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35
Michael
Black spots flicker at the edges of my vision. I come with an intensity I have never experienced in all of my thirty-nine years. The orgasm seems to go on and on, then fades away as suddenly. My shoulders relax and I stare down at the witch who did this to me. The water laps over her mouth as she meets my gaze from under half-closed eyelids. I pull her up and off of my cock, watch as she licks her lips. There’s no evidence of cum around her mouth, and it’s not because the water wiped it clean. I had blown my load down her throat. She had taken me so deep inside that there was no chance of cum spilling from her lips.
I haul her toward me, then close my mouth over hers. The salty taste of my cum, the sweetness of her palate, that sexy feminine scent of her, tinged with moonflowers... All of it overpowers my senses. I pull her into my chest, wrap my arms around her as I ravish her mouth. As I suck on her tongue and drink from her. As I lose myself in her. Fucking only her. I tear my mouth from her, gaze into those green eyes. Pupils blown, color high on her cheeks, her lips are swollen from my attention. I glance down at her creamy breasts, cup one, then bend down and kiss the nipple. She shivers as I similarly anoint the other pebbled tip, then press small kisses back up her throat, to her mouth.
"Michael," she whispers as I brush her lips with mine. I lick her mouth, then rub my nose against hers, before kissing her one eyelid shut, then the other.
"Michael." She wriggles in my hold, and I pause.
"What is it?" I murmur as I press more kisses to her forehead, to her temples, lick the shell of her ears before sucking on the lobes of her ears.
"Michael," she pouts, and this time I lean back.
"What?"
She opens her eyes and scowls up at me, "I need to come."
I blink, then burst out laughing. "Youneed to come?"
"It’s not funny." She slaps my shoulder, "You just had the most intense orgasm ever—'
"It was okay," I lie.
"Bullshit." She presses her forefinger into my chest, "You came like you were the last man on earth and this was your very last orgasm, ever, and you hadn’t had sex in months before this."
"Days," I raise a shoulder, "but who’s counting."
She opens and shuts her mouth. "You’re a real piece of work, you know that?" she snarls, tries to pull away and I tighten my grip about her.
"You know I don’t try to hide the kind of man I am. It’s what you like about me, after all."
"Not." She leans back, trying to put space between us, as if I am going to let her.
"Liar," I murmur. "And you were right."
"I was?"
I nod. "That…" I rub my nose with hers, "was the best orgasm I have ever had."
Her eyes open wide before she schools her features, then sniffs, "You don’t have to sound so surprised. When I set my mind to something, I don’t back down; and I told myself that I was going to suck your soul through your dick."
"Is that right?"
She tips up her chin, "Are you denying that it was an out-of-body experience for you?"
"It was…" I scan her features, "more than that. It was like dying a little, and much as I am not a fan of the French, la petite mort—the little death, is the best way to summarize how it felt."
"Oh." She blinks, "Okay, that’s good."
"It was more than good… It waseccezionale, Beauty." I smirk, "And now it’s your turn."
I rise to my feet and lift her up with me. I step out of the bath tub, grab a towel and hold my hand out for her. She steps down from the tub, and I pat her shoulders, her breasts, her waist, her hips, the dip between her legs, her ankles, her pretty feet. By the time I straighten, she’s staring at me with parted lips. I use the same towel to squeeze the excess water from her hair, then rub myself dry and toss it aside. I bend my knees and lift her up, and throw her over my shoulder.
"Hey," she protests, "what are you doing?"
"Making sure my wife gets the orgasms due to her."
