Blame It On The Gin:On The Rocks

"Black," he says with a groan.

"I know your birthday's tomorrow, but I thought we could kick off the weekend right."

He grins, wrapping an arm around my waist then plucking my nipples, one after the other.

"What do you think?" I ask. I've put on baby weight, of course, and I've had a hard time losing it, but Grant doesn't mind. When he looks at me, he sees the woman he loves, and he makes me feel beautiful every time he runs his hands over my body, every time he kisses me deeply, every time he squeezes my ass.

"I think you look incredible," he tells me. "But I just need to be sure," he says with a slow tease, lowering the cup of my lacy bra, drawing my nipple to his mouth, sucking my tits, making me even more wet and ready.

"Oh, God," I groan, eager for him. I run my hand over his long, thick shaft. I see how hard it is through his trousers. The outline of it makes me downright giddy, dripping.

"Fuck," he groans. "You look divine."

I turn around, wanting him to see the thong under the teddy. "I was thinking of leaning against this desk, you behind me." I look over my shoulder. "What do you think?"

But before he can answer, he's already on his knees, his mouth to my ass, squeezing my cheeks together, drawing me to him, breathing me in. And then I turn around, sitting on his desk, leaning back on my elbows, while he begins to lick me up and down, my legs over his shoulders. I look down at him.

"Okay," I say, "I like your idea. But really, this was supposed to be your birthday gift, not mine."

"Oh, believe me," he says, "this is a fucking treat."

I laugh, my hands on the desk, bracing myself for the orgasm that I know is going to roll right over me when he begins to flit his tongue over my clit. And just like that, he does.

I gasp in pleasure as he begins to take me, grinding his tongue against my cunt and making me gush.

"Oh, God," I say, dripping for him. "Fuck. Oh, fuck," I say as pleasure moves over my body, through me, out of me. "Oh, God," I say, knowing I don't want this to stop ever.

He looks up at me. "I love you," he says.

"I'm ruining your suit," I tell him, my juicy release squirting against his dress shirt. I have a flash of memory, the way my drink on my 22nd birthday splashed across his shirt and got him drenched.

He grins. "I think I prefer it like this," he says, the memory clearly on his mind too. "I'd rather be soaked by your cum than a martini." I smile as his mouth returns to my pussy, right where he belongs.