“What?” I ask innocently, watching his eyes drop down my body.
He stares at my chest. “So beautiful.”
I reach around and unclip my bra, and the black cotton drops to my feet.
His right hand reaches out to palm my breast, the other still beside my head. I moan as he squeezes it, and then rolls my nipple until I’m desperate for him.
Eyes flaring with appreciation, he dips his head, takes my nipple into his mouth, and sucks hard. My pussy clenches at the sensation.
“Fuck,” I cry out, slamming my head back, my eyes close.
He stops sucking, and I’m about to protest until I feel his warm breath across my skin to the other breast repeating the same pattern. My body quivers with the pressure building between my thighs. When he's finished sucking my nipple, I’m rolling my hips into the air, in need of friction. His hand lowers to my pants.
“These look cute, but will look better on the floor.”
“I won’t stop you.”
He quickly pops the button, unzipping me, before pushing them over my hips. I shimmy, helping them glide down to the ground and kick them aside.
Now I stand in only a cotton black thong.
“I’m so fucking hard. You’re so beautiful.”
My hands move to his button and zipper. Eager to see him hard for me.
I push his pants and briefs down together. He kicks off his shoes before his pants and briefs are gone. He stands there heavy, thick, and leaking of pre-cum. All for me.
My tongue darts out, licking the seam of my lips. He’s beautiful. I can never get my fill.
His hands move to me, and I think he’ll remove my thong, but instead his hand slips beneath them, skimming my clit. I buck at the touch.
“Oliver, fuck!”
“Mmm… my name on your lips kills me.”
He does it again, causing my back to arch again.
But instead of just grazing my clit, he dips two fingers inside of me. The tight thrust all the way in makes me cry out. “Oliver-r!”
“God, you’re perfect.”
He doesn’t stop pumping his fingers. My body collapses against the door, and luckily, he holds me up with one hand. The other is buried in my thong.
“So fucking wet for me.”
I try to speak, but it comes out as a moan.
I’m so close.
He keeps up the same pace. I clench around his thick fingers. I’m about to come. He brings me to the edge, but then swiftly pulls out.
My eyes snap open, my gaze ping-ponging between his two heated blues, trying to figure out why he’s stopped. “What are you doing?”
He runs his fingers over my lips. I smell myself on him and shiver.
“I want my wife to apologize for making me unable to think straight.”
“Sorry,” I rush out.
