Page 50 of Geordie

“I love you, Lily, only you. I'll do anything to make this right. I can't tolerate you hating me.”

I’m resting against the edge of the desk, my face in my hands. I've been so lonely without him. I've spent six years with my perfect match, my soulmate. Being away from him is tearing me apart. It's too much.

He gently takes my hands away from my face and holds them in his hands, looking at me. “It's not over,” he breathes. “I know you still love me.”

All I've ever wanted was to have a child with this man. Am I crazy to believe that he's sincere? Am I that desperate to lie to myself again?

Reaching for him is instinctive. We've been together too long not to find comfort in the other. He moves toward me and I'm in his arms. We slip into a place that's familiar, safe. Our lips touch and I give way to his kiss.

We haven't been together for months, but my body reacts to him like a light that switched on. Our tongues dance as his hand moves up my body, grappling with the large buttons of my tunic. One opens, the second, then his hand shifts down until the tunic gaps open, exposing my lace bra.

He drops his lips to my neck and I take a sharp intake of breath, the heat gripping my body, the smell of our mingled musk, my panties wet for needing him to touch me.

“I want you, Lily,” he growls into my neck. I want you here.” His large hand moves under my tunic, fingers rolling my hard nipple and I squirm at the pleasure.

I grip the edge of the desk, opening my legs as he moves between them. He resumes kissing, pulling off my top, unhooking my bra, tugging it away to land somewhere.

His hand at my waist, he moves me a bit to the side as his arm makes a wide arc, sweeping the contents off my desk. Stacks of paper flutter to the ground, magazines landing with a thud, pencils pinging, bottles hitting the floor.

“Lie back,” he says, with the heat of his breath on my lips, and his hand at my breasts, my breathing coming in gasps. The sounds of the kitchen on the other side of the door seem muted as I concentrate on his hand.

I watch his hand free the button of my pants, then move the zipper down, his fingers in my waistband, pulling them down, then off. My head makes a soft thump as I flatten against the desk, a rush of coolness caressing my stripped body.

Stephen pins me. The hard wood of the desk is at my back. He runs his hand along my side, racing over the curve of my hip until it detours to my mound. I'm desperate for him to touch the wetness between my legs, more desperate for his mouth to be there, sucking, licking, teasing me to come.

His fingers slick as he works inside of me. I'm thrusting hard to meet his digits. Our gazes lock as I writhe. His lust hot, wanting to control me, and me wanting him to try. He knows what to do to have me whimpering for him, even begging for a release. “I love you, Lily.” His low, guttural declaration comes as he shoves his fingers deeper into my pussy. I contract on his digits, wanting more of his fingers inside me. I give a slow groan.

“You want me to fuck you now, don't you, baby? Right here, right now.” his voice a hoarse whisper.

All I can think about is his cock inside me, grinding me into the desk. The noise of the kitchen intrudes into our bubble, and I'm slipping back into where we are. He rubs his thumb over my clit as his mouth finds my nipple and I'm back to wanting him, not caring where I am.

“You want me to play with you?”

My fingers lace into his hair as his mouth suckles hard. “I want you to fuck me,” I exhale.

“Whatever makes you happy, I can do that.” His hand falls to my waist, flipping me onto my stomach. The edge of the desk hits me just below my belly button. I turn my head to see him discarding his jacket, loosening his tie, pulling it from his collar, to let it drop on the chair. He pulls off his shirt, my heart racing. His zipper tears down the tines in a quick motion, his clothes a memory.

He's close behind; his cock bumps my ass as a tease, leaving a bit of pre-come on my ass cheeks. My arms spread wide, my fingers reaching for the small bottle of olive oil that didn't hit the floor. I bat it towards him.

He snatches the small bottle and twists the top, then the deep, earthy aroma of pressed olives fills the room. The warm, green liquid drips onto my ass, then more is poured into my anus. His hand smears the thick green fluid, then he lubes his cock. His hands are latched onto my ass, his hold slippery. He's at the entrance to my anus, slick, big, and begging to come inside.

I take a breath, then let it out slowly to relax. The head of his cock slips in as I stretch to accept him. He's clutching my ass cheeks as he moves in me all the way. “Oh fuck,” he breathes, “you feel good. I could do this all night.”

I'm dizzy with him inside me; it's that perfect.

My fingers curl over the edge of the desk, holding on as he pounds me. I listen to kitchen sounds, pans hitting the stove, someone calling orders, food sizzling, mixed with Stephen grunting that I'm his, that he'll never leave me, while he rides and I urge him to fuck me into oblivion.

His thrusts are wild, my breathing heavy; I'm attuned to everything and nothing. He knows I'm ready and so is he. My heart pounds, matching his thrusts. The noise in the kitchen seems distant as I'm about to release. “Harder,” I say, “pound me harder.

As another thrust flattens me, moving the desk a bit, there's a knock at the door.

I turn my head toward the sound, unable to speak. Stephen continues to fuck me as if another human isn't about to walk through the door. The knock comes again, rapping more insistent, and I'm losing concentration. “Come back later; I'm with a guest,” I croak. The knocking stops.

Stephen slips his hand to my clit, stroking. The steps retreat from the door as his fingers dip into my pussy. I buck, but he doesn't stop. I'm back in our bubble. My release comes closer with his every drive until I'm caught in its grip, surrendering with a quiet whimper. I'm vaguely aware when his big body shudders and anoh fuckgasp escapes, his heavy body prone on mine, his breathing labored.

We lay there, reality back, reminding me what he did to me. No, I can't blame him; this is what I wanted. I let what the doctor said mess with my head. I wanted to prove I'm still young, desired. Proving that what he said about having a geriatric pregnancy doesn't apply to me.

Stephen helps me dress, specks of olive oil on my white tunic. I catch him staring at me.

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