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Oh, they’ll speculate and guess and whatnot and they might think I’m a slut for sitting in his lap like that but I won’t care.
I’ll look at each and every one of those people in the eye and smile, while keeping this secret. Our secret.
The fantasy is so arousing, the fantasy that I never even thought I had in me, that I begin to move as well. I begin to move against him and his pumps get smoother and longer.
I give him his lap dance in small, halting movements. I bounce in his lap.
I rock and writhe. I even jiggle my tits, shake them for him, feeling the friction of his jeans over my bare thighs, grinding my clit against his pelvis.
God, I could do this all day. I could do this all the time, for the rest of my life, dance for him like this while he’s pumping into me from below.
While we watch each other.
While his hands are cradling my face – as always – and mine are clutching his shoulders. While he breathes over my lips and I breathe over his. While my tits rub up against his chest and his strokes become longer and faster.
While his truck is shaking and rocking with us and the windows fog up.
But more than anything, I wanna do this all day and for the rest of my life because I want to make all my secrets with him. Secrets like this one. So dirty and sacred at the same time.
It’s us: him and me. The new us that we’ve created together.
I told him that night when I wore the red dress for him, that I want us to be us, just him and me.
This is us.
Wild and savage and filthy and beautiful. Beauty and The Beast.
And I’m right there, right on the edge of coming for him. He probably senses that, sees it on my face and knows it from the way I’m squirming now, restlessly and erratically.
Because he pushes me over the edge with this:
“I’ll keep you here, you understand?” he whispers, penetrating my soul with his gaze that surprisingly looks very clear and alert despite his heavy, erotic breathing. “I’ll keep you safe, in my lap. I’ll hide you in my arms. No one will hurt you, baby. Ever. No one will ever make you feel scared. I won’t let them.”
At this, my eyes clench shut and I come.
I have to. I have no choice but to let go and let his words, his look of pure possession take over.
It makes me sob, my climax, it’s so brutal. It’s so all-consuming that I go completely rigid in his arms, so completely frozen and he hugs me then. He brings me to his chest and tucks my face into his neck, as he moves inside of me.
I pant on his skin with an open mouth as I come and come. I even feel my pussy leak all over his jeans. I feel the juices running out from my fluttering hole and seeping into the fabric and his skin, and it makes me come even harder.
It makes my holes clench and that sets him off.
That makes him splatter his cum inside of me, all thick and hot, covering my walls for the very first time. He jerks below me, his hips pumping once and twice, three times before he completely empties and fills my ass up to the brim.
Through all this, he keeps his arms wrapped around me. He keeps me safe in them, hides me away from everything.
Then he whispers, “Happy birthday a day early, baby.”
And I die, or at least, tears leak out of me as this pain grips my heart.
He remembered.
He remembered my birthday even when I forgot. It’s my birthday tomorrow and I’ve been busy living the dream that it completely slipped my mind.
But he remembered.
On top of that, he gave me a gift for it. This was a gift, wasn’t it? He gave me what I wanted from him. I wanted him to take my ass and he did.
But he gave me another gift too.
He calmed down my anxious thoughts. He claimed me in front of someone, picked me over everything and gave me the strength to look a stranger in the eyes while standing up for him.
Finally, I understand the restlessness that I felt when Graham stopped me from spilling my biggest secret in front of Richard.
That restlessness was because I wanted to tell Graham. I wanted him to know.
Because how could I have not told him yet? How could I have been so selfish? I can’t have him fighting the world for scaring me when he doesn’t know the truth.
Besides, it doesn’t matter if he can’t love me. It doesn’t matter that he’ll never love me. Or that he’ll stop looking at me the way he usually does, like I’m his world.
