I wonder if he fantasized about us today. Just the thought of him stroking his cock while thinking about me sends my heart rate soaring. I lean my head against the back of the chair, pulling my legs up beneath Dean’s oversized T-shirt. I can feel a gentle pulsing between my thighs.
After a few more minutes of imagining, I go into the bedroom. I tumble on the bed with a soft groan and roll onto my stomach, pressing my face into Dean’s pillow that still holds his masculine scent. His T-shirt envelops me, draping over my hips and thighs. The pulsing between my legs intensifies.
I squeeze my eyes shut and picture Dean’s gorgeous body, his firm skin and sculpted muscles. I love smoothing my hands over the curves of his shoulders to his chest. I love the way I can trace the line running down the center of his torso, bisecting the ridges of his abdomen. His skin is always so warm and taut beneath my hand.
His body tenses with arousal when I press my mouth against his chest, trailing a line of kisses down that center line to where his muscles form a perfect V shape near his hips. I rest my hands on either side of his abdomen and move lower, kissing his flat stomach, the circle of his navel, lower still to where his cock is already half-hard.
He tangles a hand in my hair when I wrap my fingers around his shaft and guide him into my mouth. My blood fires with heat at the salty, male taste of him, the warm throb against my tongue.
It wasn’t always like this for me, wasn’t easy to learn how to pleasure him this way after my first sexual experience had been so horribly shaming. Even with Dean, it wasn’t easy for me to understand that I could enjoy it too. That I could even learn how to love it, to crave the feel and taste of him.
I do now, longing for the way my husband’s large cock slides past my lips, the way he pushes his hips upward to fuck my mouth. I love the way his fingers tighten in my hair, the groans and soft curses that escape him as hot tension rolls through his body.
Explicit images of us flash behind my closed eyelids. I moan and press my face deeper into the pillow. I shift around, rubbing the cotton T-shirt against my stiff nipples. I inhale, drinking in the scent of Dean, then hitch the shirt over my hips up to my waist. I slither out of my panties, grab another pillow and push it between my legs. Cool air brushes against my naked ass.
In this moment, I lose all sight of the reasons Dean needs to be away from me right now. None of them matter anymore. Not now. I just desperately want him here. I want him to walk into the room and see me half-naked on the bed with my bottom bare and a pillow shoved between my legs.
I want him to stand there, hot and hard as he watches me writhe against the pillow. I imagine his gaze burning into me as my blood flares. Desperate to ease the ache blooming through my entire body, I circle my hips and grind my clit into the pillow.
I push one hand beneath the shirt to fondle my breasts and twist my nipples. It’s an erotic shock, this sudden onslaught of sensation. I press harder, imagining Dean climbing onto the bed behind me, stroking his hand over my ass, pushing my shirt up even farther. I moan again and spread my legs, empty and aching, squirming frantically against the pillow to create more sensual friction.
It’s not enough. The material is too soft, too giving. With a muffled groan, I shove the pillow aside and press my hand between my legs. I keep the material of Dean’s T-shirt between my fingers and my sex, as if that will somehow bring him closer to me. I rub the cotton against my clit and gasp as a wave of electricity jolts my nerves.
I close my eyes again, and there he is behind me, gazing at my ass. He’s only wearing his boxers, and he shoves them off to grasp his erection. I can see it, the thick shaft pulsing in his hand, the way he strokes himself with such slick ease from the base to the head.
My body fills with urgency. He grips my hips, pulling me upward so he can push the pillow beneath my stomach. He puts his hands between my thighs to spread me open, then trails one long finger over my folds.
I twitch and moan, pressing my own finger into my body. Dean positions himself behind me, his knees pushing my legs wider. He puts one hand flat on my lower back as he rubs the head of his cock over my slit. I gasp, every part of me aflame, aching for him to impale me with one fierce thrust.
Instead, he teases me, sliding the tight knob in and out of me and over my throbbing clit. I hear his breathing, heavy and deep, feel the tension radiating from his muscular body.
“Dean!”
With a half-laugh, half-groan, he sinks into me, filling me, stretching me. I let out a cry of pleasure and shove my hips upward so he can thrust even deeper. I bury my face into the pillow and surrender, letting him stroke his cock in and out of me, his thighs pushing my legs apart, his flat stomach slamming against my ass. It’s raw and hard, a fuck stripped of tenderness in the drive toward release.