My Son's Sitter

And now?

“Finished,” Clayton says, walking over casually, as if his whole glistening form wasn’t gloriously naked.

I lick my lips. That, that is now.

Clayton shoots me a puzzled look.

“Why are your clothes still on?”

“You should’ve had a little bell to ring when you were finished, so I could know when to start undressing,” I say with a smirk.

“No matter,” Clayton says, pinning me to the bed, “I’ll help you with that.”

Our lips press as he undoes my pajama bottoms. His hand slips down to my ass and gives it an approving squeeze.

“No panties, just how I like it. Good girl.”

His lips start to seek out my neck and he begins to nibble, his hands wandering over me. When they reach my pajama top, he lets out a little groan. He guides my hand to his already raging boner.

“What you do to me…”

“Sorry, you’re right,” I say unsympathetically, “Here, let me just help you with that.”

I scurry away to the opposite side of the bed. Clayton scrambles after me and pounces, pinning me on the bed.

“Oh no you don’t.”

He shoves his face onto mine, and our tongues tangle. Over and under and around. He sweeps his finger in between my legs for the finale. Then, he slurps his lips down to join his finger and its new mission.

A heated moan spills out of me.

Clayton’s taking his sweet time. As he fingers me, he’s tugging and kneading my pussy lips and stroking my upper thighs with his other hand. Meanwhile, his kisses are growing lower. And lower. And lower.

Already my body is riddled with trembling. Every part of me is quaking with anticipation.

“Fuck, please Clayton,” my groan begs.

Flicking his head up, Clayton delivers me a saucy full-lipped smile. And then, his head dips down and gets to work.

His fingers were only playing in me compared to the stroking they’re doing now. Not to mention that his lips have locked around my swollen nub.

“So hot. So horny,” Clayton declares as he pauses.

Then, he starts anew. More finger fucking, more clit sucking. More tongue lapping, fingertip twitching. And already my body has drooped into the silken sheets deliriously.

The edge is in trembling sight.

Somehow, Clayton’s building his pace based on my heartbeat. Right now, it’s ricocheting rhythm is matched by his merciless thrusts. Finger and tongue sink in unison. Urging me, jamming me, stroking me on and on. Everything is blackening, ridged with red and yellow. Sensations are colors that choke me. White hot. I’m almost there.

Thoughts are for suckers and I’m having every thought sucked out of me. Mmm…

My whole body is clenched with my oncoming monster of an orgasm. I’m blind, deaf and dumb. All I can feel, all I can experience, all I know, is this feeling. This feeling, this total nirvana of a feeling.

I’m suffocated by it, completely taken by it, and, when Clayton’s other hand slaps my side, released from it. This feeling rockets through me, screaming. And I’m screaming. And clapping a hand on my mouth. A hand he rips away, so he can hear it, music to his ears.

And then, everything is quiet, and everything is over.

Clayton and I lay in each other’s arms forever after that. Or maybe not quite forever. Clayton’s eyes graze me adoringly as if we’ve known each other our whole lifetimes. As if I’m the first female body he ever got to see.

“I’ve got something to tell you,” he says at some point.

Our eyes lock.

“That line hasn’t bode well for us in the past,” I point out.

He chuckles ruefully.

“I think I’ll take my chances this time.”

He gets out something from the drawer and walks over to the side of the bed I’m on. Then, as I eye him quizzically, he gets down on one knee.

“What would you say if I were to ask you to marry me?”

He says it was such forced casualness, that I eye him uneasily.

“Don’t be a dick.”

His frown deepens.

“Can you just answer the question?”

“Don’t get my hopes up like that,” I say.

In our sporadic midnight conversations, I’ve learned that Clayton never really saw himself as someone who wanted to get married. And now, after hearing that I was the type of person who did see themselves getting married, he’s throwing it in my face?

He snaps open the felt box I just notice now, and I gasp. My suddenly softened gaze settles on his pale rigid face.

“Is that your way of asking me?” I teased.

“Yes,” Clayton says simply.

“Every day on this trip I’ve been weighed down by this damn thing. And if I spend another sleepless night agonizing over if you’re going to say yes…”

“Yes,” I say simply.

Clayton’s harried gaze snaps to mine.

“What?”

I hold up my finger, flowing it back and forth.

“Yes, and yes, and yes.”

Now, Clayton’s gaze shoots to my outstretched hand. Removing the ring, he slips it on, his gaze swooping up to meet mine.