I fumble with the clasp of my necklace but manage and allow the ring to slide off the chain. “It needs a new home.” I hold up my fingers, and he smirks with complete gratification.
He steals the ring that I’m holding up in my other hand and ceremoniously slides it onto my ring finger. “That’s better.”
Holding my palm out, he places his own ring into my palm. Grabbing his hand, I slip it onto his finger. “That’s better,” I echo.
His thumb rises and caresses my bottom lip then rides up to my cheek. “I love you.”
I take hold of his thumb and kiss it. “I love you, too.”
That smug smirk of his appears because he has a hold on me. Not figurately but inside of me.
Slowly, he guides me back until I’m lying flat, and his body encases my own. His warmth showering me and our bodies molding.
“Hmm, what shall we do to celebrate?” His heavy breath cascades down my neck before returning to that spot just below my ear. It tickles but it’s sensual and has an effect on my pussy.
The feeling of his cock under his boxer briefs pressing against my thigh naturally causes my body to curve into him.
“I could think of a few things,” I rasp when his fingers hunt down my nipple to rub.
“Then come lie on top of me,” he directs.
My body is on fire because I always listen when he commands. He leads us, and I don’t mind one bit.
We shift and remove all remaining clothing before I straddle him, making a point to rub my slick pussy against his cock in the process. We don’t waste a second, and I take hold of him to align him, and I slowly clench down, pulling a moan from both of us.
His hand rests on my hip and his other thumb begins to play with my clit as I find a rhythm on top of him. I drive myself crazy because I can circle around his length to find a rhythm, and occasionally his strong hands lift me slightly, to then plunge me back down on top of him. My entire pussy envelopes him. No matter the position he always fills me up and fits just right.
“That’s it, beautiful. Ride me. Take what you want,” he whispers.
I slow down for a second, and he brings his elbows to the mattress and holds his forearms up straight to the ceiling, offering me his hands. I interlace our fingers, and I continue on my quest to make us come.
My head falls back and my eyes close of their own accord. Bouncing on top of him, my tits move, and I coo every otherbreath. My hair is behind my shoulders but feathering my skin with every thrust.
Slowly my head rolls until my sight lands on our hands. Interwoven with rings.
It’s all heavenly, overwhelming, and I fall forward, keeping Oliver inside me. Our stomachs press together, and I tuck my head into the crook of his neck as he takes over my body, bucking up into me, letting a grunt release as he speeds up and mercilessly thrusts up into me. But then he slows, and we whisper those three words, over and over as our lips and gazes orbit around a gravitating force that can only be justified by our souls murmuring hello.
I could lie like this forever, and now I get a chance to.
My attempt tocook this vodka pasta sauce I saw on social media is failing. I wince when I hold up the vodka bottle to see I used way more alcohol than I should’ve, and when I bring the wooden spoon to my tongue darting out for a taste, I gag. Even with the sliding doors open off the kitchen to the beautiful evening, the smell doesn’t seem to escape.
Ugh. This isn’t cool.
Oliver should be home any moment from work, and I’ve failed at the housewife thing. It’s only been three days since everything unraveled. Still, I’m going to throw myself into the deep end.
Picking up my phone resting on the counter that has a dot of tomato sauce on the screen, I swipe to find what takeout we could do. I’ll have to go pick it up unless we order pizza, and because I’m tired from dealing with pre-teen angst today, then pizza it is.
I hear the garage door open, but I focus on the pizza choices on the website.
“What the— It almost smells like a frat party in here.” Oliver enters the kitchen carrying a bag, amused but wary as he approaches the stove.
“I was trying to make a sauce with vodka but got a little overzealous, and I know most alcohol burns away when cooking, but I can’t get over the smell. Pizza it is.”
He chuckles then holds up a bag. “I’m way ahead of you. Got Chinese food on my way back from Lake Spark.”
I pout at him, and I dodge his attempt at a kiss. “But you knew I was going to try and cook.”
He remains mute, and for a second, I wonder if I should be disappointed for his lack in faith in my cooking abilities, but then… “Thank the heavens because I suck at cooking.”
