Page 71 of Scarlet Angel

“Can we…”

She doesn’t have to say it. I understand.

“How do you want me?”

She blinks.

“Missionary? Or do you want me on my back?”

What will make you feel the most comfortable?

“Missionary…I think.”

It’s counterintuitive to me, but again, there’s so much I don’t know about her experience. Perhaps she never climbed on top of a man. If her husband was always forceful, then that’s not a position that would have likely happened.

I crawl up the bed. Cum leaks from my tip. I slide it up and down her silky entrance. Those green eyes watch.

Good.

The milky skin of her breasts pleads for touch, a reminder I have yet to plunder them. I pause, kneeling before her, and push up. The mattress dips with the weight of my balled hands on each side of her. Unsure eyes meet mine, and I dip my head, sucking a nipple, twirling my tongue around the nub. Her legs tighten around my thighs, and her fingers find my hair.

That’s it.

I alternate to the other breast, delivering the same treatment and receiving the same in return, with possibly slightly more intensity.

When I lift my head, she breathes out, “I want you.”

“Oh, you’ll have me.”

But first, I claim her lips.

This isn’t my normal. Kissing a woman isn’t something I crave during sex. For that matter, pleasuring with my mouth isn’t something I often offer. But Scarlet’s different, in so many ways. And I fucking love kissing her.

She wraps her arms around my back, and my cock buries itself in her hip. I haven’t claimed her yet, but it fucking feels like I have.

Her nails gently scrape along my ribs, and I break the kiss, panting, arm muscles quivering.

“Please.”

Does she want this to be over?

Her hips buck beneath me, and I focus on aligning myself. I watch as I enter her heat. Her tight cunt practically strangles my cock. It takes every bit of control not to slam into her.

But I take it easy, working myself into her slowly. When I’m balls deep, I can hardly breathe. She feels so fucking good.

“Is this okay?”

She opens her eyes. And I don’t know what I see. Fear? Determination?

“Move,” she gasps.

So I do.

“Fuck. You feel good.” It’s a confession, but one I’m not certain she hears.

We move in tandem, like lovers who have done this a million times and plan for a million more. But it’s not until I claim her mouth once more that I lose control, lose focus, and empty everything inside her.

I collapse beside her. A light sheen of perspiration coats our skin. Our breaths, once short and fast, slow. Her lips curl upward, smiling at me. Is that relief?

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