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She steps further into the apartment, dropping her purse onto the table, but she doesn’t stop watching me. Only then does she quiver, taking a deep breath before turning away to stare at the wall to compose herself. “It’s been almost two decades, Gabriel.”
“I know.” My voice holds a deep rumble. “It’s been so long.”
She looks up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. “I’m still not sure whether you’re actually standing there or I’m losing my mind.”
“I’m here,” I repeat. Disbelief is better than not wanting me, at least. I’ll take it.
“I... I dreamed of seeing you again,” she admits quietly, “but I’ve never allowed myself to actually believe it was possible. It hurt too much to have hope.” She takes another step forward.
“I know what you mean,” I admit, and when I do, she takes another step closer. “I spent our first decade apart not letting myself believe this day could happen. Then I’ve spent the second doing everything I could to simply see you and not risk hurting you.” She makes her way over, standing just in front of me, emotion riddled in her gaze as she takes me in.
Adrenaline courses through me as I step forward, wrapping my arms around her waist like I used to and burying my nose in her hair. She relaxes in my embrace, and that's all I need to hold her tightly. Her hair is pulled up, not long and loose like she used to when she was mine and everyone knew it, but it still feels the same, and when I lower my lips to the curve of her neck, she tilts her head, mewling just like she always did when I find the spot on her neck and leave an open-mouthed kiss.
“Sir . . .”
A groan escapes me, rough and from deep in my chest. I’m instantly hard for her.
“Yes, my good girl,” I reply, kissing her neck, pacing to the back of her so my chest is pressed against her back. Reaching around her elegant dress, I cup her breast, feeling the soft weight once again mold to my touch. They’re softer, maybe a touch larger than they were then, but the nipple that pebbles under my fingertips is exactly the same.
Her soft sigh and the way her hips press back against my hips unlock the years, and for a long moment I hold her, burying my nose in the curve of her neck.
She leans against me, and I squeeze her breast, not hard because my little whore’s tolerance has never been high, but just enough that she moans, rolling her hips against mine and stiffening my cock to full attention. She fits into me just right, just like she did back then.
“Bend over the table,” I murmur into her ear and then nip her lobe, directing her over to the small dining table near the kitchenette. “Push your ass back ... the way I like you.”
She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. Her moves are instant. She obeys with a desperate need, bending over the table and lifting her ass in her high heels. My skin is on fire as I push the skirt of her dress up, revealing the provocative but demure silk panties underneath, along with the thigh-high stockings that always drove me wild.
No garters.
Her ass is lush, and as I run my hands along her curves, she sighs happily, pushing into my touch without moving her hands even a millimeter. It’s been nearly two decades, and she’s still so exquisitely trained.
I bend down, inhaling the sweet scent of her already wet pussy and her earthy aroma as I roll the panties down her long, shapely legs to her ankles, lifting one knee after the next to remove them before setting her leg down a little wider apart, giving me more access.
With a hand on her shoulders, I press her front down so her chest is pressed against the wood and her panting fills the room.
Smiling, I torture my little submissive the way that we both know she likes best, not with hard spanks or bindings but with feather-soft kisses up the backs of her legs to the round peach of her ass, kisses with enough pressure and grazing of my teeth to let her skin know I’m there and sensitize her, but so feathery soft that all she gets is a ghost of stimulation. Goosebumps travel along my touch.
I’ve spent hours doing this before, covering her entire body from head to toe in these kisses, and more than once, I’ve made her come so easily on my face with a single soft kiss on her clit at the end. That’s how I love her. At the highest of highs and barely cognizant of anything but the touch I give her.
But after all these years of separation, I don’t have that patience nor that strength. Instead, I reach out my tongue, stroking her smooth lips and hearing her gasp while my greedy hands undo my pants, freeing my cock. The sound of my zipper being undone fills the small place.
As I stand up and entwine my hand in her hair, I’m lined up perfectly.
“How long?” I rasp as I tease her folds, feeling her ooze over me. “How long since you’ve been fucked the right way, my whore?”
I shouldn’t ask. I shouldn’t want to know. She could have fucked her way through all of the state and I’d have no right to criticize, nor would I care to.
But I still need to know.Did anyone love her right while I was gone?
“Too long,” Kiersten whimpers, and as I thrust forward, I let myself imagine that she’s saying something more than she is.
The tight grip of her walls around my cock has my pulse roaring in my ears as I groan out, “Holy fuck.” Making sure my grasp is tight, I tug on her hair at the base of her neck to pull her in tighter.
Time loses all meaning as I thrust inside her, feeling her pussy adjust to me, tightening and clenching around me. She pushes to meet my every stroke, both of us knowing exactly what the other needs.
Every thrust is harder and filled with more and more need as I take her ruthlessly.
I don’t need to interpret her cries of pleasure. I angle my hips to stroke directly over the places she likes, going harder as her body demands it. She does the same, and as my explosion rises inside me, we find our release together.
