“It’s very clean,” she states and I can’t help but laugh.
“What did you expect? Bike parts all over?”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I just, I don’t know. I guess you’re a bachelor and travel a lot. Your space is beautiful and unexpected.” She looks to the mural on the back wall of my living room. “You like art,” she announces directing her gaze to my full sleeve tattoos.
I step closer to her, “I like expression.”
My home is a modest but contemporary design. Salemburg is full of farms and country roads which are nice for unwinding but inside my personal space is very open and without country charm. Instead I have white porcelain tile floors throughout my home. In each bedroom, there is a different rug to cover the flooring but I wanted a concept that didn’t have flooring transitions in every doorway. My living room, dining room, and kitchen are all open and together. When entering the front door, the dining space is the right with my all glass table top, black rod iron framing under the glass with matching iron for the chairs with black leather covering the seat cushions. My walls are done in a satin paint in shade of white with mild hints of gray. They shine practically from the satin tone.
Where we stand in the living room has a slut red rug in the middle featuring my black table with a glass top similar in style to the dining table. My black leather couch sits against the far wall with a seventy inch by eighty inch hand painted mural of a woman’s body lying on the beach. The sun rays casting shadows on her tan flesh, the brown waves of her hair flowing behind the silhouette of her naked frame. Every curve of her hour glass body is extenuated down to the perfect plumpness of her ass.
As beautiful as the woman on my wall may be, she doesn’t hold a candle to the gorgeousness in front of me.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I give her my honest thought.
She looks up at me, our eyes locking in a way that feels too vulnerable and yet I can’t break away. “I can’t believe you’re real.”
Reaching down, I cup her chin before I drop my head down pressing my lips to hers. She doesn’t pull back, she lets me lead as I delicately touch her lips to mine again. Slowly, softly, I swipe my tongue across her seam where her mouth opens for mine. Cherishing the feel of her here, in my place, I take my time kissing her. It isn’t long before passion takes over between us. My hand goes up her shirt finding her nipples rock hard. She moans as I massage her tits popping them one at a time from the confines of her bra. Breaking away, I lift her shirt over her head, remove the bra before dropping my head and taking her nipple in my mouth. Circling and sucking, I relish the soft mews coming from her and the feel of her hands pulling at my hair.
I take my cut off, throwing it over the chair before I back Danae up to my chaise lounge. Laying her back, I stand up sliding my shirt off before I reach out, taking her boots off, undo her jeans and slide them off her body. She lays against the cool leather material her curves on display with her lace black panties the only remaining piece of clothing on her. My dick throbs painfully behind my jeans. I don’t care though, I drop to my knees and spread her legs.
I kiss my way from her knee up the inside of her thigh before coming to her panties that I push aside. My thumb slides between her slick pussy lips before I swipe my tongue over her flicking and breathing heavy on her delicate parts. Licking, lapping, sucking, I eat her pussy like a man starved. Her sweet juices cover my lips as her hands tug at the roots of my hair and her thighs tighten around my face.
“Give it to me, Danae,” I mutter sliding not one but three fingers inside her stretching her and working her while I suck on her clit finally sending her over the edge as her muscles clinch tightly around my digits.
“Fuck me, Dixon,” she cries out and who am I to deny her. Only after I work her through the aftershocks do I stand to slide off my jeans while she slides out of her panties. Climbing over her onto the chaise, I twist us as I move up the piece of furniture.
“Ride me, baby,” I instruct as I set her over me, straddling me. My cock goes in slowly as my girth takes a bit to stretch her even in her slick present desire. Once she’s taken all of me, I grip her hips. She leans in to kiss me and I shake my head.
“Let me see you, Danae. Don’t hold back.”
That little encouragement is all she needs. She sits up over me, back arched, tits pert as I press my fingers into her hips and rock her over me. Up, down, all around, she moves and it is fucking stunning.
Every inch of her is beauty. Every noise coming from her is a motherfucking symphony.
I feel it building as I watch her slide up my shaft and back down, my cock disappearing inside her. I throw my head back in ecstasy. The walls of her pussy tighten and release. Feeling my climax building, I slid my right hand down between us, pressing my thumb against her clit rubbing in small circles. The urgency builds from her as the rhythm becomes unsteady.
“Come on, Danae, I’m close, baby, you gotta come.” She drops her head to mine, our lips collide and teeth clank as I feel her tighten, freeze, and I’ll be damned if she doesn’t draw every ounce of come from my body up into her womb as her own climax washes over us both.
She collapses over me out of breath. My cock pulses inside her softening but I don’t want to slide out of her. This connection, her body interlocked with mine settles something inside me I can’t explain.
After we both return to regularly breathing, I kiss her softly before finally sliding out of her.
“Dixon,” my name on her lips has me getting hard again. “I didn’t come here for that. I want you to know I’m not normally like this.”
I laugh, “baby, believe it or not, neither am I. But something about you, I can’t get enough.”
Casually I run my hands up and down the soft flesh of her back before eventually getting up and leading her to my bedroom. In there, I pull her close to kiss her like I mean it. Not for things to go farther, but because I want to taste her again. Her hands slide up my stomach and chest to my neck, her fingers moving slowly like she’s memorizing me. Maybe she is.
In my bed, we have sex again. Slow, grounding, calming all the things inside me. I feel full. I can’t put it into words, but something about her in my personal space being just us takes away every bit of need to breathe right out of me. I feel content. Settled.
And I don’t know how to process that. So I choose to stay in the moment. Her in my arms, satisfied.
She falls asleep against me like it’s natural. Like she’s always belonged there. I wake before dawn, instinctively, the way I always do. And she’s still here. Her hair is tangled against my chest, her breath warm, her body heavy with sleep and trust. The sight of her like this—unafraid, unguarded—hits me harder than any ride ever has.
This is it, something inside me whispers. Not the road. Not the miles.
This.
