Page 106 of Rather: The Therapist

“He’s waitinggggggg,” she moaned in my ear.

“He’s going to keep waiting,” I confirmed, deepening our connection by pushing further into her.

She established a grip around me and tightened it as I began to dig into her. The moans erupting from her body were the sweetest sounds I’d ever heard. They could loop in my head all day and night and I’d never get tired of their cadence, of their melody.

“You’re so good–”

We shared sentiments. She was better than good. She was the best. I’d never be able to accurately describe exactly what she was. It was impossible.

Her words were therapeutic. Her presence was analeptic. Her pussy was medicinal.

Damn, this shit is heavenly.

Like a magnet, I was drawn to her. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Denial wasn’t enough to deter me anymore. She was quickly becoming the center of my world. Her absence only intensified the feelings that were birthing instead of burying them.

Ninety days was hardly enough. A lifetime felt more justifiable. But, that wasn’t in the hand we were dealt. So, for the time being, enjoyment was the only feeling I needed to honor.

“Yesssss. Ye— Ummmm.”

I could feel her raining down on my tool. With each stroke, she became more slippery. The sounds of her box and our thighs as they met made me delirious.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

Each time our skin collided, we were notified.

“Yes. Yesss. God. Yes.”

“Urgh. Fuck.”

Smack.

Smack.

I could feel my ending near, but I wasn’t ready to conclude my time in her wetland. Abruptly, I dislodged, refusing us both the climaxes we were chasing.

“Priest!” Rather protested.

Her stickiness strung between us as I lowered her to the floor. It wasn’t until her heels touched the tiles that we completely disconnected.

“Please.”

Cupping her chin, I pulled her closer and buried my tongue in her mouth. When I came up for air, I peered down at her.

“You don’t have to beg for what’s rightfully and undoubtedly yours, Rose.”

I rested my forehead against her cheek, completely gutted by the idea of giving myself to someone else someday. It didn’t sit well with me. Not the thought. Not the reality. Nothing.

“You don’t have to beg.”

She nodded, understanding the words coming from my mouth but not the disruption they caused in my chest.

“Bend over, my dear,” barely above a whisper, I instructed. “Palms on the stairs. Ass in the air.”

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