Clara June wearing that engagement ring has given me a perma-halfie.
Once home, Tanner, Jo Jo and Rawley get picked up by Jake and Riley, who are heading to an evening farmer’s market, and offered to take the kids. At the last minute,Archie decides he wants to join, too, which leaves us unexpectedly home alone.
Clara June is naked on the kitchen table within the first ten minutes of that front door being locked.
“You sure, baby?” I ask, out of breath, swiping the back of my wrist along my forehead. “We can wait another few days or however long it takes.” I kiss her swollen little clit, and she merely moans, exhausted from the last two orgasms I’ve wrung from her using just my teeth.
With lube in my palm, I stroke down my shaft, then squirt more into my hand, pressing it between her legs. She moans when the cool gel hits her, and spreads her legs to allow me to fully rub it in. “I’m sure, Dean. And you’re going to be my husband,” she says, the word a wet dream coming from her, I swear. Husband. Me. I’m gonna be hers. Not just any husband but the gorgeous, hard working, patient, sweet Clara June’s husband.
She grips the table, silverware falling to the floor with a clatter. I hook my arms beneath her legs, and drag her to the edge of the table, aligning her hot little cunt with my bobbing cock.
“Do it,” she breathes, looking at me through dark lashes, across her naked porcelain curves. “Fuck me, Coach.”
My lips curve into a smirk as I grip below my crown and start the process of getting inside of her. She moans with the first thrust, and after a few inches are in, she begs for a moment to calibrate. I talk her through the adjustment period while stroking her clit.
“You’re alright. You take it so good for me, Mama, you can do it. Just give it a minute, I’ll give you more, and it’ll start feeling so good for you, baby.”
Another few inches in, we’re almost halfway, and her eyes glaze with desire. It's at this point that the pain becomespleasure, that the stretching and accommodating brings her a heady high, and her rapture grows. When I’m over halfway, she pushes to her elbows, eager to watch our bodies come together as deeply as they can. With the last thrust, all ten plus inches seated comfortably inside of her, she reaches down and runs her fingers gently along my groin, through my pubic hair.
“Perfect fit,” she murmurs, before sinking back against the table, grabbing her knees, then whispering, “Fuck me, baby.”
And now I’m the one lasting under a minute, only able to stroke in and out of her heaven a few times before my balls are pulled tight, and a heated urgency spikes in my core. “Fuck, mama, this pussy is too good. You’re too good, you hear me? You’re so goddamn good, Clara June, that I’m gonna come already.”
She begs for it, pleads for me to come inside of her.
“I need to feel you, Dean, I need to feel you,” she begs, the clink of her engagement band hitting the table as she thrashes around is my last straw.
The ring reminds me… she’s mine, and I get to do this forever.
My head tips back and a roar tears from my chest, loud, loud enough to rattle the oven, to shake the photos framed on the kitchen walls. “Fuuuckkk, I’m coming.”
Clara June, holding her legs, peers up at me, dazed eyes and pussy spasming. She’s coming too, and I love the way she seeks out my eyes when she does. A silentI love youpassing between us as we clench and grind, moan and pant. And when we’re both speechless and trembling, I take myself out of her, and lift her off the table.
She kisses me, then tries to clean the table, but I take the paper towel and disinfectant from her. “Let me. I put you up here and fucked you silly, I should be the one to clean up.”
Clara June just shakes her head. “Where have you been all my life, Dean McAllister?”
I smirk. “At 1784 Calloway Lane, right here in Bluebell.”
She snaps to attention, as if hearing the physical address of my home has suddenly made her realize that I have a home that I no longer live in. “Oh my God, Dean, your house.”
I look around playfully. “I’m in it.”
She slaps my chest. “No! I mean, gosh, I feel so bad,” she shakes her head as she works her long waves into a braid. “I’ve stolen you away from your house.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s a house. Now I have a home.” It’s that simple.
Her cheeks flush, because she liked that answer, and she likes it because it’s the truth. “What are you doing with it now that you’re here?”
I tell her my plan. “I am going to sell it, and with the money, I’m going to invest in our home, and start repairing some things, making additions, all that,” I tell her, taking the defrosted meat out of the fridge, grabbing the bottle of marinade, too. She watches me, but says nothing.
“I’m gonna replace your car now, too, Clara June. I won’t have you riding around in some old unsafe tin can.”
“Dean… I… I don’t want you spending too much on us, on me.” She looks nervous, and I can’t help but laugh, looping my arms around her waist, forgoing the dinner prep.
“Sweetheart, I’ve been a teacher for almost 20 years. I own my home and my pickup, and I’ve invested very strategically. I haven’t had a damn thing to spend my money on, not until now. What’s mine is yours, and in that vein, I’d like to put some of the house sale money away in separate accounts for the boys. College, starter home, mechanic school—whatever they want, I want them to have a little starter fund. From us.”
She just shakes her head. “Thank you.”
