I snap back into my body, straight into the pleasure and the feel of her bucking and moaning on top of me, her thighs thick and solid on my lap, her dancing tits begging for another bite.
I bend and sink my teeth in, fight the pull of her cunt. Another bite, she clenches tight. I grasp her hair, pull her head up to make her look at me—see me, dammit—and when she does—
“Let me suck you.”
What? She scrambles back and I blink at the way she bends, her ass in the air, and pulls my cock into her mouth, licking and sucking in the kind of shared frenzy I’ve never experienced before.
Another lick, a deep suck, and…
“I’m gonna come. Stop it.”
“Come,” she begs. “I want it.”
Those words go straight to my balls, drawing them high and tight and ready to explode.
“Where,” I choke out, wrapping my hand in her hair again as if I’m controlling a single damn thing happening here right now.
She looks up, wide-eyed, her face a bright, hot red.
“In me. On me. Everywhere. I want it everywhere.”
“Fuck. It’s coming.” I drag my cock from her hand and shove her back as the first jet of come splashes out. It hits her tit, drips off. I release the next spurt and, frantic, I fall on top of her and manage to line my dick up with her hole just as the next rush comes, surges up, up, up, and…
“Filling you up,” I choke out. “Breeding you.”
Her moans turn to gasps as she comes all over my cock and the feeling is is is…
Putting a hand on her soft belly, I give her more just inside, pump the next jet deeper, my balls caught between us as they empty every last drop I’ve got.
“Zion.” My name’s a chant, a hiss, sacred and profane.
I go still. Pull out, barely, stare hard at the white spunk on the crown of my still-stiff, still-pulsing prick, and slide it back inside her. Easily.
Another long slide out, another deep pump inside my wife’s hot, wet, welcoming pussy.
“God, Zion.”
I lift my head and shake it, work hard to focus on her face. How long have I been sprawled on top of her like this, boneless and heavy?
“Shit. Shit, are you okay?” I start to move away, but she holds on.
“Yes. I’m great.”
My cock, though only half-hard now, is still inside her. “I should—”
“Don’t.” Her hold gets tighter. “Stay.”
Not wanting to suffocate her, I roll to the side.
A little at a time, I let myself feel things. The sweat cooling between our tightly-pressed bodies, the slow rise and fall of her chest against my ribs, the smell of sex, without latex, our scents mingling in a way they haven’t before.
My cock, which definitely likes the smells and the feel and the weight of her, starts to raise its head again. Who knew how simple things could be when you don’t have to pull out, drag a condom down, tie it off, and throw it in the trash. When a quick tightening of the glutes is all it takes to get started again, when the woman beside you lifts a warm thigh over your waist and shimmies closer and now you’re having sex in a bed, face to face, sharing breath and sounds, seeing feelings so obvious in her eyes there’s no way to deny them.
And maybe some part of you doesn’t want to deny them as you tighten your arms and your ass and sink into her welcoming heat, all slick from your first release—and hers—and wish you had the guts to dip down and take her lips in a kiss.
But you can’t.
I can’t.
