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EROTICA | CHEATING | MARRIED | CREAMPIE | BAREBACK | INTIMATE SEX | RISKY RELEASE

Alone with My Stepson — 8

He took his time entering me, thick and deep, until I was clenching around every inch—then I begged him to come inside me while my husband’s side of the bed stayed empty.

PART 7

I was now completely naked, standing on my feet, with my open robe, and the self-consciousness should have come to me from the nakedness of my body.

Rather, it made me feel strong.

My eyes were scanned by his as though he was taking notes on my body.

“You are just perfect,” he said, and his voice was filled with reverence.

“Absolutely perfect.”

“Now you.”

I grabbed his pants.

“Fair’s fair.”

He lifted his hips and assisted me to pull them down.

His boxers went with him, and then he was bare under me, and I finally saw what I'd been feeling pressed against my thigh.

He was thick.

Not only long, but thick, the kind that makes your inner muscles clench in anticipation.

Curved slightly upward.

Slick at the tip already with pre-come.

“Oh,” I breathed.

“Good oh or bad oh?”

“Very good oh.”

I put my hand around him, just to try it out.

Hot silk over iron.

He hissed through his teeth, his hips jerking involuntarily.

“Sensitive?”

“For you?

Yeah.

Very.”

I slowly caressed him, studying his reactions.

His breath stopped when I brushed my thumb against the head.

How his fingers clenched on my hips when I squeezed just a little.

How he closed his eyes and then opened them again as if he didn't want to miss a second of looking at me.

I want to be inside you, he said, his voice strained.

“Not on the couch, though.

“Where?”

“Your bed.

I want to, I want to take my time, I don't want to rush through it.”

It was an unexpected romantic request, and something fluttered in my chest.

I bent my head down and kissed him lightly.

“Okay.”

He got up, carrying me up as if I were a feather.

I held my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, and he carried me up the stairs, slowly, carefully, kissing the corner of my mouth once.

It was such a sweet gesture that I cried.

The master bedroom was in the dark.

He put me down on the bed, the bed that Mark and I shared, and just stood over me for a moment, just looking.

“What?” I asked.

“Memorizing,” he said.

“In case this is the only time.”

“It won’t be.”

“Promise?”

That was the word that made his voice break.

I'm nineteen, naked in my bedroom and I ask him for a promise, and it's the only thing that keeps him on the ground.

“Yes, I promise,” I said.

He climbed on the bed, between my legs.

The weight of him fell on me and it was just right, I couldn't explain.

His elbows were resting on both sides of my head.

My hips were in line with his.

I could feel him there, hot and hard and ready, pressing into my entrance.

I recalled suddenly, “Condom.”

“Do you have—”

“Wallet.

Downstairs.”

We stared at each other.

The moment was at hand—laugh or cry, go on or stop.

“I’m on birth control,” I said.

“And I'm... I'm clean.

Are you?”

Yeah, I was tested a few months ago, there was…”

He hesitated.

“Once there was a girl.

It didn't mean anything.”

“It doesn't matter to me about the girl.”

I cupped his face in my hands.

“I care about right now.”

Right now, I just want you.

“Then have me.”

He pushed inside.

The first inch took my breath away.

He was bigger than Mark, much bigger, and the stretch was more than intense, it was overwhelming.

He stopped abruptly, as if he could read my mind, which he could.

“Okay?”

He was tight with his voice, not letting it out.

“Yes.

Just… slow.”

He went slow.

Exquisitely, torturously slow.

One millimeter at a time, allowing me to adjust, to relax, to welcome him deeper.

He was leaning his forehead against mine, our breath intermingling between us.

I could feel the tremble in his arms, the effort it was taking to hold back.

“You feel…”

He swallowed hard.

I can't say a word.

If not, then don't say words.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, changed the angle, and he slid the rest of the way in with a groan that resonated from his body.

We both froze there, he was fully joined, him to the hilt inside me.

It was too full to handle.

Perfect.

My inner walls fluttered around him and he gasped.

