Epilogue #3
But most importantly, we both just…want it.
Fucking her on her feet while I make her look at the fallen angel still beckoning from his corner in her studio, waking her up by inching my dick inside her, having her fuck my mouth in secluded spots along our favorite walking trails.
Getting to make her come whenever I want, open her body with mine whenever I want, use her slick holes or her delicate mouth whenever I want—she aches for that, she told me during our first therapy session.
It answers something in her, stirs it up and settles it again.
Whatever we did to become a stronger couple, she wouldn’t give it up; she refused.
I keep her thong pulled to the side as I line myself up.
She’s so slippery and soft, and when the tip presses in, I find her burning hot.
It’s been days because of the wedding planning, and it literally takes my fucking breath away to work myself deeper.
To split her open around me until I’m buried to the hilt.
I can’t believe I fit, it’s that snug inside, and I can already feel her getting tighter, hotter, giving these marvelous micro flutters all along her channel.
One of her feet has kicked up behind her, and her high heel drops off her foot with a clatter. When she puts her foot back down, she has to stay up near her toes, her muscles quivering under the nylon when I withdraw and thrust back in.
“Ry,” she says in a ragged voice. “Please. Please. Please.”
The problem is I want too much right now.
We’re in wedding clothes with three hundred people working their way through an open bar just a handful of rooms away, and we’re also in a gallery where Saint Thomas Aquinas and a security camera could ruin our fun at any moment, so I don’t have the time to do everything I want.
Just the essentials.
I pull out, ignoring her whimper of dismay and ignoring the cool air on my wet erection, and spin her around before dropping to one knee again and pulling the shoe off her other foot.
I push the skirt up even higher, take a hold of her hose in front, and rip the hole even bigger. “Oh, Birdie,” I murmur. “I wish you could see this.”
Right in front of my face, I have a sight that makes me want to marry her all over again: her pussy, flushed and wet, framed by the torn pantyhose. It’s a work of art, it’s chastity and depravity, and it’s all mine to enjoy.
I lean forward and start eating her, relishing how she nearly falls over, how she fumbles to brace a hand on the plinth behind her and digs her other hand into my hair.
I grunt in response, trying to get more of her taste, sweet and rich and all Birdie, my favorite taste in the whole world.
My cock stretches out between my hips, eager and leaking, as I contemplate the accidental professor fantasy I’ve made for myself.
The hose and the heels and the sensible skirt, but with the nylon ripped open and the heels tumbled on the floor and the skirt shoved up.
Her back is arching as she tries to ride my mouth while standing up. My shy little spinster completely unraveled by an intemperate tongue, never to be the same again.
I get one of her thighs over my shoulder, and it’s not long after that when she comes, whispering my name while the sleek nylon rubs against my cheek and makes my thoughts more and more demonic.
The moment she finishes, I’m back up and dragging her to the bench in the middle of the room. I sit and pull her on top of me, wasting no time feeding my tortured dick into her cunt.
“Ride it,” I tell her, my voice rough with lust. “Make me come.”
She’s too far gone to be shy, too lost to worry about being caught.
Her eyes are mostly pupil, her cheeks crimson, with so many loose, curling strands escaping the pins holding her hair.
Her cunt is so slick that we’re wet everywhere between us, and she’s still so aroused that each movement of her hips makes her shudder.
I unbutton her jacket to see a demure little camisole, silk so fine it’s nearly translucent.
A carnivorous instinct has me surging forward to suck at her nipples through the fabric, sucking and swirling my tongue while she works her tight pussy along my cock.
“Your mouth,” she’s whispering. “It’s bad—bad what it makes me want. Please keep sucking. Please, Ry.”
I suck. I suck and pull at her camisole so her pretty tits are exposed, and I suck more, my tongue on her stiff, straining flesh. Her hands go back to my hair, and she yanks me up for a filthy kiss, moaning a little at the taste of herself, at the indecency of it all.
I run my hands up her thighs, palm her ass as she fucks me, grab at her hips, anything to feel the nylon.
Silky on the outside, silky on the inside—I’m feral, my arms wrapping around her waist and my feet bracing on the floor so I can start moving her on my dick harder and faster, both of us desperate.
“Your cunt—you’re so fucking silky. God, I barely fit—come again, pretty thing—make that cunt wetter for me—fuck, there it is—”