Tristan
Chloe comes hard, crying out my name, her body shaking through it. I keep my mouth on her, working her through every last wave, my hands flat on her thighs to hold her steady as she trembles beneath me.
Her fingers are twisted in my hair, her hips rolling against my face, and I let her, focused entirely on drawing it out as long as possible. My cock has been pressing painfully against my pants for the better part of an hour, but I ignore it. Right now, the only thing that matters is her.
When she finally goes still beneath me, her grip on my hair loosening and her breathing starting to slow, I press one soft kiss to her clit. She shudders hard, her thighs jerking together around my head, a small broken sound escaping her.
“How’s the ankle?” I ask, leaning back to look up at her.
She stares at the ceiling, chest still heaving, one arm thrown over her face. “What ankle?”
I laugh at that, genuinely, and take a moment to just look at her before I shift and pull her legs carefully into my lap.
She’s spread out across the couch cushions, flushed from her chest to her hairline, her hair a complete mess—and I really, really like it.
I make sure not to jostle her injured ankle as I settle her legs across my thighs.
She lifts her head to look at me, blinking slowly. “What are you doing?”
I nod toward the TV, where Bogart is still holding court. “We haven’t finished the movie.”
She glances down at herself, taking in the fact that she’s wearing absolutely nothing, then looks back up at me. “Like this?”
“Yes,” I tell her simply and start working my thumb into the arch of her uninjured foot, easing the tight muscles there.
She bites her lip, something between shy and amused crossing her face, and I brace for the argument.
But she just lets her head drop back against the armrest with a small exhale.
A few seconds later, when my thumb finds a particularly tight spot and works into it, she makes a soft sound of pleasure.
I keep my eyes on the screen while I work, but I’m not following a single thing that’s happening in it. My mind is entirely on her, on the weight of her legs across my lap and the soft skin beneath my hands and the quiet sounds she keeps making every time I find a new spot to work.
When I caught sight of her earlier in those cotton pants and that old worn shirt, something in my chest did something I wasn’t expecting. I’ve seen Chloe in expensive dresses and sharp tailored office clothes, always perfectly put together, always with every wall firmly in place.
I’d never seen her like that before, casual and comfortable, and it hit me harder than I was prepared for.
This is somehow even more than that. She’s lying here without a stitch of clothing, without any of her carefully maintained composure, making quiet sounds of pleasure every time I find a tight spot in her foot, and I find myself thinking I could do this all night.
She’s quiet for a while, her eyes drifting back to the movie, her body slowly unwinding further with every pass of my hands.
I work my way from her foot up to her calf, kneading carefully, and she makes a low sound of approval and shifts slightly against the cushions.
Then her foot shifts in my lap, brushing against my cock.
I keep my eyes on the screen. A few seconds pass.
Then she does it again, more deliberately this time, applying a little pressure and holding it there, and I feel my jaw tighten.
I let her go on longer than I probably should, my muscles tensing as she moves her foot against me with increasing purpose. The corner of her mouth is curved. She’s enjoying this, watching me try to keep it together while she presses her foot more firmly against me, varying the pressure.
Finally, I wrap my hand around her ankle and stop her.
She raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”
“The first time I come with my wife,” I say, keeping my voice even with a concerted effort, “it’s not going to be in my pants while she gives me a foot job.”
She presses her lips together, her dimples popping out. “That’s a very specific boundary.”
“Honestly, it’s not one I knew I had until just now.”
She laughs, the sound lightly musical. “Fair enough.” Her eyes stay on mine, something playful in them that I don’t see often enough. “So… where would you rather come?”
My cock lurches at that, pulsing hard even though she’s no longer touching me. I hold her gaze, letting her see exactly what effect her words had.
“Down that pretty throat.” My voice is hoarse, my blood humming with arousal. “Or in your pussy.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. Then, without a word, she swings her legs off my lap and slides off the couch onto her knees in front of me, looking up at me with dark gray eyes.
I swallow hard at the sight of her like this and try to remember how to breathe.
She reaches for my belt, her eyes still on mine as she works it open, taking her time with it.
