Loved With Color

“Touch your pussy. Is it wet?”

“I’ve been wet since I met you,” she says. Her breathing increasing as she slowly runs her fingers through her folds. My cock is so hard I could steer the damn car with it. About a mile from my parents’ house, I pull off the road into a secluded, wooded area. “Why are we stopping? Is this where you kill me?” she asks not stopping her fingers for a second. I chuckle, but I have to be inside of her now. I pull the seat belt off and rip my jeans open and pull my cock out. Gripping it tightly, I stroke it while staring at her.

“Fuck baby. Climb over the console and ride my cock,” I demand gruffly. She unbuckles her seatbelt and scrambles over to me. She kisses me and lowers herself down on my cock. Reaching under her skirt, I grip her ass and lift her up and down. Her head is thrown back, her long brown hair is cascading down. She is absolutely amazing.

“Marry me,” I growl causing her to stop. This isn’t exactly the memorable proposal I had in mind, but it fits us.

“What?”

“Marry me,” I repeat. She stares into my eyes. She must see what she wants to know because she smiles at me and nods, tears filling her eyes.

“Yes,” she says. Her pussy clenches around me and I lose it. I fill her sweet pussy with my seed yet again. I wipe the tears off of her cheeks, kissing them before sealing our engagement with tender kiss, she sits on my still hard cock for a few minutes, clinging to me. Eventually, she climbs off of me and gets back in the passenger seat. After tucking myself back in my pants, I pull the ring my father gave me earlier out of my pocket and slide it on her finger.

“It’s beautiful,” she says. “It’s a perfect fit too.”

“It was my great grandmother’s on my father’s side.” I put the car in drive and we I finish the drive. Pulling up in front of my parent’s house I see that my brother and sister are already there. “Ready?” I ask her. She turns to me with a huge smile on her face.

“Born ready,” she says and hops out of the car. I chuckle and do the same.

Walking in the back door, I see my mom first.

“Mom, this is Shaynah. Shaynah, my mom Karen.” They hug and talk as if they’ve been best friends forever. “My dad, Blake.” I gesture to him. They shake hands politely, but by the end of the night they are fast friends as well. “My sister, Kristina and my brother Edmund.”

“It’s so nice to meet you all.”

From there dinner is amazing. Everyone is getting along better than I expected. My mom made steak and crawfish with baked potatoes with a lemon cake for desert. The drive back to my place is quiet. Her left hand is resting on my thigh. The diamond in her ring sparkles with each street lamp we drive under. I grin into the darkness.

“Did you have a good time?” I ask, turning down my street.

“I did. Thank you for bringing me.”

“Of course. They are your family too.”

“You’re right. I called my mom today.”

“And?”

“It was a great conversation. Not a hundred percent yet, but good.”

“That’s great, baby,” I say moving to squeeze her had.

At the house, I barely have her in the door before I’m on her.

The next morning, we sleep in, since she doesn’t work on Fridays until late since they are open until two. Then we get ready for lunch with her new family. I can tell she is nervous as I enter the address into my GPS. It’s in the Victorian district about five blocks from my parent’s. We pull up in front of the house that looks straight outta Gone With the Wind.

“Woah,” she says.

“Are you ready?” I ask. She takes a deep breath.

“Yep.” I climb out and go over to her side opening her door and helping her out. With her hand in mine, I lead up the brick walkway to the front door, ringing the doorbell. Not even a minute later, an older woman answers the door.

“Shaynah!” she exclaims, pulling her into a hug.

“Hi,” Shaynah says muffled.

“Come in. Come in. Lunch will be served in thirty minutes.” We follow her inside. “I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Marjorie Tilson, your stepmother.”

“Hi Marjorie. This is Blake my fiancé.”

“Welcome. Welcome. Everyone is the den.”

We go into the room and there are probably twenty people in the room, including James.

“Shaynah?” An older man steps towards her with an outstretched hand, which she shakes. “I’m John Tilson. Your father.”

“How can you be sure of that,” she asks slinking into my side.

“I saw you on the news then hired a PI who dug through your trash. Your old toothbrush confirmed it.”