Chapter 8 #2
Swallowing, she sat up tall and reached behind her, unhooking her bra so her perfect tits tumbled free. My cock was already hard as granite, but it twitched and leaked a little more at the sight of more skin.
She lifted her leg and draped it over my waist, straddling me, then she reached between us, took my cock in her hand, lifted and notched me at her core.
Keeping our gazes locked, she slowly sank down, taking me inside her all the way to the hilt. I’d never felt such pleasure in all my life.
When she reached the bottom, we just stayed there for a moment, our eyes only on each other.
My hands fell to her hipbones, then slid around to cup her incredible ass.
Wrapping her arms around my neck, she brought her mouth forward to mine, taking my bottom lip between her teeth and tugging as she slowly began to lift and drop, riding me like she rode my fingers earlier.
I was in rapture. Utter heaven.
I could die right now, and it’d be as a happy and fulfilled man.
Encouraging her to rock harder so her clit grazed my lower stomach, I cupped one breast and brought the nipple to my mouth, laving at it with my tongue and scissoring my teeth over it.
She gasped when I sucked on it hard, making it harder and tighter than ever.
Her pussy squeezed my cock with every lift of her hips, then she’d do a not-too zealous little hip swirl at the top when just the crown of my cock remained in her heat, only to squeeze her muscles around me on the way down too.
I was so fucking close. So. Fucking. Close.
“Deacon,” she breathed, lifting her head to meet my gaze.
I dropped my hand from her breast and cupped her jaw, holding her face just inches from mine. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” I gritted out. “Fucking you … god, there’s nothing better in this world.”
“I’m going to come again, Deacon. It feels … it feels too good.”
“That’s right, baby. I want you to come all over my dick. Fucking use me, Greta. Ride me as hard as you need to.”
As if she was just waiting for me to give her permission, she gripped the headboard behind her, and like a filly set free from the paddock, she started to bob up and down on my cock faster and harder than ever. She wasn’t squeezing as much anymore, but I didn’t much care. It still felt incredible.
Her tits bounced against my chin, and the faint slap-slap of her ass against my thighs filled the room, competing with her muffled moans.
“Oh god,” she mewled. “I can’t … I can’t hang on.”
“Don’t hang on.”
“I’m going to come.”
“Fucking come for me, Greta. Come all over my cock, baby. It’s hard just for you.”
Her mouth parted, but barely a sound came out as she stilled, my cock buried as deep as it could be inside of her, and she let go—again.
Her pussy walls pulsed and squeezed my dick as her chest heaved and her sexy little whimpers filled the room.
The constant, rhythmic dick squeezing was what did it for me, and I finally gave over to the fantasy and let go.
I came inside Greta Robinson. My entire body was a maelstrom, a zealous swirling tornado of heat and pleasure, starting out in my lower belly and spreading into my limbs.
My balls cinched up tight and pulsed with each spurt as my cock twitched.
My orgasm was winding down before hers was—which is how it should be—and we sat there, in our post-orgasmic fog for a moment, breathless, boneless and completely uncaring about anything beyond that bedroom door.
The world was beyond that door. And right now, the world could fucking wait.
After several long heartbeats, she gracefully slung her leg off me and slid off the bed, skittering to the bathroom where she closed the door. I lay there in the bed, the covers up to my waist, reliving the last hour and how I had absolutely not expected any of that to happen.
The door reopened, and she shyly came out, naked and beautiful as ever. Biting her bottom lip, she slid beneath the covers. I went to the bathroom to remove and dispose of the condom, hoping that when I returned to the bedroom, she wasn’t going to kick me out.
I gave my wrist a quick pinch as I washed my hands in the sink. This wasn’t a dream, right? I didn’t get into a horrible car accident on the way to Christmas dinner and was currently lying in a hospital bed in a medically induced coma?
I opened the bedroom door, where she sat up in bed, smiling at me.
Nope. Not a coma dream.
Was she going to kick me out?
Carefully gauging her, I pulled back the covers and climbed under, tilting my head to the side to ask a wordless question.
“What’s that you were saying about going back for seconds and thirds?” she asked, sliding down so her head was nestled among the pillows.
A massive grin curled my mouth like the Grinch when he got the idea to raid Whoville.
I dove under the covers. “Right. Good thing Mrs. Robinson always serves up the best, because baby, I’m starving.”
* * *
Just in case Kira woke up before we did, after as many orgasms as we could stay awake for, I did retire down to the couch to sleep.
Didn’t stop me from waking up with a massive hard-on and nearly coming all over Greta’s sheets after the filthy dream I had.
