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“Ohh. You make me so wet.”
“Show me.” I extricate myself from her grip to look.
Dee slides her legs apart. With the thong pushed askew from the movement, and her pink and glistening, she has that wanton, fuck-me look that makes my dick ache to be inside her wet snug heat. But I long for a taste first.
Sliding down into a prone position, I nudge the thin line of her panties away and lick in long drags along her creamy channel.
“Soo good.” She arches, her heels digging into the rug, her juicy pussy lifting into my mouth.
I seize Dee’s gaze, forcing her opaque eyes to stay on me as my tongue swirls around her clit and my fingers twist and rub her taut nipples. She gasps and writhes. The multiple stimulus working her into a frenzy. And me too. I tease those sweet, tender spots until she cries out. Her neck and back arch, her hips bow up and down. Watching Dee come takes me straight to the edge.
I rise to my knees and shove my pants and underwear down my legs. With her panties still pushed aside, I plant my palms on the rug, lever over her, and drive my cock through the slick clasp with an ecstatic groan.
“Mick.” Her short nails beneath my shirt scratch at my back, marking me. “You feel so hard.”
“That’s all you…what you do to me.” I lower my head to kiss her, then up the pace. I fling her leg over my shoulder. Grabbing at flesh, my knees push into the carpet, gaining leverage to drive harder, to sink deeper.
“Yes,” she sobs with every plunge. “Make me come again.”
Her words drench my blood in feral heat. On the verge of exploding, I push my hand between her legs, rubbing her clit to another orgasm. When she comes on throaty moans, convulsing around my cock, clamping tightly, I lose my fucking mind.
Speed, heat, and power. My hips surge like well-oiled pistons. Sweat beads on my skin. I lower her leg from my shoulder and pin her down. Thrusting and kissing Dee roughly, I let go. The red-hot, knotted ball of tension releasing into a violent burst of flames.
Together, we clutch each other and move until the fire clears. Collapsing on the rug, we lie there winded and spent with the midday sun shining through the curtains, spreading dust crystals in the air.
I press my nose and mouth to her damp neck. Inhale sex-scented skin. When I can get my legs back under me, I rid myself of what remains of my clothes and carry my wife to the bedroom.
“You would have made a perfect lead in old movies,” she says with her arms draped around my shoulders.
“Why?”
“Because carrying a woman harkens back to old, romantic films.”
“Guess I’m a romantic at heart.”
“You definitely are that.” She smiles lazily. “I love the contrast of how raw and rough you can be one minute and tender the next.”
“You have a little dirty side yourself, Mrs. Peters.”
“I do with you. My inner sexy beast.”
I laugh, thinking it suits her, and lay her down on the bed. She’s still in those nothing-of-a-bra-and-panties. I remove her shoes and slide in beside her. She rests her cheek on my chest, right over my heart.
I can’t imagine the chemistry and intimacy between us ever fading. It will change and shift over the years, mature but not dim. I can feel that throughout every day we spend together, getting closer, more entwined, our lives naturally and intricately threaded.
I gaze down at Dee. Her eyelids are still heavy, her body languid. “Tired?” I ask.
“Relaxed.”
“What do you say, I make us lunch and we eat in bed?”
“I do have to work at some point.”
“You’re the boss.” I stroke my hand over the curve of her hip. “Take the whole day off.”
“Too much on my plate. But I’ll work from home.” Her fingers caress the pad of my pec. “I’ve been thinking more seriously about taking on a partner.”
“You’ve mentioned it a few times.”
