Only then do I realize I just verbally admitted I didn’t have sex with anyone else since we’ve been separated. I know it’s not necessarily information I omitted, but damn… this gives him the upper hand. No doubt. This shows to him how much I care. How he’s the only one for me, even if we’re not together. “I—”
I don’t continue.
He doesn’t let me.
He crashes his lips on mine, in about the hottest kiss I’ve ever shared in my entire life. His tongue swipes over mine with pure dominance, like he’s staking a claim on a newfound planet. I’m his planet, and he won’t be told otherwise.
I circle my arms around his neck, and if I was looking for tenderness, I am shit out of luck.
He fucks me, his cock happily following his tone, slamming all the way to the hilt, each time charging me with little shocks of awareness. He’s ramming into me, in and out, so fucking hard and deep I can barely keep up. It’s like knowing that I’m still fully only his unlocks a primal part of him that was dormant.
He nips my lips, his teeth sending tingles down my spine. I’m so turned on, every part of me is alert and sizzling. I want to talk to him, to call his name, but all my energy is focused on this mad rhythm, this intense sexual drive bouncing between us.
When he squeezes my breasts, I lose it. It’s like the smallest touch at this point pushes me into the same orgasmic well I just dove into not long ago. I wrench my lips from his, slightly, just so I’m still able to breathe and literally not die in his arms. Sweat glistens my limbs, my body achy, trembling, as pleasure rockets from my core to all parts of me simultaneously.
I wait for him to move faster, for him to seek his own pleasure, but all he does is lift me from the dresser and carry me to the bed. Our bed tonight.
“On your hands and knees. I want to have the best view of your pussy.” He coaxes me on all fours, and puts me at the very end of the bed. Then, before I can say anything, he slams his cock into my pussy again, from behind. I yelp, my sex still wet and sticky from coming seconds earlier.
But I can’t deny him.
“Mine,” he says, an edge to his voice that claws my heart.
I undulate my hips, teasing him, and he withdraws halfway only to drive himself inside again, deeper, my body almost lunging forward. I would, if he weren’t holding my waist with both of his hands at my sides.
This is all so… sexy.
He swats my ass, leaving a tingly warm patch on the area he slapped. “Mine,” he repeats, his voice so coarse it takes me a second or two to comprehend it.
Yes. Yes. Oh, yes…
I feel his full balls slapping my ass with each thrust. My breath is shallow, coming in and out in small gasps. This is all too much. While one hand bites into my skin, he lowers the other to my pussy, and works my clit, teasingly flicking it, relentlessly, with each thrust.
My brain starts to get foggy again, a hot stir ballooning in my body. God. Am I about to come for the third time? “Yes. Oh, yes,” I hiss, feeling that cloak of pleasure covering me. “Oh, baby I’m coming again…” I warn him, and he continues to impale me, in a way that’s not careful, in a way that makes this the most straightforward, raw, primal act between two people. Also, the most magical.
He squeezes my clit, and that does it. I groan, female cream squirting out of me in a way that’s new to me. I squeal, but feel my most intimate essence drip out of me, my knees weak, my body quivering.
This sex is dirty, it’s loud, and it’s unforgettable.
He slides out of me, almost completely, then slams back again, and this time he lets go, and fills me with his hot load. After he’s done, his body jerking less, his breath calmer, I can no longer support myself on my hands and knees, and I drop on the mattress.
He falls next to me, looking at the ceiling, mesmerized.
“I can’t move,” I say.
“Good thing we’re not expected to,” he says, and plants a kiss on my shoulder. Then, he props himself on his elbows and glances at me. “You really haven’t been with anyone?”
A warm wave of embarrassment spreads across my cheeks and neck. “No.” I look away. I want to ask him, but I also don’t want the answer. Of course he’s been with other women. He’s super-hot, runs a business which whole mission is to hook up men with hot young women. Why would he not date?
“Me neither,” he says.
My gaze connects with his, and the snarky comment my brain is processing gets lost the second I see the glint of vulnerability in his eyes. A different kind of heat smacks me in the pit of my stomach. I swallow. “Really?”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Really.”
“No,” I insist, narrowing my eyes. He left me. Why wouldn’t he want to move on? Maybe because we’re still legally married, and he doesn’t want to make it awkward. But he could still have hook-ups away from the see-and-be-seen Dallas hangouts.