Page 139 of Thin Lives

Her pussy took two of his fingers in knuckle deep without protest, and her long, hard moan muffled into the pillow. Calisto couldn’t have her doing that—hiding her face and sounds. He liked them too damn much to let her keep them from him.

“No, no,” Calisto said, chuckling. “I want to see your face while I’m fucking you with my fingers, Emmy. Roll over.”

He didn’t have to tell her again. She obeyed his request, tipping her head back on the pillow so her hair was out of the way and he had the best view of the pleasure washing over her features. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, and his name fell from her mouth as he curled his fingers on every thrust, hitting that one spot that was sure to make her wetter than ever, and shaking all over by the time he was done.

“Are you going to come?” he asked.

“God, yeah.”

“Will you ride me then?”

Emma laughed a breathless, sweet tune. “All morning, Calisto.”

Or … at least until their son woke up.

“Then come, because I really want you riding me right now,” he demanded.

Another brutal thrust of his fingers, and then his thumb sliding up to press into her throbbing little clit, and Emma was flying high. There were many things Calisto loved in his life—watching Emma pant and cry her way through an orgasm first thing in the morning was high on that list.

“There we are,” he whispered.

Calisto didn’t even give Emma the chance to recover, or finish riding out the waves of her bliss. He pulled her up from the sheets without warning, and right on top of his own body. Hovering above him, she trembled and breathed deep, her hands circling around the hard, thick base of his cock to steady his length as she lowered down.

Oh, yes.

Wet.

Hot.

Tight.

She fit him like a fucking glove. So perfect.

Every little flex of her inner muscles hugging his dick made him want to pull her down on him the rest of the way until he was buried balls deep into her pussy and couldn’t think of anything else.

Silently, Emma pulled Calisto’s hand up toward her mouth, the one he’d used to fuck her with. As she started a slow, grinding rhythm on top of him, she sucked his fingers clean of her come.

Wet, red lips.

Sly smile.

Messy, wavy hair.

Silky skin.

All he could do was watch her, watch him.

His breaths came out in staccato beat, matching every push of her pubic bone against his groin. She never really lifted off his body, just moved their bodies together fast and hard, her legs tightening around his waist. The delicate line of her shoulders swayed with her movements, and her hair tumbled down over her chest, covering her breasts. With the blanket pooled around their waists, all he could really do was watch her, and feel it all.

It was a slow burn.

Sort of like they had been.

Through the haze of his lust, he said, “I’m going to marry you, Emmy.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Of course you are—all you have to do is ask, Cal.”

He asked.