“Oh, God!”
“I want to feel your pussy suck my cock when you come.”
He says the filthiest things in bed, and I love it. He makes me feel so sexy and so desired, like I’m a gorgeous, radiant siren. And maybe I am. For him. Only him.
As I sink lower and lower, pushing him deeper, he strains against his own need. I see it in his eyes. I know exactly when he’s getting close, and I want us to reach that point together.
Juicy sounds of passion fill the room. The slap of flesh against flesh is music only we can hear. A sudden, frantic look passes across his face. He grabs my ass, jerking me hard against him. The pressure is too much. My clit throbs as I explode in a fit of spasms. I scream his name as I convulse on his cock.
He roars mine, flipping me onto my back and plunging into me one last time before stuffing me so completely, I’m sure I’m going to die on the spot. His hot seed fills me, melting me into a state of complete intoxication. I’m drunk on his sex, unable to do anything but lay there as he murmurs sweet words into my ears.
Much, much later, we lay in each other’s arms. I don’t think we’ll be able to move tomorrow, but that doesn’t matter. Our honeymoon in Paris will give us plenty of time to recover. That is, unless we stay in bed the whole time. And we might. I have a feeling his cock is much more interesting than the Eiffel Tower.
Giggling, I roll toward him, snuggling against his side.
“What’s so funny, babe?” he asks in a sleepy voice.
“That was longer than three minutes.”
“More like three hours. Is anyone still down there?”
“Don’t know.”
“Don’t care,” he murmurs, nuzzling my throat.
As we cling to each other, a feeling of peace settles over me. I’m a permanent part of his life now. Although I’ll never be patched in, threads of respect and mutual admiration have woven me into the fabric of his club. The beauty of this feeling of belonging stands in stark contrast to the gritty reality of the life I lived before we met.
And for the first time, I’m truly able to be myself.
Safe. Protected. Free.
***
