I groan as his hand resumes its play with my nipple. Staring into his now dark eyes I wonder what I can do to get out of my punishment. That's when I come up with something I know he will fall for. All men have a weakness in bed. Yes their dick obviously, but more than that. Each man likes one thing above all else. A fetish or body part that drives them crazy.
I lick my lips and lower my gaze to the hand he has locked to my hip, the one that a short time ago was fingering me. Biting my lower lip I glance up at Henrik to see his smirk fade into a relaxed awe.
"Please, Henrik."
I glance back at his hand which is now moving off me and gravitating toward my mouth.
"You want to suck it don't you, Morgana? You love to taste yourself on me, don't you?"
I nod my head just as his fingertips brush my lips. As his fingers push into my mouth with the scent of me and him mixing together to add to the taste I realize I am not lying when I agree with his words. My eyes flutter closed as he begins to thrust harder into me.
Within moments the urgent need of my release comes to the tipping point. Henrik shifts us so that I am on my back as he hovers over top of me. His fingers find their way back into my mouth so my tongue can swirl around them. While his other hand dips down to my clit and with just one brush of his thumb I am over the edge, hurtling down.
The orgasm is as long as it is intense. My head thrashes the pillow and I tremble underneath Henrik.
"God. Oh God, Morgana. You're so fucking beautiful."
He groans and then surrounds me in his arms nuzzling into my neck as his climax consumes him. I wrap my legs around him as his breathing settles to a steadier pace. Henrik lifts his head and we smile at each other.
Our lips come together as we kiss. The kiss is passionate yet refreshing. After a minute or two of his sweet affection for me Henrik rolls to my side and removes the condom, tossing it in the trash by my bed.
He pulls me close as he lies back on the pillows. I curl into him and begin to trace the dark lines on his stomach.
"Don't think I didn't know what you were doing when we were having sex, Morgana."
"What do you mean?"
"Tricking me with letting you suck my fingers. I'm not na?ve, though I will say that is something I will fall for every time. Worth it."
I look up into his bright blue eyes and see him smiling at me.
"I figured as much. It was a risk I had to take, Henrik. You have to have one weakness; you can't be Superman all the time."
His eyes sparkle at that. I think it is me calling him Superman. Every man wants to be compared to a superhero.
"If I'm Superman, then are you Lois Lane?"
"Fuck no! I'm Wonder Woman. Pew, pew ... pew ... pew!"
I throw punches in the air as I fend off imaginary bullets with my awesome bracelets. Henrik laughs so hard I think he might roll off the bed. I try to save him with my lasso of truth which just ends with us having sex again. This scenario repeats itself most of the night until we fall asleep around two in the morning.
THE END
My Doodle Writing
These are little stories I start or writing prompts I participate in. I usually don’t do much more with them (like turn them into a book), but it’s fun to write little stuff. Also, if someone really likes it and tells me I might consider expanding it into a bigger story. You can let me know through my Fan Group: SWIM Meet, as I am always posting these there. Or you can message me on Facebook or Twitter or Email me. Sign up for my newsletter to get free stories or special deals too!
Halloween:
When I got home that night, I noticed the smiling jack-o-lantern in my front yard was crushed. Sighing I shook my head as the trail of tears dried on my cheeks. Despite the chill in the air and only wearing a pink T-shirt and oversized flannel shirt with navy yoga pants I feel numb. Staring at the splattered orange remains I even release a small chuckle remembering how my six year old son, Franklin, was so proud of the drawing he made that mommy was to carve on the pumpkin. He worked so hard on getting the smile just right. Now that toothy grin is shattered and in pieces.
I sit on the cold cement step, a spot not spoiled by pumpkin, lifting a stray seed. My hand is shaking from the realization of everything. The tears start up again. Why did I have to yell? Franklin was just being a kid. So what if he threw the pumpkin at the steps causing it to explode. He liked destroying things. I joked he would grow up to work with explosives one day, causing me to parish with worry. I shouldn’t have screamed at him. It was my fault he ran away. Ran so far into a busy street causing that blue van to hit him.