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It seemed like the women still loved to cook and stuff like that, but the men helped out.
It was a good balance.
Something I would want my kids to grow up seeing and experiencing.
“Everything looks perfect,” Emilio said, nuzzling into my neck from behind, his hands starting to move up my belly, seeking my breasts.
“Emilio, we can’t,” I insisted.
“Sure we can,” he said as his hands teased over my breasts, squeezing.
“I have the food—“
“In the oven, cooking, for at least an hour still.”
Damn him and his logic. I did not want to meet his mother all flushed from sex with her son.
“It will ease some of this anxiety,” he reasoned, hands slipping under my shirt to continue the sweet torture.
That was another good point.
“And you haven’t even gotten dressed yet,” he added, fingers rolling my nipples.
“You make all good points,” I said, letting my head loll back onto his shoulder as one of his hands slipped under the waistband off my shorts and panties, stroking up my cleft.
“Not in here,” I said when he started to shimmy off my bottoms.
“Why not?”
“Because it will smell like sex in here then,” I reasoned.
“Fair point,” he agreed, walking backward, practically dragging me with him down the hall and into his office.
It still wasn’t finished. But I did manage to get some swatches on the wall, and outlined in painter’s tape where some new furniture was going to go.
Emilio released me, then slammed my back against the wall.
Then he was on his knees, pulling my shorts and panties down, then burying his face between my thighs.
“Fuck,” I whimpered, my head knocking back into the wall as my leg went over his shoulder, and my hands fisted in his hair. He would have to fix it before everyone came, but I didn’t care. I was too lost in the moment to think straight as his tongue traced around my clit relentlessly, driving me up.
But pulling away before I got a chance to come.
“Emilio,” I whimpered.
But then he was on his feet, working his pants down with impatient fingers, barely taking a moment to slip on the condom.
Then he was surging inside of me.
There was nothing slow or sweet about it.
He fucked me hard and fast, like we were both acutely aware of the time ticking, of the need to come quickly.
Somehow, that only seemed to make it hotter as his lips kissed, his teeth nipped, and his hands sank into my ass as he fucked me.
“Fuck,” I whimpered, nails digging into him. “I’m coming,” I cried as the orgasm finally broke through my body, making me cry out as I rode the waves of it.
Emilio hissed out a curse as he came with me, slamming hard and deep over and over until we were both spent, winded, clinging.
“Feel better?” he asked, pulling back, watching my face.
“Mmhmm.”
“Uh oh,” he said, wincing.
“What?” I asked.
“You so look freshly fucked,” he said, letting out a chuckle as he moved away from me.
“Damnit, Emilio,” I grumbled, yanking my panties and pants back into place.
“Don’t worry. My ma will probably think it’s a new love glow or some shit,” he said, smacking my ass hard as I turned to open the door. “Go get dressed. I’ll light a ‘No, we absolutely did not just fuck ten minutes before you got here’ candle.”
“Thank God I bought that kind in bulk,” I quipped, getting a chuckle out of him before I was springing up the steps to try to splash some cool water on my face to dull that ‘new love glow’ before taming my hair, putting on some makeup, and slipping into a pair of creamy slacks and a simple black blouse.
Really, I’d wanted to wear a dress, figuring that would be the most elegant way to meet his family, but I’d decided against it in case it would get in the way with spending time with the kids.
I’d actually gone to the store to pick up a few activities and toys to keep in a previously empty chest in the living room, figuring they would come in handy during long family events when the kids might get bored of adult talk.
I strapped on a pair of the heels that Emilio had bought me, still smiling at the memory of that impromptu trip to the store, just so we could go out dancing after without me being in pain.
Then I spritzed on a little perfume because I was acutely aware of the fact that I smelled like Emilio, and made my way downstairs.
I had just enough time to check the lasagnes in the oven, and to toss a little grated parmesan onto the salad I’d already prepared, before I heard the doorbell ring.
My stomach tensed as I turned toward the doorway.
“Relax, it’s just Mira and Vissi,” Emilio called.
“Gee, thanks, asshole,” a female voice said, making my lips turn up in a genuine smile before I even walked into the hallway.
