“Show me!”
She drags her right hand between her legs, pushing through her labia. My eyes collapse at the sight of her arousal. Fucking beautiful. Rayna’s hands rove purposefully between her lips and eventually exclusively on her tight bud. When her hips start to gyrate, I rise up, reach over to the top of her dress, at her cleavage, and pull down the zipper. Rayna’s eyes pop open and so does her globes. They sit perky and I can see they’re pebbled at the apex. I see her lick her lips.
“Keep going,” I growl.
And she does.
I lick her breasts around her bra, not wanting to release them just yet. I stroke my tongue down to her flat abdomen and moan at her belly button when I get the first whiff of her feminine aroma. Things are getting hectic. There is one too many people tending to her *; namely her. Gently, I swipe her hand away as I take back to my seat and bury my face between her thighs. Rayna’s moans are not that quiet, but unsuccessfully rivals the music.
This is exactly where I had planned to be when I organized this date with my wife. I’m growing to hate my travel. At first, it served as a healthy break for the two of us, at the very least. However, now that I have a full family and life has changed for Rayna and me, I feel like I need her even more if that’s possible. Since having the twins, she regularly surprises me with pop up visits when their schedule permits. She throws the kids and nanny on a plane and surprises me, sometimes lying in my hotel bed naked…or the dining room table of the suite, coincidentally, this is how she was able to easily assume the position tonight. My desire for Rayna still burns wickedly.
“Ahhhhh! Azmiiiii—”
And when she moans my name in ecstasy like this as she claws the back of my head, I have no doubt that this woman is mine and I made the right decision chasing her each time I did all those years ago. Rayna detonates deliciously in my face and trembles in a fit, reminding me there is no better place for me to be. I slow my lapping while she comes down. When I pull back, I look over to her and find her chest still rising and falling viciously. Her face is flushed and it’s clear to me she’s in her zone. I know it’ll only be seconds before she’s ready.
Rayna leaps upward, grabs the sides of my face and throws her tongue into my mouth, devouring me. I let her take her time tasting herself on me. She eventually reaches down to undo my belt and pants without removing her lips. My little minx. I assist her, preparing to give her what she’s asking for. I manage my pants down, just enough for my cock to spring out, and before I know it, Rayna sinks down on me. I stifle my groan, her not so much.
Quickly, I glimpse over to her glass of wine that’s still full. She starts with cautioned plunges to acclimate herself to me. Eventually her grinding turns wild and so does her tongue, lashing through my mouth. I feel her thighs clamp around me, her breathing growing desperate, her cries are feverish. I’m caught up immediately, pushing my pelvis into her, giving her all that I have. I grip her ass to being sure to fill her to the hilt.
Goddamn, we have to do this live music thing again!
Rayna’s walls constrict around me and I piston into her frame like a lunatic, I can’t stop if I wanted to. I feel my heart about to beat out of my chest. I feel my orgasm tip well before I’m used to. Fuck! This is the crazy spin she puts me into, only tonight drives me into more of an intense whirl.
My mind literally dizzies as I sputter, “I-I…I’m—”
“I’m coming!” she pushes directly into my ear as my ass lifts and dips on the bench.
I feel my orgasm all the way in my ass, which has only happened a number of times. Very rarely. Rayna is still gyrating on top of me, though at a much slower rate, dragging out the last of her release as she clutches my head with her breasts buried into my face.
My head is trying to slow its spin, but before it’s able to, I blurt, “You’re fucking pregnant, Rayna?”
Her clutch onto me intensifies. Within seconds, I feel her neck nod against my head.
If I could slow my breathing I’d let out a long sigh. It all makes sense now; her pensiveness over the past couple of weeks—even over the phone, her elusiveness, her not touching her drink. She’s pregnant, and something deep down believes she wanted me to figure it out, taking the easy route. This concerns me.
“Why couldn’t you just tell me?”
I can hear the whining in my delivery. I don’t want her regressing to not verbally communicating and me having to use her body to tell me things her mouth can’t. I peel her off my head and shoulders so I can see her face. She’s sulking as if she’s going to cry.
“Answer me!” my words shoot out harsher than I intend for them to.