The sound destroys me, and I move forward on instinct, closing the distance between us. My hands slide slowly around her waist, and her entire body jolts.
"Don't stop," I murmur, meeting her startled gaze in the mirror. Her eyes are wild with arousal and shock. "I like it when you touch yourself while thinking about me."
"Who said I was thinking about you?" She yanks her hand out of her leggings, her chest heaving, but she doesn't pull away from me.
I press my hard length firmly against her ass, letting her feel exactly what she does to me. "Then who?"
Her eyes widen in the mirror, and she bites that plump bottom lip. "I have a schedule. You messed it up this morning. This has nothing to do with?—"
"With me?" I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. "So it wasn't the feel of me pressed against your pussy in the other room that had you running in here?"
"No." Her voice wavers, and her hips press back against me involuntarily.
"Liar." My hands slide down to her hips, holding her against me. "Your body's telling me a different story, sweetheart."
"It's just biology," she breathes, but I can see her walls crumbling in the mirror. "Physical stimulation. It doesn't mean anything."
"Biology." I rock my hips forward, and she gasps. "That's why you're trembling?"
"I'm not—" She cuts off when my hand glides down the back of hers.
"You are." My fingers slide over hers, then lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her leggings. When I feel how wet she is, we both groan. "Fuck, Asha."
"It wasn't because of you," she insists, but her eyes are fluttering closed, her body melting back against mine.
"No?" I slip one finger through her folds, coating myself in her arousal, and her hips buck. "Then why are you soaked?"
"I told you…my schedule…" Her words break off when I slide my finger inside her. Her pussy clenches around me immediately, and her hand slams against the mirror to brace herself.
"Right, your schedule. You took a long shower this morning…." I pump her slowly, letting the insinuation hang between us. "I think we both know you maintained your schedule." I tuck away the fact that my wife likes to touch herself first thing in the morning for later. "So you're going to have to give me a better reason for why you're grinding against my cock now." I watch her face in the mirror as she comes undone.
"I'm not—" But she is. Her ass rocks against my hardness with every thrust of my finger, seeking more.
"You are," I add a second finger, and she gasps. "Stop lying to yourself. To me. You want this."
"I don't— I can't—" Her head falls back against my shoulder, and I can see the moment her last defense crumbles. "Trigger…" Her tone is a curse and a plea all at once.
"Say it." I curl my fingers inside her, finding that spot that makes her legs shake. "Tell me who you were thinking about."
She doesn't answer. Just stares at me in the mirror, breathing hard, her lips parted. But she doesn't tell me to stop either. That's answer enough. I pump my fingers deeper, slower, and her hips rock back against me. My cock throbs against her ass so hard it's painful. I grind forward, and she moans like she wishes it were more.
"Trigger," she gasps my name, and the sound destroys what's left of my control.
"I know, baby. I know." I establish a rhythm. My fingers pumping into her pussy, my hips grinding against her ass. It's not nearly enough, but it's everything. Her other hand reaches back, gripping my hip, pulling me harder against her. The movement presses my cock right between her ass cheeks, and even through the layers of fabric, the pressure is exquisite torture.
"Fuck," I breathe against her neck. Sweat beads on my forehead, slides down my spine. The bathroom is thick with steam and heat and the scent of her arousal.
She moans, soft and breathy, and I can feel her getting wetter, coating my fingers, dripping down to my palm. Every thrust of my fingers is met with a rock of her hips, and she's moving against me like we're fucking. Like there's nothing between us. Fuck, I wish there was nothing between us.
I imagine shoving her leggings to her ankles and sinking into her, feeling her tight walls around my cock instead of my fingers. The thought makes me grind harder against her, and she whimpers, both hands now on the mirror again, fingers splayed, leaving streaks in the condensation.
"Please," she gasps, and I don't know what she's begging for, but I'll give her anything.
"I've got you," I add a third finger, stretching her, and her back arches, pushing her ass more firmly against my length. The friction is maddening. I'm humping her like a teenager, unable to stop myself. Every thrust of my fingers is matched by a grind of my hips. We're both panting, both sweating, moving together in a rhythm that feels inevitable. Her moans grow louder, less controlled. Little gasps and whimpers that she can't hold back. I can feel her thighs trembling, feel her pussy fluttering around my fingers.
"That's it," I growl, my free hand gripping her hip, holding her steady as I work her harder. "Let me feel it."
In the mirror, I watch her lips part, and I revel in the way her eyes are glazed with pleasure. She's so beautiful like this. Undone. Mine. I imagine her coming apart on my cock instead of my fingers. The fantasy makes me thrust harder against her, and she cries out.
