“Ah, yeah ...fuck, yeah...”He slides one hand up my back and tangles it in my hair, pulls so I’m looking ahead and my back arches further.“You have no idea how ...fuck, that’s so good.”
He’s breathless.So am I.I’m seeing stars and every nerve ending in my body is on fire.I’ve never had such a fantastic spontaneous fuck with a virtual stranger.
“You finished?”he asks and clasps my left buttock and squeezes.“Or do you still need my cock?”
“I’ve ...yes, I’ve finished.”
He releases my hair and I drop my brow to the counter dragging in air.This wasn’t supposed to happen but I refuse to regret getting laid for the first time since becoming a widow.It has been too damn long.
“I could get fucking used to being inside you.”He half pulls out then glides back in, his way eased by his slick cum.
I have to bite back a low deep moan as my pleasure extends.
“You have a sweet tight pussy.”His voice is gravelly, yet somehow silky.
I don’t reply and a tremble wends its way up my back.
He finally withdraws and pulls me upright.
It takes me a moment to focus.His forehead is damp and several tendrils of hair stick to his skin.His pupils are wide and his lips shiny.The web tattoo on his neck traces right down to his collarbones, the points of which angle at the hollow of his throat.
“You should dress,” he says with a flick of his hand.“In case we get company.”
I swallow and nod.He’s already tucked his cock away, yet I’m utterly naked.
“Here.”He stoops and passes me my pants.
I untangle them and quickly dress.My top feels too hot over my warm skin and my nipples are still hard against my bra.My heart feels like a caged bird clattering against my rib cage and I do my breathing exercises and get a grip.
He doesn’t bother with his t-shirt, though he does put that and his cut over a chair.The muscles beneath his flesh flex as he moves.On his back he has another big tattoo, this one an elaborate black cross with several names written within it.
I reach for my beer and take a slug, grateful for the cool liquid as it slides down my throat.
“You said you wanted your steak medium, right?”He flicks on the gas again.
“Er, yes.”
I glance at the stairs.Soon I’ll check on my patient.Perhaps change the IV to dextrose saline.
A silence descends over the kitchen, only the sizzle of the steaks to be heard.He’s tense, his shoulders tight and his movements stiff.
“What’s up?”I ask.
“Nada.”
I reach for knives and forks and set them on a table.
“Here.”He puts down a plate with a steak and a slice of bread and butter.“Hope that’s okay.”
“Perfect.Thanks.”I sit and he does the same opposite me.
What’s happened?Minutes ago, we couldn’t get close enough, now a chasm has opened up between us.The air is prickly.
“Did I do someth—”
“No.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.”I shrug.
