I don’t answer. I can’t. I’m still drinking her in. The faint flush on her cheeks, the way her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, the slight, nervous tremor in her hands as she abandons the cookbook, all of it… Intoxicating.
“I, um, I asked Jules to take the night off for dinner,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward the oven. “I wanted to make you something. Just… us. Casual.”
Casual. She planned this. This little surprise is a perfect, devastating ambush.
In two long strides, I’m on her. My hands find her hips, and I spin her around, pressing her front against the cool quartz countertop. My body molds to her back, my erection a hard line against the softness of her ass. She gasps, a sharp, sweet intake of air, and her hands fly to the counter’s edge to steady herself.
“How long?” I growl into her ear, my lips brushing the delicate shell.
“W-what?” Stumbling on her words, her body defies her, her hips wiggling to get closer. I don’t miss the way she parts her feet, giving me just enough room to step between them.
“The dish. In the oven. How long does it need to bake?” I’m already panting, too eager for this offering of hers.
A shiver wracks her frame as she feels how hard I am for her. “Fifteen… fifteen more minutes.”
Fifteen minutes. A gift.
I grind against her, a slow roll of my hips, and feel it. The hot, slick dampness is already soaking through the front of my trousers. She’s already wet for me. The knowledge is a shot of pure, undiluted power.
“I had a bad day, Ellie,” I murmur, my mouth trailing down the side of her neck as I lean against her. I taste her skin, salt and honey. “A fucking terrible day.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her head falling forward, giving me better access. Even if she tries to shy away, I don’t miss it, the smile on her lips. She loves my bad days.
My hands slide from her hips, one splaying across her lower belly, pulling her back harder against me, the other working at the fastening of my trousers. The zipper catches my knuckles, leaving behind a dull sting. I free myself, fisting my cock, the touch almost painfully good after a day of being constrained. I’m thick and heavy in my own hand, the tip already glistening.
“Are you ready for my cock?” I can’t even try to contain my hunger. “Is this pretty little cunt ready for me?”
She nods, already panting despite barely being touched.. “Yes. Charles, please.”
I guide myself to her entrance, nudging against her heat. “I love,” I rasp, pushing into her, one slow inch at a time, “coming home to my wife’s pussy already wet and ready for me.”
She cries out as I fill her, a choked, beautiful sound as her inner muscles clench around me, trying to accommodate my size. I don’t give her time to adjust. I set a brutal, driving pace from the start, my hips slapping against the backs of her thighs.
The more I take for myself, the more she arches, her slick already drenching her inner thighs and dripping toward the tile below us.
The pink apron is a ridiculous, yet adorable, contrast to the savage act of what we’re committing. It doesn’t cover her front well enough. As I pound into her, my hand slips beneath the hem, finding the slick, swollen nub of her clit. She jerks against me, a cry tearing from her throat.
“Quiet,” I command, though there’s no one to hear for miles. “Take it. Take all of me.”
My fingers circle her, matching the rhythm of my thrusts. The kitchen fills with the sound of our ragged breathing, the wet, squelching sounds of my cock moving in and out of her, the occasional thud of my body against hers. Her knuckles are white where she fists both of them together like a silent prayer.
It’s too much. The visual, the tactile, the auditory symphony of our joining. The coil of my own release tightens, a white-hot wire in my gut.
“Come for me, Ellie,” I snarl, driving into her harder, deeper, my fingers working her clit furiously. “Now.”
Her body seizes. A violent, exquisite tremor that starts where we’re joined and radiates outwards. Her inner walls flutter and clench around my cock in a rapid, milking rhythm, and her cry is a broken, ecstatic thing that echoes off the high ceilings.
It’s what sets me off. My own orgasm detonates, a low growl is ripped from my lungs as I empty myself into her, pulse after blinding pulse, until I’ve got nothing left to give.
I stay buried inside her, my body slumped over hers, both of us panting, slick with sweat.
After a long moment, I slide my hands under her body and help her lift off the counter surface, my softening cock slipping from her as she turns in my arms to face me. Her legs are shaky. I wrap one arm around her front, the other hand coming up to cradle her throat, not squeezing, just holding. A point of contact. Bringing her mouth to mine, I swallow down her satisfied sighs.
“Thank you, Ellie.” Murmuring my appreciation, she melts against me as I stroke her chest. At this rate, I’m going to have to carry her to the living room and finish whatever she’s trying to cook.
Her eyes close momentarily, her smile soft. “Was it good?”
“It was incredible.” Moving my mouth to her cheek, I pepper kisses against her skin. “I needed that.Badly.”
