“I’ve got this fantasy,” he growls with his lips against my ear and his finger fluttering fast against my clit. “After everyone’s gone home today, and the kids go to sleep, I’m going to lay you out on the dining room table, spread cranberry sauce all over your *, and have my own Thanksgiving feast.”
I can see it as clear as day, my dirty, uncivilized man doing that to me, and the thought is too much to bear with his finger moving so expertly against me. I viciously explode, crying out a pained sob of release fueled hotter and brighter by his dirty-talking ways.
“Fuck,” he groans as he pulls his hand free and tears at my pajama bottoms and panties to drag them down my legs. “I’m so hard right now it hurts.”
“Hurry,” I breathe out unevenly.
He pulls back slightly, and I can see him in my mind pushing his boxers down to release that massive cock that I love. My cock. Mine, mine, mine.
I automatically bend forward, spread my legs as far as I can in their confines, and brace my hands on the edge of the granite counter. My eyes slide over, focus on the Pepperidge Farms bags of stuffing mix sitting there, and my body tenses with eager anticipation while it awaits his invasion.
He doesn’t disappoint.
Zach never disappoints.
He drags the head of his cock through my wetness from behind. Just before pushing that thickness inside, he murmurs, “It actually hurts to be away from you, Moira. I can’t stand it.”
My body shudders uncontrollably from the love, lust, and hunger in his voice. I have no will over my own body as my hips slam backward to take him in.
“F-u-u-u-c-k,” Zach groans as his hands fly to my hips to steady himself, and his fingers dig painfully into my flesh. “Oh, damn Moira… damn. Fuck. Feels so good. I’m going to come so hard.”
His words fuel me on. I pull forward… feel his thickness slide free, almost to the end, and because I know the length of my husband so very well, just before he falls free, I slam back against him.
“Oh, God Moira… baby. Don’t stop doing that,” he begs me.
So I don’t.
While my husband stands perfectly still behind me, his hands gripping my hips, I work my angle back and forth, and I fuck my husband hard.
Fast.
And noisily.
We both grunt and groan, hurdling toward release. Skin and soaking wet flesh slapping loudly.
Oh, I missed this wildness we possess only with each other. I’ve missed knowing my husband hungers for me like this. I’ve been so lonely sometimes in our tame lovemaking, maybe perhaps forgetting the connection that’s like a pilot flame, just waiting for a little gas to make it ignite.
And when it ignites, holy hell, it burns hotter than the sun at midday in the desert.
I fuck my husband without mercy, ignoring my second orgasm as it bubbles, and only concentrate on the filthy curses that start pouring out of Zach’s mouth that indicate he’s getting close.
“Come on, baby,” I urge him through gritted teeth. I glance down, seeing my breasts jiggling hard against my pajama tank top, bend further, look down lower, and see him tunneling in and out of me.
Oh, man… so damn hot.
“Here it comes,” Zach groans in warning as his hands really clamp down on me. With nothing but the strength of his well-built upper arms, he holds my body still. He pulls back once, slams forward harder and deeper than I was taking him, and goes completely quiet within me.
“Yes,” he whispers reverently as I can feel his cock start to jump inside of me, every little thump indicating a jet of semen he’s unloading. “Oh, Moira… feels so good.”
My own orgasm pops free, skitters up my spine, makes my hips gyrate against him. The friction must be too much because Zach rears back, comes halfway out, and slams back into me with a grunt. “Fuck… I think I’m coming again. Holy shit… baby… damn.”
Yes!
I love hearing Zach lost like that. His tone… giving me all the credit for making him feel like this. He doesn’t even need to say a single word more to me, because I know in this minute… I’m reminded… just how much he reveres me.
How essential I am to him.
My husband leans over my back, wraps his arms around me, and we let the tiny quakes ease their way through our bodies. We hold tight… immersed in each other as our breathing quiets.
“I love you,” I whisper to him.
“If it’s half as much as I love you, then that’s a whole lot of love,” he says with a chuckle and a kiss to the back of my head.
We spend the next five minutes getting ourselves in order. There are a lot of sweet kisses in between cleanup and righting our clothes. Zach spends a few minutes filling me in on his trip to New York while I pull out the onions and celery from the fridge along with two knives.
As we stand companionably at the counter, me dicing celery and Zach dicing onions—because he said real men don’t cry and then proved it to me by taking on the foul vegetables—he then proceeds to suck some of the carefree happiness from the room.
“So… we’re not going to be able to go away for our anniversary next month like I hoped,” he says quietly.