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“Only because you insist on making me come until I can’t move.”
“What makes you think I can stop myself now?” I flipped her onto her back and held my body away from hers. “I should be incapable. Sex should be the last thing on my mind. I should be so deep in mourning, it should be impossible for my cock to get hard. Instead, I’ve been on fire, lusting after you. Hard for days.”
Slowly, I eased myself down and pressed my hips against hers, letting her feel the state of agony I’d been living in. She groaned and opened her legs wider.
“I’m consumed with thoughts of you, Decca.” I could feel her heat on my cock as I rubbed myself against her. The friction through the fabric was so much… “I want to be inside you constantly. But I can’t. I can’t. I shouldn’t—“Oh, God, this was too much.“I don’t know if I want to fuck you or me into oblivion, but I just want to feel something different. Other than grief and loss. I lost Dad, and that feels bad enough. But couldn’t bear thinking I lost you. I need to feel you again.”
“No one experiences grief the same way. There is no normal. Some people experience a loss of libido, some don’t. Heighteneddesire is actually a pretty common response. Sex…oh, Gus… is healing.”
I brushed her hair aside and kissed down her neck. Her breath was hot against my face as she spoke in a strained whisper. “Especially the desire for connection and… reassurance. Or maybe…maybe…you’re craving a type of stimulation that brings you back to yourself. Or you know you’d feel better after a hit of dopamine—”
“I just want to fuck the shit out of you.”
“Oh, God, Gus. Please. I need that, too.” She palmed my dick through my pants and stroked hard, gripping what she could.
I flipped onto my back and pulled her on top of me, spreading her legs wide to straddle my hips. “I can’t have you begging now, can I?”
I could do this quickly. I could. All I had to do was reach under her skirt, tug her panties to the side, and,oh, fuck me.
Under her dress she wore thigh highs and a thong, giving me free access to the soft skin at the tops of legs. It wasn’t meant to be provocative. It was just Decca. What she wore.
I lifted her skirt. Now, I needed the show. The view. My wife drove me crazy with her body. With all the things she thought were acceptable articles of clothing. A thong. Thigh highs. Boots. All under a breezy little dress and sweater.
I tugged the sweater over her head.
“Gus,” she giggled. Her boobs bounced inside her dress, drawing my attention to the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Fuck,” I rasped. “Your fault. You’re the one who decided to be a naughty little Crow and wear tiny panties and thigh highs to a funeral.”
“It’s not a funeral. It’s a luncheon. And I’m always begging for you, Gus. Make me come. Please. I know it’s what you need.” She had the decency to climb up onto her knees and shimmy off herthong at least, before dragging her pussy over my hard cock inside my trousers, leaving a glistening sheen behind.
“You’re getting me all wet, Crow.”
“Likewise. Father.” Her eyes flashed as she bit into her pillowy bottom lip before looking down and slowly unbuttoning the tiny row of buttons on her dress. One by one, all the way down, until it gaped open at her waist, and I could slip her arms out of the delicate straps and close my lips around her hard nipples.
When she rose onto her knees and slid my zipper down, freeing my cock, she groaned. Like the sight of it was mouthwatering. Then fisted me at the base, dragging my head through her slickness. I couldn’t even watch. I was going to come on her before I even sank inside.
Fucking Decca was intoxicating. The slick slide of her pussy sent electricity up my spine. The easy drag back out was a momentary respite from the overwhelming pleasure that almost made my own knees buckle against the bed. Especially when she made that little whimper when I got to that spot inside her vagina. I spent a little extra time there, holding my breath while rocking over and over that spot, until her whimpers turned into gasps, then moans.
“That’s it, baby. Let me make you come. Tell me how good it feels to come on my cock.”
Her breathing was hard. I pulled out of her and flipped her over, pushing her into the bed, fucking her slowly from behind. So much for a quickie.
“So good,” she managed to choke out against a gasp as I pushed her ass higher. Just for the view. I wasn’t even that into ass play, but everything about Decca brought out the primal in me. I had to claim her everywhere. Had to make her mine. Had to… Fuck, it was so hard not to come from watching my cock head work her pussy likethis.
“Gus, I’m going to—”
“Come for me. Tell me how good this is.”
“It feels… so much… oh, fuck… you feel so good. I—”
Her voice cracked on a high note as her orgasm ripped through her.
“God, yes, Crow. You feel so good when you come on my cock.” I eased off the intensity, letting her ride out the last slow pulses of her pelvic floor. Her body slumped forward onto the quilt and I kissed her shoulders, her neck, her face. My beautiful wife. She was mine.
I wasn’t sure how long my phone was buzzing on the nightstand. The sound only registered when I heard Decca’s ring over on the other side. Whoever it was could wait. I had a lot of time to make up for being an asshole—while I was trying so hard not to be an asshole.
She turned around in my arms and started giving me little nipping kisses, each time getting deeper and deeper, her soft, full lips coaxing mine open and flicking her tongue against my lower lip. This woman was made for me. Her sensuality was just starting to open up, and already she had me panting for her. My cock throbbed, and she laughed the cutest, naughtiest… Oh, God, then her hand was wrapped around me, squeezing and stroking until I thought I was going to paint stripes across her tits. But no. I needed to come inside her pussy. Needed my cum slowly dripping down her lean thighs like honey, before wiping her clean and coating my own fingers with that fluid to sweeten her own juices as I circled that clit with my fingers, finally licking her. Sucking us down and leaving no trace of our intimacy. Keeping it our secret.
