Same Time Next Year

“Mentally, I’ve pushed these sweet things together and fucked them so many times. Come on them. Made you lick it up—”

I’m not even finished yet, and she’s shoving my jeans down, leaning up to snag my mouth in a frantic kiss. Together we work my pants down below my hips, followed by my briefs, but I catch her wrist before she can attempt to fist my cock.

“Next time, Britta, I’ll let you play with my dick as long as you want.

But tonight, I’m barely going to hold it together long enough to give you head. And I really, really need to get my tongue in it. If you think I’ve been fantasizing about doing filthy things to your tits, it’s nothing compared to how nasty I’ve been licking this pussy.” I kiss her hard, nip at her chin with my teeth. On my way down her body, I stop at her tits, and looking her in the eye, I spit on each of them once, rubbing my saliva everywhere with my fingertips, then slap at them gently. Harder, sharper, when she arches her back and moans to encourage me.

Son of a bitch, she’s into it. Nails digging into my shoulders, hips refusing to stay still as I smack those beauties and watch them bounce, shake for me. I’m rubbing my erection against her thigh, and the friction is making me see double.

Get down there and make her come.

I’m running out of time, and there is no way on God’s green earth that I’m leaving this bedroom until she’s not only satisfied but convinced she just had a religious experience. But I can’t keep my hands off her tits, even as my open mouth skates down her belly, laps at the soft skin there, then takes bites out of her sexy hips. I press my face into her mound and inhale deeply, letting the honey scent of her soak into my fucking bones.

“I’m taking your panties off now, Britta.”

“Yes,” she rasps. “Okay.”

“Damn.” I bite her through the damp cotton. “My wife is fucking soaked.”

She tears at the comforter. “Sumner. Please.”

“I’m getting there.” I slide my fingers into the waistband of her thong and begin peeling it down, revealing inches of golden skin. “Just want to enjoy these final few seconds before everything else in life is ruined for me.” Glistening bare flesh. Completely bare. I’m not expecting it. I don’t have a no-hair preference; I just have a preference for my wife—and this is what she looks like. Smooth and aroused and mine to satisfy. “God damn, Britta. Fuck. Look at that pretty fucking cunt. I can’t believe I get to have it.”

I bury my face in her inner thigh and squeeze my eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling, attempting to get myself under control. I cannot, under any circumstances, rub my tortured dick against the edge of the mattress, even though my nuts are demanding release, my body imploring me for friction.

I can’t or this is over.

Digging deep for the final dregs of my stamina and willpower, I turn my face into her pussy and rub my mouth against her, parting her lips and, oh Lord, just writhing my tongue around in all that moisture. Exploring all those different valleys with long, groaning licks, while my hands shove her thighs open. Yes, shove. Because I’m pretty sure the taste of her is turning me into an animal, my upper lip peeling back in a snarl when I find her clit and get my first kiss. That’s how I greet that swollen bud, with a gentle pressing of my lips, before I quite honestly lick the sweet hell out of it. I know my fucking job, and I perform it, spreading her hot legs wide and tonguing that creamy wife pussy until I forget to breathe. Who cares about breathing when she’s pulling on my hair by the roots, hiccuping my name once, then full-on screaming it.

And I keep going. I want more. More screaming. More of this sugary taste. More of her thighs trembling in my hands, wetness dripping down my chin. I rake my tongue down to her hole, twist it in as deep as I can, before moving back up to her clit and worshipping it. Light, rough, light, rough, her hips wiggling around beneath me, her hands pulling me closer, closer, like I need any encouragement to get as close to this pussy as possible.

“Sumner!” she’s screaming. “Don’t stop. Don’t, don’t, don’t!”

I’m sweating, moaning, I can’t get enough. “So fucking sweet,” I slur against her flesh, pushing two fingers inside her entrance, my cock seeping

liquid as soon as I discover what she feels like. Hot and tight. Clenching around my knuckles. Poised to orgasm. Fuck yes. I twist my fingers around, thanking God for making them long, finding that rough spot inside her and tickling it fast, so fast, while my tongue exploits her clit between my tongue and bottom lip—and she blasts off, a stick of dynamite that has reached the end of its fuse.

“Ohhhh my God!” She shakes like a washing machine on the spin cycle. “Sumner!”

I lap up everything she gives me like a greedy dog, gratification washing over me like a golden wave, because I’ve finally made my wife come, but I’m also highly, highly aware that it’s time to fuck. There’s no help for it. This is the most turned on I’ve ever been in my life; she’s wet and ready, and my heart is in my throat, reminding me it’s my first time with Britta, and I can’t stem the tide of emotion that rushes into my chest, like a dam has burst.

Aroused, heartsick, desperate, I climb on top of her, push her legs apart, and guide myself to the only place I want to be. Need to be. “Do I need a condom, sweetheart?” I ask raggedly in between rough kisses of her mouth.

“No. I’m good, I’m good,” she pants. “And I’m on the pill.”

“Me too. I mean . . . I’m good health-wise. Not on the pill.”

She breathes a giggle against my mouth, and I fucking fall in love with her. I mean it. I fall dead in love with my wife, because laughing with her when we’re this intimate is the most perfect thing imaginable. I’m connected to her in this way that’s almost terrifyingly deep—and I know she connects to me in the same way, because her smile slips away, and she looks vulnerable. No, I won’t allow her to feel anything but good and strong and safe with me, so I seal our mouths together and drive my cock into her snug body, the oxygen immediately disappearing from my lungs, thanks to her being so perfect. So perfectly mine.

“You’re incredible,” I manage to say when my head stops spinning, my hips rolling in a cautious but thorough way that makes her let out a strangled cry against my lips. “You’re warm and wet and beautiful, and you fit me so well, Britta. God, I knew you would feel like this. Like my last woman. I found you.” I pull out almost the entire way, then power back in, deep, holding, looking into her eyes. “You are my last. I’m not going anywhere. Do you understand me?”

“Sumner . . . ,” she says unevenly, conflict in her eyes but not a trace of it in her body.

No, she has her thighs spread wide for my cock, fingernails digging into my ass and urging me on, so I pin her down rough and give it to her.