But it was not so much a dream anymore as it was me simply re-living what actually happened.
I woke to the smell of coffee being brewed along with someone trying to be quiet in the kitchen. Tugging on my pants and the sweater over my head, I shoved my fingers through my hair and yawned before padding barefoot into the kitchen.
It was Greta, not Kira, though, so I quickly walked up behind her and cupped her ass while also sliding my teeth over the shell of her ear.
She moaned and pressed her ass into my still-hard cock.
“Careful, Mrs. Robinson, or I’ll have my breakfast between your legs right here on this counter.”
She spun around and looped her arms around my neck. I bent my head and kissed her. “A part of me thought it was all a dream when I woke up this morning.”
“Me too.”
“But then I got up to use the bathroom and the ache between my legs told me it was very much real.”
That made me smile like a cocky asshole. But I didn’t care.
“How do you want to handle things?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I have no clue.”
The sound of footsteps on the stairs had us zealously breaking apart.
A sleepy-eyed twelve-year-old with a wild, messy topknot blinked at us. She frowned. “It didn’t work?”
“What didn’t work?” Greta asked, pouring two cups of coffee, then adding a healthy splash of Irish Cream to both.
Kira pointed to the mistletoe. “I hung it before I went to bed thinking maybe …” She pouted. “I guess we don’t always get what we want for Christmas, hmm?”
My brows flew nearly to my hairline, and I spun to face Greta, whose gob was equally smacked.
“Did you hang that with the hopes of Coach Deacon and me kissing?” Greta asked.
A rush of color filled Kira’s pale cheeks. “Maybe?”
“Why, honey?”
“I dunno. You’ve just been so unhappy.”
“I have not.”
Kira rolled her pretty green eyes. “Okay, not unhappy, but like … you’re still young, Mom. You can still get married again and have more kids or whatever. And Coach Deacon is so nice. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I figured you liked him anyway since you invited him to Christmas dinner.”
“Jeanie invited him,” Greta pointed out.
“You could have said no,” I argued, which earned me a glare from Greta.
“It’s fine, whatever,” Kira said, taking a seat on a barstool next to the kitchen island.
“Say Coach Deacon and I did kiss,” Greta asked cautiously, “how would you see it all going? Because I don’t think it’d be easy for you at swimming.
The other kids might make fun of you. The other parents might get upset and think he’s playing favorites, even if he’s not.
There is quite a big age gap between us. ”
“Paul is eleven years younger than Dad. You’re twelve years older than Deacon. It’s not that much.”
I couldn’t stop myself from shooting Greta a look that said, “See, I told you!”
“And Winnie’s dad is almost twenty years older than her mom. He’s really old. He’s like sixty and she’s like forty.”
“Winnie’s dad does not look sixty,” Greta said.
I nodded, agreeing with her. Wayne did not look sixty. I hoped I aged as well as he did.
“Anyway,” Kira said, “I wouldn’t care. I just want you to be happy.”
Tears welled up in Greta’s eyes, and she went to her daughter, wrapping her up in a big hug. She slid one hand across the island toward me, though, and snagged my gaze. I laced my fingers through hers, and when Kira pulled away from her mother, she gasped.
“Wait! Did you guys kiss last night? Did the mistletoe work?”
“It’s very early,” Greta said, her voice wobbling a little. “So we’re going to keep it very quiet. Coach Deacon—”
“I think she can just call me Deacon when we’re not at the pool,” I interjected.
“Deacon is going to treat me like any other parent, and you like any other swimmer when we’re not here, okay? We’re taking this slow. There’s still a lot to figure out. But you’re right, honey. I want to be happy too.” She smiled at me. “And Deacon makes me happy.”
Kira squealed. “This is so exciting. I knew there was something going on between the two of you. I could just feel it.”
“Well, let’s hope you’re the only one who could feel it,” Greta said. “Can we trust you to keep this a secret?”
Kira nodded, beaming. “Absolutely. Nobody will know.” She pretended to zip her mouth and throw away the key.
I squeezed Greta’s fingers in mine, my heart so fucking full I wanted to go run around the snowy streets and shout my love for her.
Kira’s eyes gleamed, and she mischievously rubbed her hands together. “I’m so good at this, I need to figure out who to se up next.”
“Jeanie,” Greta and I both said at the same time, which prompted all of us to start laughing.
My gaze met Greta’s, and she smiled beautifully, because she was beautiful. Inside and out. And she was also worth the wait. I was just glad the wait was over and we could finally, at long last, start our life together. Which promised to be really, really amazing.