Page 102 of Tell Me What You Want, Or Leave Me

“Sweetheart, as the song says, I only want these moments with you. I just want to drink from you.”

Then he puts his mouth on my hot, wet sex, and I gasp. His licking makes me crazy, and, when his tongue imprisons my clit and nibbles it, a moan emerges from me.

I abandon myself to him.

Oh yes, yes!

I let his hands open my thighs while his demanding mouth sucks, licks, nibbles, and makes me vibrate. He takes me to seventh heaven, to the eighth, and to whichever one he wants. I adore him.

My hands clutch the chair, my legs tremble, and I fall apart as his tongue plays inside me. He owns me with his mouth, and I open myself like a flower.

The heat rises, and, crazed, I let go of the chair and grab him forcefully by the hair. I press him against the center of my desire, desperate for that intense pleasure to never end...never...never...

But before I can surrender, my love pulls away from me. With a fiery look that would singe the North Pole, he undoes the drawstrings on his sweatpants.

“Sit up. Turn around and put your hands on the back of the chair.”

Without delay, I do as he asks. But Eric is impatient, and, before I can position myself, he grabs me by the waist, and his penis is inside me.

I fall against the back of the chair.

“Sweetheart, I just want...I want...I long to possess you.”

His voice is full of desire, and the way he goes in and out of me—so hot, so possessive—drives me crazy. He’s so forceful, and, as always happens to us, our wild sides come out, and we surrender to pure pleasure.

Again and again, Eric rams me and I open myself to him.

Again and again, faster and faster, stronger and stronger.

Again and again, my gasps and his gasps fuse.

Without pause, Eric squeezes me against the back of the chair, and his thrusts are deep and precise.

“Oh yes...yes...,” I murmur, possessed.

Our grunts increase in intensity and, together, we climax. He falls on me. I love his weight, his smell. I adore him. Only him.

For several seconds, I feel him on my back until he finally retreats.

“Sweetheart, I’m yours, and you’re mine. Don’t doubt me,” he whispers.

18

The days pass, and there’s a party at Flyn’s school. He’s made new friends this year, and he wants Eric and me to go with him. We promise we will.

Flyn brings home a flyer asking parents to prepare a dish for the event. Delighted, I accept the challenge and decide to cook Spanish-style potato omelets. I want them to eat a real potato omelet made by a Spaniard. Simona offers to make a carrot cake.

The party is held on a Saturday morning so parents can attend. Flyn has a cold, but he doesn’t want to miss the party, so we go anyway.

“I don’t like being here,” Eric murmurs after we park the car next to the school.

My man is gorgeous, with a pair of jeans matching his denim shirt. I give him a slap on his tight little ass.

“You’re accompanying your nephew to his party! Cheer up!”

Carrying Simona’s cake, Flyn runs out in front of us. He’s spotted one of his friends and happily goes up to chat.

“Look at him,” I whisper proudly. “Don’t you love to see him getting along so well?”

---