You’re hard. There’s no denying that you’re hard, and you’re aching for something, some kind of release. I’m wet. At least I think I am. I’m never quite sure when all the meddling crowd turns into just you and me and our clashing of mouths.
I want to suck your cock, but once again, just that is not enough. I want everything, every single atom of pleasure and every sound and stir of your body.
So I tell you to go sit in the chair by the windows.
And I suck you off like my life depends on it, and despite the fear that someone might accidentally see into our private little bubble of passion, you like it. You look uncomfortable – afraid someone might catch us.
But your moans tell me that you want more.
I lie on the living room floor, inhaling dust from the carpet. My arse is in the air and I am begging you – begging you to spank me and you oblige because I’ve been bad and I deserve it. And it makes me wet. And so does the weight of your body, the feel of your bare cock against my clothes back, the thrusting, the breathing… the everything.
And we aren’t even fucking yet.
You run off to get the condoms. “Be ready for me.” you say, and fuck. I am. I am dripping wet and floating. Lying with my legs spread on the floor.
“Stop! Stop! ‘s Uncomfortable!”
Turns out the floor wasn’t one of my best ideas.
“Anywhere you want, baby.”
“… The couch!”
So that’s where we fuck.
And we repeat it on the soft, comfortable bed.
Afterwards, after orgasm-sharing and whispers and love, we lie spent on the bed. There’s a silence before I break the spell and look at the clock.
“Shit. I should probably prepare for work.”
And as you go downstairs to do just that, I can’t help giggling that we managed to have two hours worth of amazing sex.