It was early summer morning. The dawn chorus rang out – late blackbirds, finches, the occasional prehistoric cry of a gull, up from the river. The room was mostly white – the bed, the cupboards, the sheets.
She stirred and got up, went to the bathroom. She was in white pyjama shorts and a strappy top. When she walked up the stairs the shorts pulled against her ass, between her legs. She closed the bedroom door when she got back. She lay down and stroked his arm.
He stretched, snuggled into the pillow. His long hair fell across his bearded cheek, his forehead. When his grey eyes met her green they flashed. Her smile said everything.
He reached to hold her breast under her top. She felt so soft beneath his hand. Her breasts were perfect small handfuls, high on her chest. She moaned a little and pushed her head back. Her hair, almost black, fanned out on the pillow. His hand slid over her ribs, her soft belly. He moved between her legs and rubbed her through her soft shorts, feeling her mound, the shape of her pussy under the thin cotton. He rubbed up and down the length of her clit, added a little pressure and she opened her legs.
He pushed the material aside, found her wetness and took it to her clit, stroked over it while she moaned. Her hand moved down, pushed the band of his pyjama bottoms aside, reached in for his cock.
She gasped. She always gasped. He knew he was big – as big as any man she had been with before – but every time she seemed surprised, delighted, a little embarrassed at his girth. She stroked him and as she did he reached for her wetness once more. She was soaked. It hadn’t taken long. He slid a finger into her and she pushed back and moaned again. She gave him a look. A look that said everything.
She lost her shorts and he lost his pyjamas. Both of them still had their tops on. He moved between her legs. She opened them for him. He was slow like always. She used to tell him not to hurt her every time but now he knew. He eased the head of his cock against her until it was wet and they moved so he could take her fully. They kissed, delicately, softly.
He began to thrust, very slowly. It was too beautiful not to. She reached under the arm of his tee and squeezed his tricep. He lifted weights, and she loved how solid his arms felt, how small it made her feel. He liked knowing she was attracted to him.
He took a pillow and lifted her hips with it, a little awkwardly, then straightened it. He moved one of her legs and then the other until they were wrapped around him.
‘Is that good?’ He knew it was but he wanted her to say it.
‘Fuck yes…’ she said it shyly, quietly.
‘Do I feel big?’
‘You feel so hard.’
She lifted her top to show him her breasts. She grabbed one in her hand and squeezed. *Like this* she seemed to say.
He followed the lead and took her breast in his hand. He moved back onto his knees a little. It felt so good. He carried on slowly. He didn’t want to cum too soon. He took her hand and put it between her legs. She touched herself. He loved it when she did that.
‘Fuck…’ he slowed almost to a halt. He felt himself throb in a dry orgasm. No one else had ever made him do that. Maybe it was getting older, more experienced. He leaned his head back, sped up.
She moaned again, threw her head sideways on the pillow.
‘Fuck, like that…’ he carried on, holding himself up on his fists. She rolled her hips up, brought one knee to her chest then the other.
‘Are you sure?’ He knew it would be all the way in her. That he would have to be careful. She nodded. She felt so wet. He began to move his hips, his cock downwards, deep. She nodded. She wanted him to cum, wanted to get him off.
He leaned to kiss her, and moved faster, took her, and felt himself reach the edge. He moaned. She moaned at the sensation. His cock throbbed, pulsed deep inside of her. She pulled him into her and ground her hips.
He collapsed onto the bed. They kicked the sheets off them, the cool breeze and the morning light returning the room to softness. They lay together, arms tangled, and slowly they both fell asleep again.
He woke, minutes later. Her was hard again. He moved his hips. His cock pressed against her ass, her hip. He reached round and took her breast again. He felt her move, felt her guide him back into her.
‘You’re so fucking wet…’ he began to take her, fast, quick deep strokes. He moved from a spoon so her was taking her doggy on her side. She leaned towards him for a kiss. Her chest facing upwards.
He took her breast and squeezed it hard. She liked that. He kept going, no chance of a second orgasm any time soon. He could give it to her roughly. She began to moan. He saw the redness rise up her cheek as. She held the pillow, held the sheet. He cuffed her breast, a hard slap across it. She moaned. He knew she wanted it. And they knew each other well enough he didn’t need to ask permission.
‘Oh fuck you’re so hard…’ her voice was breathy, broken.
He took her hair in his hand, a fistful, and slowly pulled her head until her chin was up a little. He kissed her neck and her jaw.
Then slapped her breast again, and a third time, then caressed it, stroked it and squeezed it gently. She began to cry out. A series of moans and ohs. He felt her squeeze his cock, felt her thighs tremble. He smiled. He liked making her cum. He slowed his pace, enjoying the sound of her coming down from her orgasm. He let her hair go. He kissed her breast where he had been rough with it.
His hips moved smoothly. She shuddered a little on his cock. He slowed and stopped, held it inside of her. She squeezed it with her muscles, massaged him. She knew he liked that.
‘Can’t cum again?’ She looked at him with sad eyes.
‘Later,’ he said and he gave her his full hard length and kissed her mouth and told her he loved her
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