There’s a confidence in her movements that she didn’t have when we first got together, a sureness about what she wants and how she’s going to take it, and I find it almost unbearably sexy.
She pops the button, draws the zipper down slowly, and reaches in to run her palm along my cock through my boxer briefs.
A harsh, ragged sound tears out of me, and she looks pleased about that.
“You’ve been hard for a while,” she observes, stroking me lightly through the fabric.
“All night,” I confirm, my voice like sandpaper. “Every time you came on my face, it got worse.”
Her cheeks flush, and she tugs my pants and boxer briefs down, freeing my cock.
She wraps her fingers around my shaft and strokes slowly, her thumb dragging up the underside on every pass, her eyes moving between my face and her hand like she can’t decide which she’d rather watch.
A bead of precum has gathered at the tip, and she drags her thumb across it and spreads it.
It feels so fucking good, relief and torture all at the same time, and I have to plant both feet on the floor and focus very hard on not moving my hips.
“Go on,” I say, my voice rough. “It’s yours. Take what you want.”
She leans in and closes her lips around my tip, and the wet heat of her mouth after an hour of holding myself in check hits me so hard that every muscle in my body locks up at once.
She takes her time working her way down, her tongue moving in slow strokes against the underside of my cock as she goes, and I slide my hand into her hair and hold on.
“That’s my good girl,” I manage, my voice barely holding together. “Take your husband’s cock. All of it.”
She hums around me and the vibration shoots straight up my spine, making my balls go tight. Then she starts to move, finding a rhythm, her hand working the base while she hollows her cheeks. Her hand twists slightly on every upstroke, her tongue working the underside of my cock on every pass.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my head dropping back against the cushion behind me. “Just like that. You feel so good, you have no idea how good you feel.”
She pulls back to look up at me, her lips swollen and slick, her eyes dark and fixed on mine.
“I like the way you taste,” she breathes, then closes her mouth around me again before I can respond. She goes deeper than before, taking more of me, and I exhale hard through my nose and tighten my grip in her hair.
“Good girl,” I breathe, my voice raw. “Christ, how are you so fucking good at this? Keep going, just like that.”
She does. She’s thorough about it in a way that makes it obvious she’s enjoying herself just as much as I am, her movements getting hungrier and more focused with every stroke, and that alone would be enough to push me over even if everything else tonight hadn’t already been building up my arousal for hours.
I’ve been hovering at the edge since the first time she came, and I can feel it building at the base of my cock with every suck and lick, my thighs tensing beneath her hands.
“I’m close,” I choke out, tugging lightly at her hair. But she pulls back against the pressure, refusing to let me draw her away from my cock.
Fuck. This woman.
“You’re going to swallow everything I give you, aren’t you?” I rasp, looking down at her.
She pulls back just far enough to speak, her lips barely leaving me. “Yes.”
That one word unravels me.
I come with my fist buried in her hair and her name bursting out of my mouth on a low groan. The orgasm hits me so hard that my vision blurs at the edges and my body goes rigid.
She doesn’t stop, working me through it without pulling back, swallowing everything I give her, her hand stroking me steadily at the base until she’s lapped the last drop of cum from the tip of my cock.
I’ve got absolutely nothing left. I slump back against the cushions, my chest heaving and every muscle going lax.
She pulls back slowly and looks up at me, lips swollen, eyes bright, her hair thoroughly wrecked from my fingers.
Fuck, she’s so damn gorgeous.
Reaching down, I pull her up onto my lap, wrapping my arms around her and kissing her before she can say a word.
She kisses me back, her hands coming up to my chest, and fucking hell, she tastes like both of us.
Even now, completely spent, I’m still hungry for more of her.
And every time I get more, the desire doesn’t diminish, just finds something new to fixate on.
She pulls back eventually, slightly breathless, shifting against my lap with a small wince as her ankle catches.
“I think that helped my ankle too,” she says, her voice a little hoarse.
I laugh, my arms still loosely around her. “We should probably publish our findings. Make a real contribution to medical science.”
She grins at that, those dimples flashing in the low light, and I press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then her jaw. Now that my muscles are working again, I shift her in my arms and stand, scooping her up as I do.