“I want you to cry,” he crooned in her ear, and he slammed into her aching pussy again. She groaned, the sound an involuntary response to the sudden, nearly brutal, fullness she felt.
It had started sweet and fun. Playful stroking during commercial breaks. Then giggling as he teased her swollen nipples, telling him to go slow, to be gentle, she was sore from breastfeeding the new baby.
Then he had her wrapped in his arms, holding her tighter and closer than he’d been able to in months. She was intoxicated by the intimacy of the embrace alone and she kissed him. Then they were both hungrily kissing, tongues searching and deepening the sensation, hands grasping hold of arms, back, neck, fingernails digging in as desire for each other rose up in a wave.
He began sucking the tender spot just below her ear, along her jawline. It was like a direct line to her inner walls and her pussy ached with longing, although the weeks of recovery from labor made her feel too dry and raw. The discrepancy of wanting him while being unsure if she could take all of him was driving her wild.