Saving the Cake(9)

I opened my eyes as I felt him start to lift my long skirt up my legs. There was a sudden feeling of the mood changing, a this is serious, now moment. Sweater off was one thing. Skirt off meant….

But stopping him wasn’t even remotely an option. Stopping myself wasn’t an option.

He lifted my skirt higher and higher, bunching it around my thighs, my hips. I was wearing pantyhose, not anything sexy like stockings, but he didn’t seem to care. His hands skimmed over the curves of my ass again and again and then, as he kissed me, he suddenly scooped me up and lifted me so that I was sitting on the edge of the counter.

I sat there panting against his lips. It had all happened so quickly that I’d barely had a chance to touch him. Now I went to work on his shirt, button after button coming free under my shaking fingers, more of that delicious chest visible with each one. I raced to the bottom, desperate to get to the point where—there!—I spread the two halves apart and took in his body, marveling at his broad shoulders and sculpted pecs. I smoothed my hands down over his abs, feeling every ridge, every valley, just as I’d longed to do the day before. Then I was pushing the cloth down his arms, helping him to free it from his wrists, and then he was between my legs, the bulge at his groin butting up against the softness between my thighs, and I caught my breath.

I looked down at myself. My skirt was bunched around my waist, my legs gleaming in their pantyhose in the dim light.

“I want you,” he said. I was just reaching for his shoulders again as he said it, wanting to run my hands over the muscles there, and I was so lost in the moment that it took me a second to process what he’d said. Realization swept over me like a dark, hot wave. This wasn’t just going to be kissing.

“I want you right now,” he told me. His hands were on the outside of my thighs. I was going to have to figure out a way to lift up and roll my pantyhose down off my legs so that I could—

He gripped the waistband of my pantyhose and ripped. Nylon stretched and then shredded and then I was bare down to my thighs, my skin throbbing at its sudden unveiling. I could feel how wet I was. When he cupped my groin through the thin fabric, I groaned. And then he was ripped my panties away, too, the waistband snapping with a crack of breaking threads, and I was completely exposed to him.

Before I had time to speak, he pulled me to the very edge of the counter. And then, crouching again, he lowered his mouth between my thighs.

I drew in my breath and my thighs instinctively closed. I wanted it—God, I wanted it—but it had been so long since someone had done that to me. It didn’t matter. My knees closed uselessly on his wide shoulders and his lips were already brushing against my wet folds. Then his tongue was seeking out my hidden bud, teasing it—and my legs went limp. He slid an arm under each one, lifting me, opening me to him.

He was talented and assured. He knew exactly how to go from the safer zones—the soft skin on the inside of my thighs--all the way inward to my throbbing core, teasing me and teasing me until I was ready to explode before pulling back to the edge again to bring me slowly back down. He knew just how to rub and strum and when to thrust deep with his tongue so that I’d grab his head in my hands, fingers knitted into his hair. I sat there on the edge, shuddering and bucking, my hands braced either side of me for support except when I had to clutch at him, and it went on and on, stopping only when I told him breathlessly that I couldn’t take anymore.

He rose to his feet, then, and leaned forwards, finally stripping my bra off me to leave me naked, save for the shreds of my underwear and my heels. He pushed me back on the counter and then climbed up himself, a knee between my thighs, and we scooched back together until he were both lying on the counter with him on top. He stroked my breasts again, caressing them slowly and firmly, staring into my eyes to watch my reaction as he teased each nipple to straining, aching hardness. Then his mouth came down on my soft flesh and I arched my back, grinding my groin against him, trapping his leg between my thighs for friction as he licked and sucked. He slid a hand down my body and then his fingers were entering me, finding me wet and ready for him, stroking slowly in and out as his tongue bathed my nipples.

I grabbed his shoulders at last, wrenching him up. “Please!” I hissed. And reached down for his belt. We unfastened it together, pushing his pants and shorts down his thighs. For the first time, I saw the hardness that I’d only felt before, and I gasped—he was just as long and thickly gorgeous as I’d imagined him. I parted my thighs for him, feet squeaking on the polished marble and then—

I groaned at the first wonderful entrance of him, hard and hot inside me, moving easily on my wetness, opening me and—God—filling me. Short thrusts, at first, as if he was worried about hurting me. Then longer and longer, but there was no pain, just that glorious sensation of being utterly his. He lowered himself atop me, braced on his forearms, and began to move faster. My world reduced down to two things: those gray eyes gazing down into mine and the liquid, silken friction of him inside me, stretching me, taking me higher and higher. It was nothing like the sex I’d had with my ex. It was more intense, more real, every sensation magnified: the glassy smoothness of the marble beneath us, heated by our bodies; the echo of our moans around the large room; the feel of his lips as he bent his head to kiss me, our mouths touching together and breaking apart what felt like a thousand times.


I wrapped my legs around him, locking my ankles behind his ass, and urged him on and on. The heat inside me boiled higher and higher, consuming me from the inside, until it exploded in a glorious white explosion. My whole body tensed, my back arching and my breasts pillowing against his chest as I cried out with my climax. A moment later, his pants turned to grunts and he buried himself within me, clutching at my shoulders as if to lock himself in place, and I felt the liquid heat of him inside me.