Do that again,” he pleaded.

I did.

A conscious squeeze which rolled his eyes back.

“Leah.”

My name was a prayer.

“Well, I can't, I'm not, if you continue like this, this is going to be over very soon.”

If not, "then don't hold back.

“Not yet, I want you to be first.”

He withdrew nearly completely and then pushed back in again.

Once.

Twice.

Finding a rhythm that was deep and slow and devastating.

One of his hands slid between our bodies, his thumb finding my clit with unerring accuracy.

He circled it in time with his thrusts and the feeling of pleasure climbed higher and higher in my tummy, tighter and tighter.

“That's all,” he whispered in my ear.

“Let go, I have you.”

It was his voice, his touch, the unrelenting beat of his hips.

It was like a wave, crashing through me, until I was crying out, my nails raking down his back, my inner muscles clenching around him in rhythmic pulses.

He continued to push through it, pulling it out, his thumb never breaking the circles until I was floppy and shaking under him.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

“When you come you're so beautiful.”

I was still catching my breath when he began to move quicker.

The deliberate tempo replaced by a more pressing one.

His hips collided with mine, the sound of our bodies colliding echoing through the room.

I could feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming erratic, his breathing ragged, his grip on my hips almost bruising.

“Where?” he managed.

And I knew what he was asking.

But I was not careful, not modest, not careful at all, but only that he must let me take him in.

“Inside,” I gasped.

“Come inside me.”

His whole body shuddered. He pressed his face to my neck and pushed hard once again, and I felt the heat of his release running through me once more. He made a long, low, broken noise and his hips jerked with each pulse until he was exhausted and fell on me. There we were, clinging to each other, panting. His weight was comforting. Anchoring. I touched his damp hair, and looked at the ceiling, listening to his heart beating slowly against my chest. After a long moment, he lifted his head. His eyes were soft, filled, but there was something else there, too. Something vulnerable. “Was that good?” he asked. I laughed, bright and surprised. “Well, that was more than fair.” “Good.” He kissed my forehead. Then my nose. Then my lips, a soft kiss at the end of a contract. “For a very long time I've wanted to do that.” “How long?” “Since the garbage disposal.” “That's 6 months ago!” “I know.” His smile was unabashed. “Long time.” I weakly smacked him on the shoulder. He laughed and rolled over to his side, dragging me over to be face to face on the pillows. The sheets were in a tangled mess around us. The robe was missing.The robe was lost. Outside the window, the first hints of dawn were starting to lighten the sky. “Well, I should feel guilty,” I said quietly. “Do you?” I took stock of myself. My body ached in a good way and my skin still buzzed from where he'd touched me. The mind was still for the first time in months, the constant chatter of the mind was silenced by the endorphins and satisfaction. “No,” I realized. “I don’t.” “Good.” He traced my hip with one finger. “Not me, I don't.” We lay quietly, as the sky went from black to grey to pale pink. I knew that there would be repercussions. Conversations. Decisions. I knew that what we did would spread out in ways that I could not have foreseen. But at this moment, in this time, encircled by the arms of the one person who saw me, I couldn't think of a single minute I wished I hadn't spent with him. On the night table, Nathan's cell phone buzzed. It wasn't brought up by either of us; it must have been in his shorts pocket when he carried me up. He ignored it. The buzzing stopped. Started again. Stopped. Attempted a third time. I said, "You should check that. Not wanting to move. “It might be significant.” He sighed and turned over, picking up his phone from the pile of clothes on the floor. The screen lit up his face and I saw his face change from sleepy contentment to something sharper. “What?” I sat up and asked, “Who is it?” He held the phone up to me so I could see the screen. Three missed calls. Four text messages. All from the same contact: Dad. The most recent text had come through just thirty seconds ago. It said: Flight was cancelled. Coming home early. Be here in an hour. I was chilled to the bone. I looked into Nathan's eyes. I could see the same realization in his face, we were naked, in my marital bed, with the evidence of what we had done all over the rumpled sheets. And Mark was returning home.

PART 9