Low

He twisted his hands in my curls, pulling back slightly as he bit down on my lip. "I want you," I whispered through clenched teeth. "I want you soo bad.."

He pushed me down on the bed and began the painstakingly slow process of stripping my clothes. I kicked at my jeans, shimmying them over my hips. I didn't bother with the thong -- he had picked it out after all. The first thrust is always my favorite, the swell of a plump cock gliding into slick heat.

We fucked steady and with speed. I knew his pace, he knows mine. We've done this many times before. Later he pushed me into a hotel chair, crouched backward, arms gripping the back while he took me roughly from behind, my dripping pussy squelching with each thrust.

When he was finished, he folded me in a crook against his side, one finger languidly wrapping and unwrapping the tightly wound curl at my neck, the other hand idly spinning my wedding ring around my finger.

I remember when we picked this out, he said softly.

I do too, I replied, equally sotto voce. For the first time in a long time, guilt coiled low in my belly, wrapping itself around my spine and up to my throat. I said nothing more.