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His moves are deep and paced, feeding the tension in my core. The more the tension feeds on itself, the more the pleasure wants to be released.
I’m wet and locked around his hips, taking his thrusts with increased delight.
“Don’t stop,” I murmur, sweat coating my chest.
The sensation only grows. We no longer kiss. We no longer look at each other, my nails trailing his back while his breaths are hot next to my ear, his expression concealed.
Mine is hidden too.
The pleasure grows, the silence shielding this filthy affair.
We put some emotional space between us. I sense it. It’s clear. It’s there. I don’t mind it.
I’m ready for this to happen, as I said before.
I don’t expect to walk out of his place and things to be different.
But this is still a huge development in our story, and while we keep it quiet, neither of us can deny it.
He hardens around me, and I love when he does that. It’s part of the man I crave to see more of in the future and a hidden side of him I’m increasingly enthralled with.
His thrusts are hard, pushing me to the edge. There’s little science in how this works. It just does. He knows I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be and takes me all the way.
The harder he moves, the less I smile and the soberer I become. And the more aware of what this means.
I take his pounding with stoic awareness, gripped by emotions I never thought I’d have.
If I owe him a lot for helping me with that moment of vulnerability this evening, he is sure indebted to me for keeping this a secret.
I’m sure he’ll fight the reality of it tremendously.
In that regard, we are the same.
The orgasm bolts through me, bringing me his delicious passion. Once I feel that peak, my thoughts dash away, leaving me alone in an ocean of bliss.
