When he takes them off, I know he’s serious.
He likes to tease me. Walk up behind me and cup my breasts, tweak my nipples. Whisper sweet and filthy words in my ear while we slide past each other in the morning dance – loading the dishwasher, making lunches, putting away the butter. The too-small kitchen gives him ample opportunity for gropes.
He’ll hug me and slide a hand between my legs, rub his erection against my ass, then back away. Leaving me wet and wanting. He’ll chuckle. A guilty, but not too guilty manly laugh. “Just playing,” he’ll say. “Gotta go to work now.”
“Bastard,” I complain every time, making him laugh.
“Tonight,” he promises. I know he’ll deliver on his promise. But sometimes I have to be naughty after he’s gone, and take care of the hunger. I always tell him, of course. He likes me to tell him when I play with myself.
Not this morning. This morning, he doesn’t pull away. His hand slips inside my pajamas, heading straight to the good stuff, tweaking my pearl with expertise born of many years together. “You’re wet,” he says, with that slight tone of surprise that makes me smile.
“Of course. You’ve been messing with me all morning,” I say, pushing my hips back against him. The hard bulge of his erection and the metal of his belt buckle both press against my butt.
“Wanna go back to the bedroom?” he asks.
I twist my head to look at him. “Are you teasing me?” It comes out suspicious. Not that I can help it – his guilty smile acknowledges how often he has cried wolf.
“Not this time.”
Answering without words, I grab his collar and pull him down for a kiss, careful not to smudge his glasses. Then cup my much smaller palm over his large one and press it against my sex.
He slides his hand around to my butt. Damp fingers knead my butt cheek as we walk to the bedroom.
He turns me to face him at the bedside, pulling down my fleecy bottoms in one tug. I shiver in the room’s cool air. My arms rise obediently as he pulls up the bottom of my shirt. Now I’m naked, defenseless. His hands lift each breast, cupping the undersides, watching the flesh pucker under his gaze.
His fascination with my breasts is epic and enduring. They are the largest ones he has ever held, and he’s a breast man. “Cold?” he asks, grinning, thumbs rubbing my hard, pink buds.
“Yeah,” I agree, arching my back to get more of his touch.
The pressure of his hands guides me backward toward the bed. I lie across the width of the mattress. He follows me down, kneeling over me, head bent over a nipple. Still fully clothed.
“You’ll smudge them,” I warn, before sensation pushes rational thought away. His mouth is firm, moist, hot, tugging at something deep. Something that wants him always.
He raises his head after long, delicious moments. “No, you’ll smudge them,” he corrects. “And then I’ll have to punish you.”
“Right,” I sigh. “It’s always my fault.”
He pinches a nipple in retaliation for my sass. Pulls off his glasses and puts them on the shelf above the headboard. Raises my arms over my head.
“Right. Now, where were we?” He makes a cute little growling noise as he settles between my thighs. My wrists held in one of his, the other hand frees his dick from the prison of belt, denim, and white cotton. I spread my legs and wrap them around his hips, more than ready after all the sexy teasing. I can’t see it, but I know he’s gripping himself. He rubs the head against my pearl, and I roll my hips for maximum contact.
Then he’s in, and we both moan. Our breathing is loud in the room. Flesh smacks against flesh.
“You feel so good,” he says, hand still gripping my wrists. Knowing how it turns me on to be in his control. “Warm and wet.”
Lust flashes through me at the contrast of his clothing against my nakedness. The rasp of his zipper, tough jeans, soft rub of the cotton underwear. To be taken, tumbled, naked on my back while he’s fully dressed. I careen towards the edge, relaxing into it, moving my legs higher up his back, opening myself more fully to him.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I chant, everything starting to tighten. I push up against him. Faster. Slick skin coming together and moving apart. Hurrying now.
He lets go of my wrists. “Play with yourself,” he orders. The one order I never disobey. I snake a hand between our bodies and his cock swells. He loves it when I get myself off while he’s deep inside.
“Almost there,” I warn, and he pushes in hard, hips jerking with the effort not to let go.
Knowing he’s that turned on is all it takes. Everything squeezes tight – my eyes, my pussy, my legs, my fingers. He groans and his hips hammer a couple of times, then he’s in deep enough it almost hurts, and I feel him spurt.
“Fuck,” he says, holding still, “Forgot. Hold on.” I giggle when he reaches one long arm to the drawer next to the bed and snags a towel. Stuffs it under me, then collapses onto the bed next to me.
“Quit laughing at me, woman,” he complains.
“Your pants are probably ruined.”
He shrugs. “Worth it.” Then he jerks as though I stuck him with a pin. “Damn it! I forgot I’ve got a conference call at nine.” His head turns toward the headboard. He squints at the dim glow of the alarm clock then reaches for his glasses.
I smile and watch as he transforms into his Clark Kent nerdishness. The self-assured business man. Only I know what a stud he is when the glasses come off.
When he takes them off ©2016 by Devi Ansevi.
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Image of eyeglasses courtesy of Keerati at FreeDigitalPhotos.net