My breathing hitches in my throat, trying to keep up with the mounting pressure of how hard and deep Sanders is fucking me. He hits places deep within me I didn't know a cock could stroke. I don't know if I could take this intense of a fucking if it wasn't for how tight his hold is on me. My head is falling back and I'm trembling against him.
I lean forward and press my knees into the tub. I don't know if you can call it a second wind -- maybe this is my first one since I woke up so recently -- but I wanted to press my ass back against him and ride that dick from behind. It feels good, sliding back against him in the water.
But the water isn't staying warm and now my arms start to shiver even as I keep backing up on Sanders's cock.
He pulls me off his cock, out of the water, and to the floor. Yes, the floor. Sanders saw my shiver and knew it from the shivers I get from the orgasm he gives me. He lies down on the floor and pulls me over him, trailing fingers down the small of my back while I ride him, facing away. Sometimes I think that the man can read my mind.
Pressing my palms to the tile between his thighs, I get the leverage I need and I take his cock as hard and fast and I can, riding him for round two. Today I've got a lot more energy and renewed vigor, despite how wet we are. The ungiving floor makes it so that his cock is fucking me like it is impaling me. There's no mercy in this, and my pussy is already starting to squeeze around Sanders's cock. I don't want to come yet, though, so I let myself teeter on the edge of that pleasure and the pressure building within me.
"Fuck," Sanders groans. "I can't take this anymore, I wanna come on that sexy ass you let me fuck last night, then I wanna drag you over to that wall and fuck you some more." He wraps his arm around my stomach. He is telling me what he wants while he is going after it. But I certainly don't want to complain. We stand together and I feel hot ropes of cum shooting onto my ass. I'm going to leave a very interesting spot on the wall after I come on his cock with his cum all over my ass. "Want you to come while I'm looking into your eyes, Stacy." His words are low and throaty. Sanders needs me in such a feral, primal way that it makes me feel like the only other person in the world.
"You liked fucking my ass, huh?" I ask. I didn't even ask yesterday and just went for it. He knows exactly where I learned that bedroom strategy!
Carting us off to the wall, Sanders laughs. Pressing me into the wall and sliding his sticky-headed cock into my pussy again, he looks me deep in the eyes, narrowing his own. "Your tight ass, just shoving my cock up your ass while you look at me, while you're coming? Yeah, I fucking liked that. Liked that a lot, Stacy." I like the way my name sounds coming from his mouth.
"It is good to know," I exhale, trying to speak but my orgasm is bubbling up inside of me and stealing my words, stealing my thoughts. I manage to finish my sentence. "Good to know that I can surprise you. You surprise me every day," I tell him. I see the love in his gaze and I wrap my arms around his neck. I want to kiss him but I can barely breathe.
Sanders kisses my forehead. "Come for me, baby," he says pulling back and watching me come. Sanders has made me come so many times, but right now the way he's watching me and I'm staring into his eyes...I have never felt more naked. Or more alive. Or more wanted. I love him so damn much. I know you know that
, and he does too, but I will never get tired of telling him that or thinking that.
When I think about everything Sanders has gone through, I'm grateful to be in his arms. Be in his life. Be in his heart.
"You're my hero," I tell him, feeling a little stupid as soon as I say it out loud. I hadn't meant to actually say those words.
"Stacy, you're mine. You made me believe I could have something. Made me work for it. Made me undo all the things in my life that would prevent me from being your man. I am honored to be your hero," Sanders says.
His tongue slides over the seam of my mouth. I tremble, my lips parting to take him in for a soft and delicate kiss that gets more and more passionate by the second.
Sanders moans into my mouth and I feel his cum jetting inside of me. Wrapping my legs around him to take everything he has, I taste his moans in my mouth. The sound of Sanders, the taste of him, every hard part of his body overtaking me, it feels so good I'm dizzy.
Well, that and I'm hungry.
My belly says that it is breakfast time. I feel the rumble.
Sanders laughs, pulling out of me and a little spurt of cum shoots onto my stomach. "You want me to make you breakfast while you bathe, undistracted?"
I know that's the logical thing to do. "Thank you, babe," I say. I smile and pull my legs down. They were squeezing him so tight that it takes me a second to feel grounded again.
Sanders walks forward, pulling the plug on the tub so that I can draw new water.
I watch his fine ass exit the bathroom, grabbing a robe and heading toward the kitchen. Making a mental note, I determine to take the world's quickest bath and get in there for breakfast, pronto. The robe is nice, but I think I'd like to peel it off and sit on his lap. I crave the feel of my skin against his.
The water finishes draining, and I take a super quick shower, not wanting to lounge in the top without a cock to bounce on. What can I say, I'm spoiled now.
I slip into my own robe and follow the scent of eggs to the kitchen.
"Do I get to kiss the cook?" Gah, I can be so cheesy. But with Sanders, I can't help but be affectionate. And he thrives with the reciprocation of the attention that he gives me, so that's all right in my book.
"Of course. I wouldn't dream of otherwise," Sanders glides over, using his spatula to put eggs on the plate's put on the kitchen island.
I circle my arms around his middle and squeeze tight to him. I kiss his chest and listen to his heart for just a moment. This is the man that I will cherish forever. This heartbeat I'm hearing now matters to me as much as my own. I release him so that his own eggs, and own eggs, will not get cold.
He spatulas more onto his plate and places the skillet onto an unused burner. We sit down at the bar stools at the island and I grab a carafe of orange juice. It has been long enough since I brushed my teeth that I'm not about to experience that gross thing that happens when orange juice and toothpaste fight over flavor. I pour myself a glass and look into Sanders's eyes across the island.
“What are you thinking about Stacy?” Sanders asks. There’s a lightness in his voice that pleases me. He doesn’t have the conflict in his voice or on his face.
That’s what I’m thinking about. I’m having the same experience. The stress and confusion is over.