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I’ve always been independent, so to succumb to his orders is freeing and more of a turn on than I could ever have imagined.
“That feel nice?”
My mouth opens to answer him, but the tingle from the light vibrations makes it a struggle.
“Move the vibrator around in slow circles.”
My eyes close, and I just enjoy the feeling this gives me. The idea of him watching and telling me what he wants me to do is exquisite.
“Now lift the vibrator and rub your hand through your wet lips. Show me how wet you are.”
I peel my heavy lids open and see the hard lines on his face, his chest rapidly moving up and down and his eyes fixed on my center. As I run my hands through my slick folds, my sex clenches, but I follow his order and hold his gaze. Then I hold my hand up to him.
“So good. Taste yourself. Tell me how you taste.”
I bring my hand to my parted mouth and lick slowly over my fingers, and he groans. “Mm,” I murmur, sucking my flavor.
“I want you to come. Put the vibrator on a higher setting and push harder on your clit.” I peer down and see his erection, and I love how much this is affecting him. I can’t believe how much restraint he has.
Grabbing the vibrator, I put the settings up and lower it back down onto myself. The delicious vibrations running through my clit have my back arching and my toes curling through a moan.
“Pinch your nipple with your other hand.” His heavy breathing helps me climb closer to a climax.
I pinch my nipple softly, a feral sound leaving my throat. “You have such pretty tits. Squeeze it, feel how beautifully soft your skin is, how full your breasts are.”
I pant and squirm, trying to get to my climax, my heat needing more. “Touch me,” I beg.
“You’re so pretty when you beg. I can’t wait to watch you come. You look so beautiful when you come for me.”
And his words break me. The wave of pleasure slams into me hard, and I moan out his name so loudly, my head falls back, body tightening and releasing as I come hard.
I didn’t hear his footsteps, so I’m surprised when I feel his warm touch on my thigh, moving my leg to open again. He climbs over me, naked, so he’s kneeling between me, with his erection thick and heavy. I stare up at him while I try to catch my breath.
As he hovers over me, our eyes stare at each other with such a burning desire that I haven’t seen before. “I’m not done with you yet. I’m going to make you come again.”
Then, before I have any time to think, he thrusts himself inside, and I cry out. “Marc!”
My eyes roll to the back of my head, my back arching as he fills me. It’s perfect, just like him. My walls spasm and when I’ve caught my breath back from a moan, he pulls out and then rocks deep into me again. The way we fit together doesn’t help my growing feelings. He makes me feel treasured, adored, and seen.
He continually thrusts into me, and I grip his back as the wave of heat rolls through me all over again. I can feel him grow thicker inside me, and I know he’s close. He comes first, calling out my name in the most guttural groan, and my orgasm hits me at the sight of him coming undone. Only a long deep moan and my nails digging into his back let him know I’m coming, but the way his cock pulses only one more time lets me know he’s finished.
I go limp and my back melts into the mattress. As my eyes flutter open, I see his perspiring forehead, a piece of his dark locks stuck to his face. I lift a hand and push his hair back with an adoring smile.
He offers me a lopsided grin. “That was amazing. Is it possible you’re getting better?”
I bite my lip before saying with flushed cheeks, “No, I think we just explode with passion whenever we are together.”
He kisses me briefly. “We are definitely explosive, but there is something different about you. Something magical and beautiful. And the best part of me is you.”
We are in his kitchen making dinner. I’m more of the observer and cleaner because, let’s face it, unless he wants a burnt dinner; he’s best to do the cooking.
The smell of roast chicken and veggies fills the air. It feels very homey and domestic with us in the kitchen working together and having a hearty home-cooked dinner.
“Come taste this,” he says.
I put the dish I just finished on the drying rack and step over to the stove, where he is stirring the gravy. He picks up the spoon and blows on it before bringing it to my lips.
I taste it, and the sweet onion hits me immediately.
