adult, cheating, erotic fiction, erotica, infidelity, mature, sex, sexual literature
“Dude, this is all kinds of wrong.”
His acknowledgment of our sins hangs in the air between us. The naughty transgressions that brought us to a breath away from broken promises, and the larger, looming ones yet to be realized hover, waiting. His voice is low and the naked desire in it makes me shiver, and in that instant I see in his eyes the glimpse of a man letting go.
His lips are on mine, warm and soft…hesitant…asking…he’s falling and I can feel his struggle as he looks for a last-minute hand, something to hold onto, to stop himself before it’s too late. In that gentle kiss is a plea…grab me, don’t let me fall, but I don’t listen. I can’t hear.
I’m falling too.
I yield to him easily, my mouth opening for him, inviting him to spill into me and make me his.
His tongue seeks mine and the heat that has been radiating and simmering inside and between us burns through and melts away all pretense. Decorum goes up in a blast of fire and dissolves into ash. His hands are on my body, and any chance of pretending that this is a bit of harmless flirting is consumed completely. I’m a child again on Christmas Eve, sneaking downstairs to shake presents, peeling back a bit of the paper, and catching a glimpse of the secrets contained, finally opening it and reveling in the joy of knowing what I found was mine, with little heed to the consequences that lie in the bits of paper around me.
Garments are pulled off and cast away, scattered debris and wreckage of what once was litter the floor as we are laid bare for one another. His hands tremble slightly as they touch my skin, private skin that he’s seen but only imagined sliding beneath his fingertips. Gentle hands that have cradled his babies are whisper soft on me, following the graceful curves of my breasts. Patient hands that ache to make a woman respond breathlessly are on the hard, pink points of my nipples, making my breath catch in my throat. Skilled hands that know what I will like pull me close, and guide me to the bed.
I lie down and smile at him and he slides between the clean sheets of this bed…borrowed…neutral…neither shared nor sacred. We pull the covers around us and share a sigh as the delicious current of skin on skin ripples through us. He is kissing me, lightly, savoring the feel of my lips on his, and I let my hands wander over him. I want to explore him, to take my time and get to know every inch of skin that I’ve coveted, but my hands are drawn ever lower, seeking the heat that is pressed hard against my thigh.
He moans as I wrap my hands around him, feeling him throb at last in my grasp.
I know there is no turning back now.
His hand is between my thighs, seeking my heat, and finding it easily. His fingers open me and slide into my slit, parting the plump, soft folds and stroking the hard little nugget. I moan and spread my legs for him, urging him inside, needing him desperately. His fingers possess me, no longer gentle, but strong and searching, testing my readiness…seeking my limits.
I have none.
He looks into my eyes and I know he sees nothing there by pure desire and unbridled lust. I want his cock inside me and it is written on my face so plainly that he doesn’t hesitate for even a second. His legs are between mine and I wrap around him, enfolding him, needing his beautiful thickness to fill me. A moment of regret and cool emptiness when his skillful fingers slide wetly away, but another moan of desire and a shiver of delight as the hard, hot, thick head of his cock presses against me.
“I’m going to be so quick,” he apologizes, and the sweet, naked honesty in his voice melts my heart.
“We have all night,” I remind him with a smile. Then softly, a nearly whispered, “Take me.”
He slides inside me, his hot cock filling me easily. He is thick and wonderful, seated deeply, the root of his cock throbbing against my clit. We lie together like that, bodies joined, limbs entwined, and he kisses me, his lips on mine somehow more intimate than the joining below the waist.
Slowly, we move together, trying to draw out this first pleasure, knowing it will have a particular sweetness because it will be our first. But it’s too good. It’s too hot. It’s too intensely right. And wrong.
All kinds of wrong.
I’m moving my hips beneath him, meeting his thrusts, urging him to a faster rhythm as my cunt locks around him, basting him with my juices, soaking the sheet beneath us. I’m going to be quicker than him, I fear. His eyes have closed and his eyebrows are knit, and I can see the light beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he tries to hold back, to reserve his own pleasure, to share, not take it.
“I’m going to cum,” I tell him, and his eyes open. He has come undone. My legs are around his back and he’s lifting my hips with each deep thrust and I know it’s not going to be long. My cunt is hot and swollen, ready to explode, waiting for that perfect moment, that throb, that thrust that takes him over the edge. My voice is a whimper in the back of my throat as it comes. One thrust. Two. Deep inside, and then I feel it. The swell and throb, and the hot rush of his cum wetting me down, filling me, finishing me.
My pussy contracts around him, waves of pleasure starting in my core and radiating outward in ever widening spirals. My breath is coming in ragged gasps and I’m shaking from the fierce pleasure. I peak, and ride the swell back down again, relaxing under his reassuring weight that tethers me back to earth.
His hands are on me again, soft against my cheek, his lips gentle…melting summer-sweet kisses.
We lie together and he holds me close, running his hands lazily over me like he’s trying to memorize me. Neither of us speaks. Our thoughts are our own, but running in tandem. The same doubts, the same vague guilt, the fear and anxiety of not knowing how hard we’re going to land.
The best one. The BEST.
Pingback: Where Does This Stuff Come From? « Eros and the Muse