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A quaver went through her as she reached up to stroke his jaw. “Let me put the pizza in. Then we’ll…discuss.”
He stepped back, waiting while she fiddled with dials and pulled down the oven door. Bent as she was, the tie of his apron dangled over her ass, bringing his focus to the soft pink slit beneath. As she pushed the pan across the grill rack, he knelt and pushed his tongue inside her, wrapping his hands around her thighs to hold her still. She let out a relieved moan and grabbed the stove, holding it as he surged into her without pause, dragging the bead over her damp flesh.
“God, your mouth and your cheeks are so cold…” She reached back and framed his face in her hands, keeping him right where he was.
Leaning in, he nipped her clit, rasping his piercing over it while he parted her wet folds. He traced her opening with his thumb, giving her just a little of it to clench.
Even in the faint light over the stove he could see the glistening moisture he couldn’t lick fast enough. More and more slid over his tongue, so he fucked her with it again, striking that spot inside her that swelled so readily and warned of her impending orgasm. He felt it building in her tensed thighs, heard it in her agonized breaths.
He palmed one swell of her ass, releasing a groan of his own at how perfectly it fit in his hand. He did the same with the other, spreading her pussy wide for him. Instead of diving back down, he rimmed the pucker between her cheeks with the tip of his tongue, smiling at her ragged whimper.
He’d take her there too, after he pinked that beautiful bottom until her arousal dripped down her inner thighs.
“You get so wet for me.” He rolled the bead over her ass. “Do you want my cock?”
She shifted her hands into his hair, yanking hard. “I want it. I want you. But first…” A gasping giggle escaped her. “I want to shut the oven door before my pussy incinerates.”
Laughing, he pulled back and rose, following the line of her spine with his tongue while she shut the door. He grasped her breasts under the apron, pinching the tight tips, making them tighter.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised before heading down the hall to quickly take care of business.
And to gulp down about a gallon of cold water. He had a feeling he’d need the hydration.
As soon as he returned to the kitchen, he whirled her toward the center island, hooking a hand under her leg and lifting it onto the lower bar meant for wine. As soon as she was open to him once again, he sought her clit, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. She braced her elbows on the island, jutting out her ass, and he didn’t think.
All he could hear were her pleas. All he could see was that taut flesh, just waiting for his hand.
He smacked her softly, testing them both. Then harder and harder, switching sides. He could smell her now, her need subtly tingeing air already full of the scents of rising dough and spicy sauce. She widened her stance, rocking into his hand, begging for it even as pale pink marks rose on her skin. The bruises from her fall were already beginning to fade, the mosaic of mottled colors blurring as he made her his the only way that would last longer than the sound of his words.
For the next day, every time she sat, she’d think of him. Maybe then she’d experience a fraction of what he’d gone through every night he’d laid in bed and tried to scrub her image from his brain. She’d remember him alternating his sharp slaps with the slide of his fingers along her sopping pussy and the press of his thumb over her pulsing bundle of nerves. The questing finger he worked into her tight ass, easing past the ring of muscle to help spread the warmth from his hand into her core.
Pressing his face into her hair, he slid into her pussy, plunging into her without hesitation. He alternated his thrusts with smacks on her ass, and she tilted her hips into his sensual blows.
Perspiration blurred his vision, but he blinked his eyes clear, desperate to see her arch her back and grind into his groin as if she couldn’t get enough. He rubbed her bottom, shocked by how warm it was, then let out a groan once he let himself look. Her inflamed skin had passed pink into red, and his fingers had imprinted her skin just the way he’d envisioned.
She squeezed his cock where it was embedded inside her, trying to clasp him deep. He pulled out and rammed home again, losing the thread of anything but the blind need to keep pumping into her. She arched, acceding to his unrepentant thrusts.
“So…fucking…wet.” She coated him from root to tip, and he could feel her wetness trickling over his balls. It still wasn’t enough. Farther and farther he drove home, shocked to feel her softening to take more of him, as if his body only had to make the demand and she responded.
Her cries rose, a sterling invitation for him to band his arm around her waist and haul her back into his strokes. Her nails scraped over the countertop from his endless onslaught, but he didn’t stop.
Couldn’t.
Her tits bounced against his arm, and her pussy squeezed him so tight his lungs burned. He whisked his thumb over her swollen clit, and she went off, saturating his cock with an orgasm that doubled her over and seemed to have no end.
He groaned and lurched into her, grinding deep, extending her contractions. His balls crawled toward his spine, aching for a respite. But there was only her sweet body yielding to him, her pretty, dirty mouth begging for his dick to fill her up.
The tension inside him snapped, and he shouted, lost to her even as he spent himself inside her depths. He didn’t stop thrusting even through his climax, using his hold on her ass to drive her up and down. She whimpered softly, brokenly. And he continued on, consumed with his own release and what she’d given him.
Then she let out a sob, and he went still.
He stared at her, shocked immobile. His gaze drifted to the handprints on her ass and the bruises that suddenly stood out in sharp relief on her back. They were fading, yes, and what he’d done to her had been about pleasure, not pain. But the two could mix.
Even knowing that, he’d pushed her into doing what he commanded. Some of the time he definitely hadn’t been in full possession of his faculties. What if he’d hurt her?
If she’d said no, would he have been able to stop?
r /> Had she said no, and he somehow hadn’t heard her? Was that why she was crying?
