your pillow, right fucking now.”
I’ve never felt this way before. Admired.Trulyadmired. Not just for my looks but for who I am. Good, bad, and all the weirdness in between. Protected.
Pride soars through me with every pass my hips make, grinding on him until I’m a thrashing, withering mess, leaking onto his leg.
I collapse onto his chest and the way his arms wrap around me feels like an embrace that I’ve waited my entire life for.
Feeling satisfied from my orgasm, I don’t feel the need to work myself up to another, but I still use the opportunity togrind on him, since he likes it so much. A few more passes and I feel more warmth —wet warmth— emerge from his lap.
I glance down.
A noticeable wet spot stares back at me, centered on his groin. “We don’t need to talk about that.”
“Mr. Ramos, did you just come in your pants because I’m on your lap.”
“You call me that again and you’ll makeithappen again.”
I throw myself at him, dramatically collapsing. “Oh my god, that’s so fucking hot.”
“Seriously?” He sounds surprised.
“Umm, yeah, to have that much power over a man that he will literally come in his pants from how badly he’s turned on. Fucking. Hot.”
“I don’t get it. But you’re welcome? I guess? I mean, the second you started grinding your pussy on me, I knew I was a goner.”
I kiss him and press my head against his forehead. “Yours,” I correct him. “My pussy. It’s yours.”
Satisfaction blossoms on his face. He brings his hand to my chest, laying his palm flat against my heart that’s beating a mile a minute. “What about this?” he asks, full of hope.
I don’t answer him. There’s no missing the disappointment in his voice, followed by a silentWhat did we do this for then?plea that weighs heavily on my chest.
There are a dozen ways I can answer that.
Because you made me feel happy for the first time in a long time.
Because you made me feel safe for the first time…ever.
Because you allow me to live in the moment.
Because I wanted to.
